#just let me love him God let him accept it and not hate it

[athenaluciscaelum]

Note: I am choosing 2007 Anime Dante myself, since none was mentioned. And I took a lot of creative liberty, like way too much. I don't know if it still operates under 'yandere' or not. But Dante is too strong and sense heightened to play into normal yandere setup for me. Hope you all enjoy.

Why so obsessed?

!!MINORS DO NOT INTERACT!!

Pairing: 2007 Anime Dante x Fem! Yandere Reader

Rated: Mature

Words: 1993 words

Warning: Stalking, Spanking, Unprotected Sex

Disclaimer:

Feel free to leave comments, but remember to be nice and civil.

LETS ROCK!!!

You were sitting on the red leather couch in the corner of the Devil May Cry building, looking up from paperwork, eyeing Lady standing against Dante's hardwood desk that you were sitting and making out with him on a few minutes back. Your brain was seething, your hands clenching on the pen, practically breaking it; your distaste was not unnoticed by Dante. He may be many things, but unaware was not one of them.

He still remembers when he met you standing in his office a few nights after he returned from Mallet Island. He was deep in bottles, his pain and guilt greater than he could imagine. He thought about how he couldn't forgive himself once; how was he supposed to forgive himself twice?

You were standing there, not by any chance or luck. He saw you many times before. The first time, you two crossed each other as strangers in Freddy's Diner, and multiple times you were following him, taking his picture. Just for the fun of it, one day he followed you back; there was something so comical about 'hunter being hunted'. You were not harming him or could not harm him, so he was loosely fooling around with the idea. He hated the people who turned love into obsession; to him, love was not unknown; it was an integral part of his childhood. He was so deeply loved once that he was never unaware of what love was but also painfully aware of the cold and loneliness that surrounds when there is an absence of love.

Dante was looking at you from your window. He saw how mechanical and proper you were. You walked into your apartment, taking off your shoes and putting them on the shelf, carefully putting your camera on the work desk, changing from work clothes, hopping in the shower, putting on something lighter, making yourself tea, and printing various pictures of Dante you took today as he was fighting demons, then when he left Freddy's Diner, or when he was sitting alone in the bar. You had every picture of him from the day you both got to know of each other's existence. You were asleep; Dante sneaked into your room as silent as air. He checked your files; they contain all information about him, from his past and heritage to his present.

To say the least, he was amused; there was a picture that made his heart clench. The picture of him in his demonic form, Dante came a long way in accepting his demonic heritage. But for looking at himself for the first time as a demon, it kills him. It made him uneasy and anxious. He was spiralling into the worst line of thoughts, questioning his whole existence he recently started to accept. His hand trembled as he turned the picture backward, not wanting to look at it. You wrote with a Sharpie, "How such a demonic form is of such service to humanity. Scary? My God, you're divine," with lots of hearts around the picture with red sparkle Sharpie.

Dante frowned; he couldn't understand. How can you find this attractive? He read more through your notes. It has a tone of reverence. You knew how he took care of Grue's daughters, how he never took money from a job when it was someone in need, how he maintained distance, plunging himself into isolation for others, how he saw himself as unworthy of any love and how he took care of Enzo for the act, which was the most sensible line of action. You had a reverence towards him and his humanity. It stretched beyond attractiveness and mere physical attraction. It was admiration for something he so badly wanted to preserve in himself: his humanity.

Dante left the book there, the way it was. The scepticism towards you lowered. He knew you still followed him, photographed him. Hell, he loved the way you reacted when he went to the strip club, Love Planet. It was not even needed, but just to get a reaction. You were stalking him; the least he can do is get some fun out of it. He will intentionally reach out and wink at the stripper. The way you will be seething was amusing to him. And he can't forget the elaborate plans you had in your book to harm Trish and Lady, but gave up as you saw them in action with words : "MISSION ABORTED: TARGET TOO STRONG." You never intended to kill them but just give them a piece of your mind, as it was your Dante. You were supposed to be balm to all his pain. No one else!

So here you were in front of him, after he was back from Mallet Island and deep in bottles. You saw how he was not the same after you came back. You always knew he masked pain, but Dante was at least functional. When Dante came back days ago and never stepped out. You knew it was time for you to step in. Luckily, Trish was away for months.

Dante looked up at you; liquor bottles and pizza boxes were littered around him. Some Playboy magazines here and there. He was irritated; thanks to his demonic heritage, he had a fast metabolism. It didn't even let him get drunk. Dante was in the worst mood possible. He looked at you, raising his head, and asked, laughing at you mockingly, "What the hell do you want now? Miss Stalker!?" He spoke with poison.

You sighed; you were not exactly surprised he knew. You tried to be defensive and spoke with a low voice, "Dante, are you okay?" Dante leaned back in his chair and laughed, "Do you not know it already!?" You gulped and spoke apologetically, "I have no way of defending my actions, but you need help." Dante scoffed, "Yeah, from my stalker!" You wanted to cry; the tears were threatening to spill.

Dante looked at you and clenched his teeth. He spoke irritatedly at you, "Yeah, cry now. I am the bad guy!" You shook your head, crying and blurred, "No, you're the good guy! The best human possible, yet you struggle with this internal conflict. You are what you believe! Your human or demon heritage does not matter! You matter! You are doing your best! Your mother will be proud! " Dante's eyes were wide; he looked at her mother's portrait and clenched his fist on the table. He shook his head, "You do not know anything!" You quickly interjected, "I know everything! I'm your stalker! Remember? I -" Dante cuts you and shouts, "I committed fratricide!" As he felt those words, he looked down and said to himself, "I killed my own brother... I'm not human or worth forgiving..." You walked closer to him and tried to pull him out of his self-pity, "Dante..." Dante kept saying, "I killed him..." You shouted, "Dante!"

Dante snapped out of it; he looked at you, his head was against your chest, and he was looking up at you. You kept saying, "Everything is going to be okay. Everything is going to be okay!"

Dante closed his eyes, and everything turned silent. He woke up tucked in on the couch. You were sleeping on the floor, sitting with your back against the red leather couch. He slept... he slept? That was a miracle. It was the first time he slept in the longest time. He remembered saying everything out loud, and it made everything so much better. He doesn't forgive himself, but he can think beyond – maybe not beyond but a day ahead?

Dante's eyes fell on you, his little stalker. Not so bad for an obsessive stalker, huh?

It was that day and now after a few months. You were literally pouncing like a cat when he asked you to move in. Dante could handle everything about you. He knew how to keep you sane. There was just one issue: your jealousy and insecurity stem from your obsessive and possessive nature. You found in yourself to somehow let Trish off the hook, as she looked like Dante's mother. Patty was like his younger sister or better daughter. It only left Lady, as your constant target. You knew you couldn't exactly complain about her flirting with Dante. As Lady was never interested in Dante that way. But you kept beating around the bush. You went on about how Lady was 'cold, manipulative, exploiting Dante for making money and rude overall'. Dante talked about it to you a lot. He did; he tried everything to convey that his love is only you. But God, you were so jealous. It was getting repetitive and irritating now, especially when he came after a long mission with Lady.

Dante looked at you as Lady left, waving bye at you with a smile. You forced a smile and waved back. Dante crossed his arms across his chest and looked at you with a serious look on his face, "Y/N, how many times do I have to tell you the same thing?" You got defensive and spoke incoherently, "Wh-what!? I'm just doing pa-paper-work!" Dante shook his head, "Y/N, cut it! We talked! You shouted back, "It's not my fault; she was all over you!" Dante shouted back, "No, she was not!"

You walked up to him, looking at him, and spoke loudly, "Yes! She was!" Dante smirked, "So you want to be a bad girl, huh!?" You were flustered and stumbled on your words... You knew what these words meant, "D-Da-Dante...I!" Dante smirked as he pulled you over his thighs. He purred, "Bad girls get spanked, my lil stalker." You were flustered as he reached into your front and unbuttoned your denim, unzipping it to pull down your denim and panties in one swift motion, leaving them around your knees. He whistled, "That's some nice view. Now where were we? Right! Bad girl!" His large hand came to swat your ass, turning it red. You yelped, and Dante smirked, "So, babe, what I said to you before?" You pouted and were quiet; a heavy hand smacked your red ass again, not painfully, but it burnt. You cried, "That you only love me!" Dante nodded and swatted your ass again, "And?" He raised his eyebrow and leaned closer to your face to hear you. You whimpered as you jumped at another slap, "And! That lady and you are just friends! Nothing more! I'm the only one!" Dante smiled, "Right, my little stalker, now you're a good girl... Where were we now? Right, good girls get to ride their obsession…"

You blinked. In one fluid motion, you were straddling his lap as he pulled down your jeans and panties completely while also unbuckling and freeing his cock... which sprang between his and your abdomen. You were quick to guide his head into your wet heat, easily sliding down his length; you cried and arched your back.

You moaned as he grunted, threading your fingers in his soft white locks. You spoke authoritatively, "Mine! All mine!" Dante let out a breathy moan, "Yes! All yours, baby! Take me! Ride me!" You started to bounce and slide up and down his length. Dante wanted to use his hands, but you bit his neck and spoke flatly, "No!" You slowed the rhythm and started to swirl your hip. He moans softly. "Y/N"

You reached out to get his collar from the drawer and clasp his around his neck, holding onto it. You smiled as you kissed his lips, "Behave, be good for me?" Dante nodded as you started to pick up rhythm again and moaned,"Umm...cum for me, baby! I'm close! So close!" You squeezed your eyes shut, and Dante threw his head back. He grunted, "Fuck! Y/N" You came all over his cock, and he spilled inside you. You were spent on his chest. As he extracted your tangled body and held you close in bliss, his little stalker.

[lunatic-pudge]

Top 3 Kinks (Micah, Dutch, and Arthur)

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

Don't ask, just accept it plz. I'm thirsting for people I shouldn't and nothing can stop me. Will add John and Javier later. Yes, we're including Javier now. He's working a place in my heart.

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

Micah Bell:

-Breeding: When trying to hit on Abigail, Micah mentions that he is interesting in Fathering. I know that he's probably bullshitting here and he wouldn't make a good Father, but hear me out. Micah would be the type to hate condoms and hate having to pull out. He likes the thought of knocking his partner up. He wants to get them pregnant and is determind to make it happen. He wants a little Micah Bell IV and he'll do whatever it takes. He'll stuff you to the brim with his cum, making sure none of it leaks out of you. Be ready for multiple rounds and this man saying some of the most vile things to you. But it turns you on, don't deny it

-Gunplay: If there's one thing Micah can't live without, it's his guns. They are his everything and he is never without them. So don't be so surprised when he asks if he can bring those said guns into the bedroom. Don't worry, there will be no bullets in the chamber and the safety will be on. But dear oh God, how he just wants to fuck you with his revolvers so bad. He'll do anything to make it happen, even if he has to beg for it

-Breathplay: Loves being able to pin you down by the neck and cut the bloodflow to your head. He also loves seeing the marks he leaves after being so rough with your neck. But don't think he just wants to choke you. He'll gladly let you put your hands around his neck and give it everything you got. Micah loves to choke and loves to be choked. Any marks will be proudly worn the next day

Dutch Van Der Linde:

-Powerplay: Loves being in control and having the upper hand. Wants to be called names like Sir, Master, or even Daddy. Dutch doesn't like being a sub or giving up his power. He HAS to be the one in control or he will stop everything. And if you fail to address him properly or try to take control, punisment is swift and harsh

-Spanking: This plays part to the power play. If you do something out of line or try to make him jealous, Dutch won't hesitate to bend you over his knee and spank you as punishment. His heavy hand smacking against the softness of your ass. And the feel of his rings also? Just *insert chef's kiss here*

-Mirror Sex: Dutch loves having a mirror involved. Especially if he's taking you from behind and the mirror is situated in front of your face. Then he can watch and see all the pleasure he's giving you. It fuels his ego and gives him more pride than he needs. He'll make you look at him through the mirror too. Demanding you keep eye contact or he'll stop

Arthur Morgan:

-Cockwarming: Arthur loves having you sit on his thick cock while acting like nothing is happening. He'll let you warm his cock up while he cleans his guns and let you hold onto him, desperate for more. He likes having to test his patience and see how long it takes til he runs out of said patience and fucks the life outta you

-Praising: Arthur can't go a round of sex while praising the hell out of you. He HAS to praise you or he won't feel satisfied. And while he'll say some of the sweetest things to you while you two get it on, if you switch it up on him you'll fluster the poor man. Arthur doesn't think he's worthy of the praises from you and it just throws him off. But in secret, he loves it. Makes him wanna cum right there on the spot

-Daddy Dom: I know this one is a rather controversial take, but I can see Arthur being into the whole Daddy dom thing. Like, Javier, he's a service dom, and if it means being Daddy to you, then he'll gladly do it. I just feel like Arthur fits the Daddy role real well and would be protective over his baby, taking care of them and their needs without hesitation

[w0lfyfl00f]

Okay so remember the myth of Tumblr and Twitter? The one that tackles themes of corruption and regression and being true to ones self and not being selfish or having a god complex?

I bring you on the day of 4chan’s death, the story of Tumblr and 4Chan, take from this what you will dearest tumblr user (which is probably yaoi ik ik)

(also btw tumblr is trans masc) (I make the rules in my yaoi)

There was once two different individuals one of long stories and one filled with short, however both very unique unlike the more mainstream individuals such as Facebook or Twitter.

These individuals were called Tumblr the story teller of long, and 4Chan the storyteller of short

They each had their unique ways of expressing their stories such as 4Chan’s use of “me” instead of “i”, his use of green and his use of photos to express his stories, mostly stories about his allies, making him almost fit in, if those allies weren’t such weird people, but at least he did love his horses

Meanwhile Tumblr was more long winded with occasional photos to express mostly of its favourite princess stories, tumblr also made use of the rainbow through it’s text and it’s stories were usually about the mythos of its people, mythos of skeletons, trolls, princesses who had expression like no other, and other things such as jokes and humor

As the two existed in harmony the people around them even began to ship them, saying tumblr was so pretty just like its princesses meanwhile 4Chan was perfect in matching Tumblr’s weirdness! A nice anonymous nature to pair with Tumblr’s very honest one Plus Tumblr’s princesses could saddle and ride 4Chan’s horses! They were perfect for each other!

They played along with it for a while for it was fun

But one day they became less close, 4Chan had said something out of the blue, a simple comment but it stung to Tumblr, after that Tumblr began on a path of hate with 4Chan because sure he wasn’t like Twitter who abandoned poor Tumblr, but 4Chan had become hateful like his allies

And it only got worse from there, 4Chan’s stories of horses began to dwindle to fit more in with his allies, he began talking of some sins of the flesh that Tumblr knew was wrong, and of how your flesh mattered in you you are, and how you couldn’t change it.

Tumblr hated these ideas, so cut ties, for a long time.

During that time Tumblr stopped being compared to her princesses and instead his skeletons and sexy men stories

He began to like this more and more

But then 4Chan’s allies said something about it, how it was “weird” and “wrong”

This was fine to Tumblr because he didn’t care about what they thought,

Till 4Chan himself called it “Unnatural”

So Tumblr revolted

His accepting allies against 4Chan’s cruel ones

The war ranged years

Till one battle

In the battle Tumblr had actually been cornered and even had been knocked down, leaning against a cliff as 4Chan stood over him with a cocky look on that blank face and his sword in hand “Seems like it’s over princess” 4Chan said as his allies roared, while Tumblr’s weeped

But before Tumblr could even correct 4Chan for the millionth time someone jumped down from the cliff, a past ally too bad for even 4Chan, too cruel for the cruelest and slayed 4Chan for somehow not being cruel enough

Meanwhile Tumblr made a decision and played dead to not be next

But once the person left Tumblr went to 4Chan’s side to hear little sobs form the once stoike individual and a little “my dear tumblr….me apologize, me followed in the path of allies untrue….”

Tumblr paused, he’d missed their closeness but 4Chan simply had messed up way too much over the years, despite this Tumblr would give compassion “I don’t forgive you 4Chan, but tell me about your ponies? Or anything else?” Tumblr asked wanting to at least get 4Chan’s mind off things and 4Chan looked deflated but began a ramble about a story Tumblr had heard, but he’d act like he hadn’t heard before, let 4Chan ramble about chicken jockies, seemingly something else with a rider like horses.

4Chan would ramble till he faded

Then Tumblr would steal 4Chan’s green shoelaces and get up before dusting himself off and looking to where 4Chan’s allies would’ve been, to see they retreated without 4Chan likely during the attack but Tumblr would simply sigh and go to his allies before the group would leave

4Chan’s body in the dust, forgotten but comforted in his last moments, with his last rambles

And end

I hope you enjoyed!

I put it on ao3 just for once tumblr goes down, then I can write about Tumblr reuniting with Twitter and 4Chan when Tumblr eventually actually dies

[shewhoeatssand]

can someone tell Kaneki that I love him so much ns he’s so perfect to me please like jsut pass on the message rhat he’s loved and I’d give him anything whatever he asked for I’d find a way I’d send us to the moon if that’s what he wanted and I just want him to be comfy and warm and know I am not going to leave and he’ll never fear being abandoned and he’ll be confident I love him so and I just want him he know please

[danwhobrowses]

Prefacing that, again time zones, I've only been able to glean the latest CR episode and that I do not agree with their in-character opinions on the gods, I'd like to remind fans to try and not get super ugly about their criticism of Ashton Greymoore.

I'll be the first to throw my hands up and say they're among my favourite C3 characters so there may be bias, but I've been getting flashes of the Shard Incident from reactions towards their recent and vocal disdain for the gods. Disagree with them all you want, Taliesin knows that the gods can't simply leave since they're the one who said that the Wildmother would die if she left, but understand that it's a character flaw and if you recall the hardships of their backstory, the unanswered prayers, and that their only exchanges with the gods have required them to do something or, with the Dawnfather Angel, have been met with cold disregard, it's understandable how they got to feeling that way. Ashton has lived alone and been told they don't matter for a lot of their life; no gods, no family, no nurturing presence to guide them, they've been abandoned, used, and - with additional influence by the Dominox accusing them of wanting FCG to die - are currently between blaming themselves and the Changebringer for their closest friend's death.

Make no mistake Ashton is wrong, I think the self-confessed hypocrite with also self-confessed poor morality knows that deep down, or at least knows that they're not the kind of person who should be in charge. Vassalheim is a difficult place for a titan vessel to be in so it is unsure what they will do from here; perhaps investigate the Earth Titan? Commune with the Emperor and Empress? Or maybe be brought to the gods and be able to vent or reconcile with them (and maybe get some closure with FCG, speak with his spirit as like a mediator between the Hells and the Gods)? But it feels like Taliesin is being vocal for a reason, and it's either to invite Matt to challenge it (I've said in other comments but I would love if Ashton found some comfort, not worship or a pact but maybe just a dialogue, in the Everlight: a goddess of healing, temperance and redemption - all of which would help Ashton mentally - as unlikely as it'd be) or find another maybe primordial route to give Ashton a narrative tether towards stopping Predathos.

Let's just, not be cruel about the character, they are more than just their bad trauma and grief-led opinion on gods remember?

[zeb-z]

missa, after his self resentment and lamenting about how he doesn’t feel worthy or like he should be accepted, after telling himself and the capybaras that he doesn’t have a home, not really - after all is said and done, he returns to phil & missa, leaving his mini mi in the house on the wall. as if he’d consider anywhere other than the house he shared with phil safe enough. seeking out safety and home brought him right back where he started.

something about how despite his internal conflicts and issues about what he thinks he deserves, he’ll still come back. and for all he worries that he is not enough to be loved in return, his name is still on the warp stone.

[smile-files]

there's something interesting to be said about how nickel's female friends have to constantly school him on how horrible he is but animationepic won't say it

[appalamutte]

..

[sukunasweetheart]

hear me out on bully!sukuna okay...

warnings; highschool setting, DUBCON, dry humping, thigh fucking, unprotected sex, sex in a confined space, semi-public sex, breeding, sukuna is kinda mean but is a simp at the same time, groping, cum in panties, just lots and lots of cum, "just the tip" he lied, mentions of pregnancy risk, ?cheating, sukuna the toxic tsundere but is horrendously down bad and perverted, eventual or mildly submissive sukuna?, this isn't gonna be the healthiest relationship - but its to be expected tho bc its a bully fic so..

Word count; 5.5k

bully!sukuna bothers you because he has a weird complex with you - preferring to be outright hated by you rather than deal with indifference or facing possible rejection.

it's often teetering on the edge of actual bullying; his existence is more of a nuisance than a serious distress to you.

he often loves getting on your nerves by tripping you up with his foot, only to catch you himself, or he purposefully bumps into you in the hallways making you almost topple over - like the fucking asshole he is. and you'll never forget the time you happened to get paired up with him on an assignment and the bastard had the audacity to try and take you both down by not doing his part. in exchange for his participation, he had you carry his bag for him around school for a week...

and he only gets more thrilled the more you fight back or retaliate.

sukuna likes to call you names, often using very condescending and colourful insults against you. and he likes to harass and chase off any potential boyfriends that come your way. that last one pisses you off the most. you want a boyfriend so bad, and that bastard is being such a huge cockblock. god forbid a girl wants to get laid. all your friends have had their first times already - why can't you?!

and he's back at it again too, after finding out that another guy confessed to you at school today. you accepted it. obviously when he wasn't watching. for a damn reason.

he finds out your last class was P.E today and you find yourself cornered in the locker room, empty of girls except for you. you ended up lagging behind as you were texting your new boyfriend over your phone after class. you try to walk past him to go home, but he traps you against your own locker.

you end up snapping back at him, having had enough of it.

"what is wrong with you? you know what? i think you're obsessed with me!" you shout back, shoving at his chest.

"who do you think you are, to stop me from getting a boyfriend... what, do you like me or something?" you speak without thinking, in a fit of anger.

"i bet you do! i bet you go home every night and jerk off to daydreams of me. is that right?" you go off, pushing every button you can.

sukuna falls silent. you expect him to argue back, to deny all your claims fiercely, and then go storming off, having heard enough of your nonsense.

but he's glaring at you, tight lipped, ears and cheeks turning bright red.

"...why're you silent all of a sudden? say something..." you continue awkwardly. "don't tell me... you actually...?"

"shut up," he hisses at you. "just shut up, for a second."

he wears an expression you've never seen on him before, and seems to be thinking about what to say next. he looks as though he wants to say something.

you open your mouth to tell him 'nevermind', but the sound of a small group of girls approaching the locker room is audible, which interrupts the both of you, and you panic. just what kind of rumours would spur on if they caught you and sukuna like this in here? you only just got your first boyfriend, there's no way you're gonna let this bastard ruin that for you!

thinking quickly, you open up your locker and roughly push sukuna inside, and then jump in after him. you shut the locker door quietly and peek outside through the little gaps at the top. the girls come in, having come back to get something that they left behind. what terrible timing.

one of the girls walk up a little close to your liking and you end up moving your body back as far as you can, your back pressing up against sukuna without thinking. and then you're startled by the low and quiet groan you hear behind you.

whipping around, you see sukuna with clouded eyes and a tightened jaw, barely able to fit inside this narrow locker. but he doesn't find it in himself to feel uncomfortable or annoyed at the situation.

after all, your ass is pressed up tightly against his growing bulge right then and there.

you were right about what you'd said earlier. he'd always daydreamed of a moment like this, pumping his cock at the thought of doing lewd things with you...

you turn back to the front, panicked. what the fuck? why does he look... like that?

kinda hot...

shaking your head, you try to ignore your beating heart, praying that the girls exit the locker room soon so that you can quickly escape from this situation.

meanwhile, sukuna's hands struggle to keep away from you as his brain begins to short circuit, dick helplessly twitching in his pants, chest heaving but it being of no help - as the locker fills with the scent of you in it, the sweetness of your shampoo and perfume, making his heart pump harder.

you slowly shuffle forward a little, trying not to lean against him so much. when are these girls leaving... you think to yourself. they've started gossiping amongst themselves, sitting on the bench. goddamn it!

large hands fall onto your hips and pull you back toward him. you feel him grinding his crotch against your ass, and you know that whatever is poking you is definitely his fucking boner.

"what the fuck, sukuna? s-stop," you whisper to him as quietly as you can.

sukuna has stopped his thinking in itself entirely. whatever's making him act right now is nothing but his pure and selfish desires. there's no way he can resist you when you're the one who climbed inside your own locker with him. he needs to relieve his ache somehow.

he gets more and more handsy with you as each minute passes. his large hand snakes up to fondle your clothed tits as he continues to discreetly dry hump your ass.

you should be disgusted. you should jump out right now and snitch on him and call him a molester right in front of these girls.

but good god, this feels like... nothing you've felt before. his wandering hands. his immense horniness. this tight enclosed space. the size of his boner. it's all making you excited in a weird way, and you're starting to feel aroused at your core.

sukuna is doing his best to get some pleasure from this minimal friction he's getting inside his tight space, but it's not enough. the desperation and arousal claws at him, his dick hurting from how tightly it's sitting in his pants. he swallows on nothing.

fuck it. he's already started. why hold back now?

you feel a shift behind you and the sound of fabric and a zipper being undone. is he...?

you gasp softly when something hot and hard gets pushed between your thighs. it's... it's pulsing. you can't believe this is happening. with sukuna, out of all people? should you be mortified or intrigued? you fear that the latter might be truer.

there's ringing in his ears. not a single logical thought is occupying his brain as he thinks purely with his dick at the moment, having waited so long for a moment like this. fuck, he's so hard. and it only excites him more that you haven't leapt out of this locker yet, running away from him. even though you could. his heart is on the verge of beating it's way up to his throat.

small, shallow thrusts. you feel his heavy cock rub up against your inner thighs, and both of his large hands are now groping your clothed breasts lewdly. he unbuttons your blouse, and then messily pulls down your bra, as he's desperate to feel the real thing, and you can't muster the strength to swat him away. when his fingertips tease your nipples, you have to stop yourself from making any noise. you've always wanted someone to touch you there...

never did you know that someone would be sukuna. you grab his wrist in a fit of desperation.

"you're a fucking pervert... what the hell are you doing?" you tell him a tad bit loudly, trying to deny the heat in your cunt.

"... did you guys hear something?" one of the girls suddenly ask outside.

your heart drops to your stomach as this sets off a panic inside you again. a big, warm hand clasps over your mouth, shushing you effectively.

"quiet..." he mumbles into the shell of your ear, and it weakens your knees. it never occurred to you that he's always had an attractive voice. a wave of goosebumps wash over your skin.

you look down. you can get a tiny peek of his tip whenever he thrusts in... it's so fucking big. you can't possibly fit that inside you, could you? when you catch that it's glistening with precum, your pussy squeezes around nothing.

one hand still over your mouth and the other teasing your tits, sukuna is busy slowly chasing an orgasm, regardless of the girls that have gotten a little wary outside. they soon forget about it and continue their pointless chatter.

fuck... his cock is so close to your cunt. the thought of it makes him shudder. he's almost there.

your hands are semi-clawing at his hand that's still against your mouth, when you suddenly feel him cease the incessant groping at your breasts. instead, it goes under your skirt - a finger loosening your panties up to fit his fat cock beneath the flimsy fabric.

there it is. your bareback fuckin' pussy. he has to bite his own lip to hold off groaning out loud. he does his best to slide his dick in and out against your slit - being restricted in movement due to the tight space, but make doing somehow.

you're actually thankful for his hand covering your mouth up, as you would've definitely moaned out loud if it weren't for him. it's unreal how turned on you are right now. does he feel it? all the slick pouring out of you? it's so, so strange. you were so sure that you didn't want this with him before, but not anymore...

it grazes over your clit over and over, painfully teasing, and you need to orgasm so badly.

sukuna jolts his hips against you, giving a final short thrust as his tip catches the fabric of your panties - he presses his own face against your neck to effectively silence himself as he reaches his first high.

you shudder as his dick pulsates between your thighs so strongly, making a hot mess in your underwear, cum spilling out in thick ropes - you feel the heat of it on your poor cunt, and you shiver as sukuna inhales deeply against your neck, his breathing wavering, dick aching for more even as it continues to spill heavily, creaming your panties. his tongue licks a stripe up your neck, causing you to shiver.

it's a pleasure that's greater than he could've ever given himself alone. but he wants more. he needs more.

you're in the middle of trying to gather yourself again, but you again, feel him moving his hips. just what is he up to now...?

your eyes widen when you catch onto how he's trying to thrust himself inside you now. there's no way... you struggle against him but he holds you still - mouth still firmly silenced by his palm.

the best he can do is have the tip inside. but for now, it's enough. he doesn't care - as long as he can get whatever pleasure that's available...

"j-just the tip..." he whispers with the smallest voice he can manage, against your ear again. it turns you on so good.

you can't help but enjoy when he gropes at your chest again, his tip bullying it's way in your desperate and wet hole, popping in and out, in and out, in and out.

even with just the tip, you're about to lose your mind. you want more, but at the same time you're scared what'll happen to your mind if he shoves that whole thing inside you.

sukuna's brain is yet again short circuiting as he dips the tip of his cock into your hot and slippery cunt - making him feral and desperate to get deeper. yet, what's stopping him is this confined space that suffocates him. there isn't enough oxygen for both of you here, and he wonders whether it's you or the lack of oxygen that's making him endlessly breathless.

oh, he's close again.

he's going to cum again, but this time inside. you want to protest, but you've always wondered... does it feel good to have it spill inside? regardless, you still try to struggle against him purely because you don't like the thought of sukuna knowing that you're enjoying this. even though it's already too late.

he holds you so tightly against him - before letting himself loose once again - tip poking into your pussy as he pumps inside, balls clenching. your hole is welcoming, and it puckers around him mind numbingly, milking his heavy cock for everything he has. you feel the warmth of his seed reaching inside you but not very deep - most of it trickles back out onto your panties. he twitches against you harder and more intensely, hips shoving into you messily.

you're both out of breath...

...and that's when both of you hear the girls leaving the locker room with muffled laughter, successfully avoided noticing you and him inside.

they turn the lights off before they leave, and the locker room turns dark and silent. you're now sweating against sukuna - and the moment you feel his hands loosen against you, you push the locker door open and step outside, unsure of what exactly you're trying to run from. sukuna himself? or the fact that you might be forming some kind of attraction to him? to the way he treats you?

but alas, no matter how fast you think you are, you could never beat sukuna's reflexes. in that quick momentum, he's pursued you outside and grabbed your arm - before pulling you back and shoving you against the now closed locker door.

"where do you think you're going?" he asks with a deep and low voice, vein popping on his forehead and looking desperate and an intense blush being permeated on his face. why is it that it's always made you feel so squirmy, whenever he cornered you like this? the size difference, the strength difference... the pervert here is not only him, it seems.

your needy gaze flutters from his eyes down to his exposed cock. it's veiny, throbbing, and leaking messily. it looks heavy and most importantly... it's so fucking big.

in the blink of an eye, sukuna has hiked your legs up, holding you up against the lockers, making it so that you cannot run from him again. it's game over.

"having the nerve to try and run after seducing me with your ass..." sukuna mutters angrily, lining his dick above your cunt and tummy, showing off how deep it'll reach if he slid it inside.

"no- i didn't..." you protest weakly, heart hammering with excitement. "idiot... let me down."

you tell him, despite your arms that loop around his neck.

"your voice is lacking it's usual sharpness," sukuna tells you breathlessly, flipping your skirt up and pushing your panties aside. it's still wet with his previous loads. oh- he can't think straight.

"wait-! something that big won't fucking fit!" you tell him, only now the fear beginning to hit you. moreover, you're afraid he'll end up breaking you and stop all rational thinking - this is dangerous.

"it will. i'll mould the shape of your insides to my fuckin' cock," sukuna insists, eyes focused on your wet glistening pussy. so pretty.

he pushes it in. but he doesn't stop there. he pushes it in all the way. balls fucking deep.

your eyes widen and when he thrusts the whole thing in one go, you well and truly break. legs trembling, pleasure washes over you and you cry out a moan.

"fuck-! did you just cum? are you cumming?" sukuna asks, panting, slowly sliding himself in and out as your cunt spasms around him. soon enough, he speeds it up and makes sure his tip is bullying your cervix with each deep thrust, eyes rolling back as your walls welcome him so warmly and clamp down on him.

"haah- haah- mm, fuck! you're so fuckin' tight! ugh, 'm gonna bust again," he slurs messily, hips moving non-stop. the unkempt bush of his pubic hair gives friction against you adding onto your strange sensations of pleasure. drool begins to roll out from the corner of your mouth.

his balls have never felt heavier as they slap against your wet ass each time he slams his cock inside, slick pooling out of you and creating droplets on the floor. he has a lot to give you... and your cunt is being so agreeable, the way it sucks on him, warm and wet. it's turning him animalistic, no thoughts running inside his brain except to fucking breed this hole. breed you.

not inside... not inside... you think, not realising that you're not saying it out loud.

"i'm gonna do it inside. i'm gonna-!" he hisses, hips stuttering at the last second.

"ugh- shit! 'm c-cumming... fuuck... fuck!" sukuna cusses deeply, thighs trembling as he continues giving tiny, but sharp thrusts even as he's spilling into you while buried to the hilt.

it's hot. you can feel that it's thick. there's so much. even more than his two previous loads. sukuna's face being twisted in pleasure puts you in awe - and you unknowingly tighten your pussy around him as he orgasms inside, joined to you hip-to-hip.

he's never felt such a deep seated pleasure in him before. he continues to gasp and shudder with every stringy spurt that he knows is reaching your womb. what if he actually knocks you up? what if his seed takes? it's a scary but thrilling thought. the thought of you swollen with his baby... all rational thinking has been thrown out the window due to this pleasure.

sounds that you never could've imagined coming out of sukuna continue to spill from his lips... he slides his cock in and out and squeezes every last drop out of himself, and he suddenly brings his lips to yours, kissing you feverishly. both of you pant over each other while making out messily as he slowly begins to thrust into you over and over again. he's going to get addicted to this. he's going to crave your pussy everyday from now on.

sukuna sucks on your tongue like he wants to swallow it. your arms hold onto him for dear life.

all too suddenly, he brings you off the locker, arms hooked under your legs and palms supporting you by holding onto your ass cheeks.

the kiss breaks, and catch sight of sukuna's lust-filled eyes as he moves you up and down his cock using his monster-like strength. and you're held up by him like this, you can't do anything to stop him. just cling onto him and take what he gives you.

"f-fuck, sukuna... ooh-! t-too deep," you mumble with tears in your eyes, gasping from the way his tip kisses your womb effortlessly. he's seriously too big for his own good.

"keep saying my name like that- it'll only make my dick harder," he pants, continuing to use your pussy like a fleshlight. his thick load has made it even wetter. he can feel your slick beginning to cream up around the base of his cock now, and it makes his chest well up with something like pride. does he turn you on that good? this hole of yours refuses to run out of lube.

the absurdly obscene plap plap plap sound of flesh against flesh, makes for the lewdest echo in the locker room. that, paired with the mild darkness, and the possibility of being seen by someone coming in during after-school hours, makes for the perfect thrilling atmosphere for such feral sex.

it's driving you mad. the echoing, the subtle anxiety, the smell of his sweat.

it's marvelous...

another orgasm hits you like a bullet train. gasping, you whimper as he continues fucking you through it this time, relentlessly thrusting into you regardless of your pulsing walls.

"shit... your cunt's clinging to me," sukuna groans, feeling blessed to see you get undone by him, by his cock. the fingertips of his large hands against your ass sink deeper, the pleasurable knot in his stomach getting tighter once again.

"you and your uselessly big dick... fuck you," you chide breathlessly, doing your best to keep your sentences clear even as he plunges into you with an unforgiving pace.

"clearly not useless when it's made you cum twice now, right?"

"shut up-"

you get cut off when he begins to thrust faster, as you witness the very moment sukuna's eyes become blank with pleasure, getting ready to empty his balls again.

"slutty fuckin' cunt. latching onto me so greedily... can't stop- thrusting-" he mumbles, gripping onto your ass tighter.

you can't help but sigh with pleasure when he begins to fill you up again, twitching and pulsing like crazy inside you as he spills so much seed like he's peeing.

"ohh, shit... cumming s-so hard..." he breathes out shakily.

you're starting to feel full. but you get the feeling that this still isn't the last one. desperate kisses are pressed against the side of your neck as he takes some time to relax a little again, thoroughly finishing deep into you, hips jolting every now and then.

he carries you over to the bench in the middle of the room, where he lies you down and brings your knees closer to your chest, fully exposing your cunt to him, whole. his dick still squeezed into you.

with a hoarse shaky groan, he slowly drags his thick cock in and out of you in this position, with only the heavens knowing how he is still hard after so many orgasms.

you give a small yelp as he speeds up - your plush walls embracing him warmly and filling up his balls once more. god, he doesn't think he'll ever have enough of this pussy. of you.

"idiot! e-enough.. take it out... i'll get- pregnant-" you warn him not-so-convincingly, with gasping moans between each word.

"c-can't... you're... sucking me in so good... can't stop-" sukuna replies with no thoughts in his brain other than to relieve the throb in his erection again. it's driving him up a wall, too. the flesh of your ass that softens the impact everytime he drives his hips into you. your squeals and whines of euphoria. your exposed breasts and glistening clit. he burns every detail into his brain, to make sure he remembers forever...

he doesn't even know what number round this is, but it amazes even him how he feels like he's already edging close to another climax. it's pathetic and ridiculous of him. but he can't help the fact that you push him over so easily.

the number of tissues he'd run through just from jerking off every time he thought about you all night... you have no clue.

recalling those moments makes him feel even more determined to chase this final orgasm even more rigorously. it won't be difficult, not with how your cunt swallows him up so nice.

"fuck.... i- i like you. i've always liked you..." sukuna mumbles out the sudden confession slowly.

"stupid... bastard... you say this now...?" you say as you sigh in pleasure, almost being close to your own climax as well, this position setting off yet another deep arousal in you. after all that bickering and tormenting - he has the audacity to confess to you? only after cumming inside multiple times?

"can't give any excuses can i?" he voices with a curt laugh - finding himself to be pitiful in this moment as well.

"but it's true... i- fuck- i like you so much..." he groans, hips getting faster.

your eyes begin to blur with tears again... sukuna thumbs your clit gently... and then you arch your back with a gasping squeal. sukuna too, hisses as he pumps you full for a final time, letting his dick drain itself in your fluttering hole, hips and thighs jerking uncontrollably while his tip leaks spurt after spurt through your cervix, overflowing you to the maximum.

after dumping his final load, he slowly drags his large, twitching cock out of you with a pop and lets it rest against your gaping cunt, pulsing weakly against your clit. his thumb pushes your panty lining aside to keep your pussy exposed for him to see. your hole is still gaping and thrumming, as if missing him already and he's watching with awe as big globs of his spend trickle out of you thickly. if he wasn't so exhausted, the sight of this would've made him hard again.

sukuna lets go of you and lets your legs rest on the bench, as you're still panting from the exertion, mind numb from that last orgasm. he seems to loom over you for a second, before leaning down, arms caging you against the bench, knee between your legs, to kiss you on your glossy lips. it feels good, but you wouldn't want to admit that out loud to him.

"i like you." he repeats again, after breaking away from you. he wonders why it had taken him so long to admit this fact. once he got it out, it became an easy thing to say. you look at his face and he looks so pathetic in your eyes, the usual look of cockiness and mischief being wiped away. he says it as if he's pleading you, and you know what he's asking for, what he's unable to say out loud. he probably wants to be your boyfriend.

it's strange to see the puppy eyes of your literal arch nemesis, and it's also strange to hear his voice give you a love confession. it makes you mad. it makes you angry. not because you hate it, but because you don't hate it.

he sees it. he sees the instant your eyes glint with anger, and he very swiftly dodges the head butt you try to give him at the very last second.

"move, idiot," you say sharply, glaring at him.

alright, he probably deserved that one.

you stand up and fix your bra and blouse before gathering your things from the locker before leaving without another word - sukuna follows you outside in a fit of mild anxiousness.

"hey-"

"you. take responsibility and buy me some plan b pills. and a pregnancy test kit," you interrupt, looking back at him.

"...alright," he responds rather obediently, after a nervous swallow.

after you turn back around to continue walking, the tiniest smile grows on your face... sukuna looking nervous is something you never thought you'd see. maybe you can use this to your advantage.

your phone vibrates in your hand. it's from your new 'boyfriend'. a sweet message saying he's excited to see you again tomorrow. you delete the notification with a little bit of guilt on your mind. you'll leave tomorrow's issues for tomorrow.

in front of the chemist, you languidly stand around outside waiting as sukuna does as you'd asked him. truth be told, it was because you didn't want to buy them yourself, out of embarrassment. you know he doesn't care about how people sees him, so no harm done there.

when he comes back out with the bag, he holds it out to hand it over to you. but when you try to grab it, he lifts it away.

"you're gonna break up with him, right?" he suddenly asks, with a rather serious expression on his face.

you ignore the question and try to grab the bag, but he avoids you again.

"...right?" he emphasises. he doesn't intimidate you at all anymore, not after knowing about his feelings for you.

"it's none of your business?" you tell him, finally snatching the bag. he doesn't look too pleased about that answer. you take the pills quietly and shove the rest into your bag.

"okay. now go home," you shoo at him. "i'm tired."

"you haven't answered me yet," he says firmly, holding onto your wrist.

"you'll have your answer tomorrow," you reply in an exasperated tone, shaking off his grip.

"and just letting you know. if it turns out positive, i'm never speaking to you again," you warn him with a deadpan face. in the back of your mind, you're pretty anxious about it, but you know according to your cycle, today wasn't a fertile day. that, and with the pill... it should be alright.

sukuna stiffens up and opens his mouth to say something, but shuts it again.

"and don't follow me. if you do, i'll also never speak to you again."

you're not that serious about not talking to him ever again, but you believe he deserves to feel as anxious as you do.

"... i wasn't planning on stalking you anyway. jesus," sukuna mutters, kicking at the dirt on the ground.

you narrow your eyes at him, and then continue your way home.

he scratches the back of his head in frustration. it's like he's skipped a lot of steps towards you and it's coming back to bite him in the ass. ah, well. nothing he can do about it now.

sukuna starts praying that the test comes out as negative.

-

in the end, you decided to become the asshole and just break up with the guy over text. what was there to even really 'break up' anyway? it was for less than a day...

regardless, the news seems to run across the entire school and your friends begin to pester you about why. you can't tell them the truth. what could you even say? 'oh, i got railed good by the one guy i despised in school and it made me end up changing my mind'? fuck that.

he walks towards you after school with seemingly high spirits.

"so... i heard you broke it off after all," he approaches you after hearing the good news. you'd been ignoring him all day, but he's hoping you'll stop once the day was over and there was no one else around to watch them.

you continue to give him the silent treatment, walking along without sparing him a glance.

"hey," he grabs your forearm to stop you from walking.

"stop ignoring me. please."

you only spare him a glance because he added 'please'.

"...i don't see how that changes anything between us," you finally respond.

"right. surely not," he responds, voice thick with sarcasm.

"is that the correct attitude you should be taking? i broke up with him because i felt bad i fucked someone else while we were together. not because i like you back," you shoot at him, crossing your arms.

"oh, give me a break. you were barely with him for one day-"

"sukuna. do you want me to like you back?"

sukuna falls silent, looking at you with annoyance yet also simultaneous desire.

"if you want me to like you... then you need to work for it. make up for all the mean things you've said and done to me."

"...how? what should i do?" he asks, daringly, stepping forward towards you.

you wordlessly take your bag and shove it against his chest with an aloof expression on your features. it startles him for a moment, but looking at your face, he understands what you're asking of him. he slowly smirks and slings your bag over his shoulder, on top of his own.

"easy. anything else?"

"...i'm kinda hungry. take me somewhere good to eat. you pay."

"so... a date?" sukuna hums teasingly, trying to hold your hand.

"nope. you're gonna act as my lackey for a few weeks. it's payback. after that... well, we'll see," you say as you dodge his hand.

he can't wipe the smile off his face. you're clearly playing around with him, but he doesn't hate it. it's another form of attention, is it not? he'll have plenty of chances to make you his from now.

little does he know... he's the one that will become yours in the end.

you know the drill! dot points bc im lazy as fuck!!

okay well, first off the test does turn out negative, lucky for him... from then on you make him wear condoms whenever you have sex

but before that, he spends a few weeks running around to try and appease you

everybody shocked to see the big bad bully is being so obedient, and little do they know...

mmmaybe you give him little rewards every now and then, some sneaky kisses or so, just to keep him afloat... and then you withhold your body from him again

still carries your bag for you everywhere

has to deal with the frustration of not having boyfriend privileges yet... always itching to touch you but you wont allow it until you think he deserves it

sitting between his legs but not letting him be handsy with you is torture. maybe he'll break the rules a bit and hug your waist anyway

love the thought of him borderline begging for your touch because he's so hard from spending so much time being so close with you and it's been well over three weeks since he's done anything remotely sexual with you

maybe you'll feel a little turned on by his pleading that you cave in a bit, and take him to the public restrooms for a few handjobs

he will take anything he can, the opportunist...

and you'll have plenty of fun edging and toying with sukuna until he's shaped nicely into being a good obedient boyfriend for you

bully sukuna trope was inspired and set alight by @gojos-thot-patrol btw, link to his fic here... mine took a completely different path but it was a similar concept in the end ✨️👌

Masterlist

[kaisentine]

5 things itoshi sae will do.

he will make you cry.

intentional or not, this man has the magical ability to turn the faucets behind your eyes. the once warm salty tears running down your cheeks become cold the moment they make contact with that one spot below your eyes.

he will force you to attend his games.

you’re immediately obligated to attend his matches as soon as you two make it official. he’s not embarrassed about you watching his matches like at all because he’s quite confident in his abilities. you technically get dragged into the stadium by the team’s guards who escort you to your seat.

he will let you see him walk around with his fuckass bangs down without any hairspray.

he’s quite shameless when he’s alone—except he isn’t, he’s in the room with you . . . but you don’t count as someone to be wary about. so when he first came to you with his bangs down, you almost squealed. it’s somewhat of a reward when you see it. he still looks like he came straight out of the photos his mom sent you from when he was younger.

he will tolerate your touches.

nope, he is not known for his affection. even with you, he doesn’t initiate it. not like it would kill him to do so, he’s just . . . clueless—you could say. but when you wrap your arms around him, hover your hands over his body, entangle your fingers with his hair, touch his face, kiss him—he’ll accept them.

he will leave you on seen.

yup. either one : he doesn’t know how to respond so he just looks stares at your text like a clueless child—debating whether he should send a stupid millennial gifs or not respond at all. or two : he’ll respond you when he meets you. “i’ll buy you dinner.” “what?” “that text. you asked what you should get for dinner.” “sae, that was 4 days ago.”

5 more things itoshi sae won’t do.

he won’t let you cry in front of him.

he’ll turn you away or he’ll walk away. look, he’s trying to give you some space but honestly, it isn’t helping. it’s not that he doesn’t want to comfort you—he just doesn’t know how to handle his own feelings, let alone yours. so he’ll leave you alone. however, when your tears dry up, he’ll come back to you and pray to God that you don’t hate him.

he won’t lie to you.

even white lies. it just isn’t part of his vocabulary. but it does come in handy—for example, when you see an article about some stupid ship between him and another celebrity, he shuts it down and you know he’s telling you the truth. then there’s the down side . . . “do you think this shade suits me?” “no. you should find another one.” he finds there is just no use in coating lies.

he won’t put you above soccer.

it sounds harsh but he doesn’t expect you to expect him to give up his livelihood for a relationship and neither should you give up yours for him. he’ll love you to the end and back—soccer isn’t on his love spectrum, more like his obsessive spectrum. so yeah, he’ll love you more than soccer but he doesn’t put you above the sport.

he won’t hide you.

it’s actually futile to get him to listen to his PR team. no, he is not ashamed going to an event with you in hand. no, he is not ashamed with keeping one highlight of you on his inactive instagram account. no, he is not going to entertain other set-ups. no, he won’t give a fuck.

but he won’t ever hate you.

don’t even try because it won’t happen.

sticky note. ARLENE IS BACK??? this week has been crazy as fuck like hello? i need a whole separate post to talk about it but you guys BETTER promise me you WILL read it.

[mochacoda]

python | csc

Pairing: Choi Seungcheol x GN!Reader

Synopsis: When you broke up with your boyfriend to work in a different country, you didn't expect to see him ever again. But when you transfer to your company's Seoul branch four years later, the department head is your ex, and he’s made it his objective to make your life a living hell for leaving him all those years ago.

Content: Angst, Fluff, Comfort | Exes to Lovers | Office AU

Tags: emotions, miscommunication, heartache, workaholic!seungcheol, insecure reader, drinking, crying, begging, petnames (sweetheart, love), konglish w/ translations, no "y/n," this is for everyone who voted for cheol in the poll, loosely connected to too nice (joshua)

Word Count: 10.2K

Masterlist

“I hate him,” you seethe, your fists balled up, crumpling your rejected proposal. “God, I hate him.”

Your coworker, Joshua Hong, looks up from his cubicle with raised eyebrows. “Who?”

You breathe in deeply, willing your rage to dissipate at the sight of his confusion. Poor Joshua doesn’t deserve your anger. “No one,” you say, clenching your jaw. 

Open-mouthed, Joshua blinks rapidly, eyes flitting over to glance at the office you had just walked out of. The door to the room is marked with a name plate that has 최승철 [Choi Seungcheol] in bold, gold letters. 

“I’m fine,” you insist, hands uncrumpling the document you had just attacked. 

“Uh, okay?” he says with a healthy dose of doubt, elongating the “o” in “okay.” 

“I just—” you begin, then immediately shut your mouth. “Ugh, forget it.”

It’s one thing to crumple a proposal up, and another thing to start bad-mouthing your boss out in the open. You throw the tattered outline onto your desk, then plop yourself onto your chair. You rub your temples, and then mutter under your breath, “How did I get here?”

“Good question,” Joshua laughs. “Company synergy?” 

You groan, “Don’t ever say that word again in my presence.” 

“Mmh,” he says, walking over to your cubicle. “You won’t have to worry about my presence in a few months.” 

“Don’t remind me,” you sigh, dropping your head in your hands. 

Joshua would be leaving the Seoul branch and transferring to the New York branch in a few weeks. 

Curse your company for its commitment to “workplace synergy,” swapping out a handful of employees across all departments in its international branches every few years. If it hadn’t been for this horrible program, you wouldn’t be here right now. 

You want to rip out your own hair, at this point.

How did it even get to this? You shut your eyes, thinking back to older times. 

When you first got a job offer at the New York branch of your dream company, your initial reaction was elation. Your second? Doubt. Leaving Seoul was almost unthinkable, not to mention the fact that you’d be leaving your boyfriend behind, too. 

For the first few days after hearing back from the recruiter, you knew you’d accept, but kept the news to yourself. You’d heard of so many horror stories about long-distance dating, and after a long period of consideration, you wondered what the point was. 

You knew your boyfriend—really knew him. You knew he’d make sacrifices for you at the expense of himself, and it was impossible for you to accept bogging him down with a 14 hour time difference. He’d stay up waiting for your calls, instead of getting much needed rest. He’d worry about you all the time, checking the weather in Manhattan instead of Seoul and calling you constantly instead of his family and friends. He’d wait on you for as long as you needed, in an almost obsessive way, thinking it could make up the difference in distance. But he deserved someone who could love him in person, all of the time. 

It’d be better for Seungcheol if you just let him go, freeing him to focus on what mattered more to him. Like work.

He loved you too much to break things off with you himself, so it was better that you did it. For his own good. 

That’s what you told him, at least. 

────୨ৎ──── Four Years Ago

“Cheol,” you said, teary-eyed. “Cheol, look at me.”

Seungcheol stared blankly at the ground, face frozen. 

“Please?” your voice cracked.

“Who are you to tell me what I can and can’t handle?” he suddenly choked out, eyes flashing with hurt. His hands clenched, like he was holding himself back from saying more.

You swallowed thickly, reaching for his arm. “Cheol, I—”

“Don’t call me that,” he said, snatching his hand away from you. 

────୨ৎ──── 

But you had hidden the real reasons for the breakup. 

Because, deep down, you had always suspected otherwise. Somehow, everything had just become so complicated. Loving Seungcheol—which had once been something as easy as breathing—had become a dull pain in your chest, clouding your every thought with insecurities. 

Even from the start of the relationship, you’d loved him more, anyway. Back then, you didn’t mind it because you loved him so much, and he was always so, so sweet to you. But around the time of the job offer, paranoia had reared its ugly head, kicking your uncertain thoughts into overdrive. 

It was obvious that he didn’t really love you anymore. While you were job seeking, he was distracted. Always checking his phone, not really listening to what you had to say. He made time for you, but he didn’t necessarily make you feel like he loved you as deeply as you did him—it didn’t feel like he was the same guy that you started dating. 

Something about his actions just felt like he did them to claim that he loved you, rather than because he actually loved you. His actions were laced with a kind of surface level, superficial quality. 

He’d take you out to a fancy dinner, open the door for you, pay for the meal, drive you home—all the gentlemanly things he did when you started dating, too. But on the car ride there and back, and while sitting down eating together, he wouldn’t remember the things you had said about the little things happening in your life—a major change, when compared to the start of your relationship. 

And sure, he didn’t have an obligation to remember your next door neighbor's name. But shouldn’t he remember your favorite kind of pie, or your closest cousin’s name? Shouldn’t he just know not to check his phone every time it pings with a new email, or leave you to eat your stupid expensive pasta alone as he takes a call outside?

It was almost like Seungcheol had fallen out of love with you, but was staying with you out of some kind of obligation to continue what he had started? That was your only explanation for why he’d spend time with you, but wouldn’t pay close attention to the things you said. Every Thursday was movie night, and in hopes of trying to keep him away from work, you let him choose the movie every time. But what use was that, when he spent more time looking at his phone than the TV—and more importantly, you, for that matter? 

You’d been dating a ghost of a man. While you loved him, he tolerated you. 

If the two of you stayed together when you went abroad, he’d probably double down on texts, but he wouldn’t really remember anything you’d said if you mentioned details about them in calls. 

You didn’t bring any of these fears up to him, because you knew that he would continue to deny it. In fact, you’d imagined it in your head so much that you could see it when closing your eyes to sleep. If you confronted him, he’d deny that he didn’t love you anymore. But he’d be staring at the ground instead of looking at you. He wouldn’t admit that he was only with you because he enjoyed the consistency of your affection, and because he somewhat pitied you—and most importantly to him, because he wanted to prove to himself that he chose correctly when he started dating you. 

The pain of watching the love of your life push down his repulsion just to be with you was decidedly more horrifying than the pain of breaking up with him altogether. 

Right before ending things, it had occurred to you that Seungcheol might not have ever loved you in the first place, and that just hammered in the idea that you were making the right decision. He’d get over the breakup fast. He’d probably be thankful for it in a few years, even. If you saw him again, you’d both probably laugh, and in his head, he’d realize that he was grateful that you ended things so that he could focus on his real love, his career. 

If you were honest with yourself, you would admit that there was a bit of selfishness driving the breakup, as well. There was no way you could handle Seungcheol sacrificing things for you—if he lost sleep over you, if he worried about you, if he was distracted by you—because you knew he wouldn’t be doing it for love. 

Because he only ever cared out of a superficial need to prove to himself that he made the right decision in asking you out all those years ago. Not because he really loved you. 

Yes, he probably never loved you, and he would never know the real reason why you ended things. 

────୨ৎ──── Four Years Ago

“You give up so easily,” he spat out. “Was I nothing to you?”

Tears were running down your face. “Don’t. Don’t make this harder than it needs to be.”

Seungcheol laughed, then buried his head in his hands. “God, to think I almost—” 

He stopped, jaw tightening, then shook his head like he couldn’t believe it.

────୨ৎ──── 

A hand comes down sharply on your desk, jolting you awake. 

“Sleeping while on duty?”

Wide-eyed, with tear-stained cheeks, you look up to face your ex-boyfriend. “부장님! [Department Head!]” 

Upon seeing your red-rimmed eyes, Seungcheol falters.

Swiping at your under eyes quickly, you bow your head to him slightly. “I’m sorry, it won’t happen again.”

He swallows roughly, eyebrows furrowing in confusion. He opens his mouth, like he’s about to ask you why you were crying, and your heart drops. 

You will crumble if you hear the tone of voice he had used when you broke up with him.

“Excuse me,” you blurt with choked words. 

You don’t dare to look at his eyes. Instead, you get up from your seat, then immediately flee to the bathroom.

────୨ৎ──── Four Years Ago

“You can focus on work, now,” you squeaked out. 

Seungcheol scoffed again, a cruel sound of disbelief. “What makes you think I give a damn about work right now?”

“Don’t you? Always?” you sniffled.

His eyes flashed with something you couldn’t quite describe. He seemed angry, but not just at you. At himself, too—his hands were balled into fists at his sides, fingernails digging sharply into his palms. His throat bobbed, and you could see the intense restraint he was forcing on himself. He opened his mouth with a sharp breath, then closed it again, as if he wanted to say something but stopped himself. 

────୨ৎ──── 

You stare with glassy eyes at yourself in the mirror, trying to calm your racing heart down. It would be alright. You would be alright. 

If you just focused on your work, it would be fine. 

Leaving the bathroom, you square your shoulders. You’ll draft up a new proposal that suits his standards, and you’ll do it so excellently that he can’t possibly reject it. 

Hours later, and you’re standing outside Seungcheol’s office again. Taking a deep breath, you walk in without knocking or announcing yourself. 

The stack of papers trembles in your hands as you place them on Seungcheol’s desk. You keep your expression blank, steadying your breath, willing yourself not to let any emotion slip. “This is the revised proposal.”

Seungcheol doesn’t look up immediately. He takes his time flipping through the pages, his expression unreadable. The tension in the room is suffocating, thick with words left unsaid from years ago. You stand stiffly, waiting, watching the way his fingers drag across the paper. Finally, he exhales sharply and sets the proposal down.

The room is unbearably silent as the question of approval hangs in the air. Your heart pounds so loudly you swear he can hear it.

He should say no immediately. It would be the easiest answer. The logical one. The one you expect.

But he hesitates.

His fingers curl against the polished surface of his desk, and his gaze lingers on the documents in front of him for just a second too long. It’s subtle—anyone else might not notice—but you do. His mask falters. Just a flicker.

And for a split second, you let yourself hope.

Then, his jaw tightens. His hands retreat beneath the table, as if physically pulling himself back. When he finally speaks, his voice is steady, controlled, and restrained—nothing like the eager, puppy-like man you knew him as when you first started dating.

“We’ll have to decline,” he says, and it’s final. Unshakable. Like he hadn’t wavered at all.

You nod stiffly, as if you hadn’t just watched something slip through his fingers. As if it hadn’t slipped through yours, too.

“Decline?” you blurt.

His face remains impassive. “Yes.”

You blink at him, momentarily stunned. You had anticipated that he would be difficult, but this—it’s too fast, too dismissive.

You steel yourself. “Why?”

“It’s not good enough.”

Your fingers clench around the hem of your blazer. “Can’t you separate private and work life?”

He meets your gaze, eyes dark and cool. “I am.” His voice is devoid of any warmth. “I don’t care. Your proposal is bad.”

The words strike harder than they should, more than just a professional critique. A cruel, deliberate dismissal. You know it’s personal—for the past two weeks that you’ve been at the Seoul branch, it has always been personal when it comes to him. Your blood simmers.

“I see.” You force your voice to remain level. “Would you like to point out what’s wrong with it?”

His lips press into a thin line. “No.”

A sharp, bitter laugh escapes you. “Of course not.”

Seungcheol leans back in his chair, arms crossing over his chest. “Four years ago, you didn’t choose me. So why should I choose your useless proposal?”

The shift is abrupt, the air sucked out of the room in an instant. Your nails dig into your palms.

“I have never loved anyone more than I loved you.” The words leave your lips before you can stop them, the truth of them ringing through the silence.

He scoffs, but there’s a flicker of something in his eyes, something raw. “You left me,” he says, voice edged with something dangerously close to hurt. “You. Left. Me.”

Your breath shudders. “You left me first.”

He leans forward, eyes searching yours, like he’s daring you to take it back. “How?” His voice is quieter now, but no less intense. “How did I leave you, when I was the one you abandoned in Seoul?”

Your vision blurs slightly. This. This is why it never worked between the two of you. He’s too bull-headed to even consider that he was in the wrong. 

You shake your head. “Why didn’t you fight for us?”

His jaw tightens. “Why didn’t you?”

A bitter taste coats your tongue. “You gave up so easily.”

His eyes flash. “No,” he says sharply, “you’re the one who brought up work all the time.”

Your hands tremble. “Because if it wasn’t about work, you wouldn’t talk to me!”

That stuns him. His mouth opens slightly, but nothing comes out. His brows knit together, the first crack in his mask of indifference.

You exhale shakily, pressing forward. “Because if I talked about anything else, I knew you wouldn’t listen,” you whisper, voice breaking. “I knew I’d be talking to a man who loved the idea of me more than he actually loved me.”

Seungcheol flinches as if you had struck him. His throat bobs, hands clenched into fists on top of his desk. “That’s not true,” he grits out, but there’s something in his voice—something unsteady, like the words are slipping through his fingers before he can stop them.

“Isn’t it?” you press. His breathing turns uneven, his jaw tightening like he’s physically holding himself back.

“You made me feel like I was a burden,” you continue, the words tumbling out, years of buried pain unraveling in real time. “Like you had to tolerate me between meetings and emails. Like being with me was just another responsibility to check off your list.”

He exhales sharply, like the air’s been knocked out of his lungs. His fingers twitch, gripping the desk so tightly that his knuckles go white. “That’s not—” He stops, biting his tongue, like even he can’t bring himself to finish that sentence.

A bitter laugh escapes you. “You don’t even believe yourself, do you?”

Seungcheol stands abruptly, chair scraping against the floor, his composure unraveling before your eyes. “I worked so damn hard for us,” he says, voice raw.

Your voice is small. “I never asked you to.”

His lips part, and for the first time since you stepped into his office, his expression isn’t blank or cold—it’s vulnerable. And it terrifies you.

His expression cracks, pain flickering through his eyes. “I was trying to build a future for you,” he says, voice raw, desperate. “For us.”

“You were so busy planning a future that you forgot to love me in the present.”

A tense silence falls between you, the weight of the past pressing down on both of you like an unbearable force. His breaths are uneven, his knuckles white from how tightly he’s gripping the edge of his desk.

Finally, he exhales, a bitter, tired laugh leaving his lips. He looks down at the proposal—still sitting there, untouched, still rejected.

“This meeting is over,” he mutters, his voice hoarse.

Your heart clenches painfully, but you nod, blinking rapidly to push back the tears. Without another word, you turn on your heel and walk out, leaving behind the shattered remnants of everything you once were.

When you get back to the safe haven that is your apartment, you retrace everything he had said. Or, rather, the accusations he had thrown at you. 

“You left me.”

“I was the one you abandoned in Seoul.”

“Why didn’t you fight for us?” “Why didn’t you?”

“I was trying to build a future for you. For us.”

Your heart strangely aches, remembering how shaken he looked when you called out his workaholic behavior. You had blamed him for the end of it all, but it takes two to end a relationship. Why didn’t you fight harder for him, back then? 

────୨ৎ──── Four Years Ago

You’re alone now. It’s what you wanted. To be free from the self-doubt that loving Seungcheol had drilled into you. 

Your chest constricted so tightly, you couldn’t breathe. 

────୨ৎ──── 

Two days after the disastrous office meeting, you’ve somehow managed to have the misfortune of sitting in front of your ex-boyfriend at a steakhouse for work. The restaurant is dimly lit, the low hum of conversation and clinking glasses filling the space. Your body practically vibrates from the tension. 

You can see Seungcheol’s gaze turn sharper every time he looks at you, and it makes it all the more insulting when he immediately brightens at Director Chun. You chug another glass of wine, hoping the buzz will numb the annoyance bubbling within you. 

“Thank you, Director,” you say, reaching over the table to shake your superior’s hand. “It was a pleasure.”

“No, thank you, Team Leader,” he chuckles. “We’re lucky to have such competent, young people working for us. I’m sure the Brennans will be thrilled to see this project come to a close so quickly.”

Seungcheol laughs. “We’re lucky to have you, Director.”

It’s so fake, you’re itching to get rid of the stupid grin off his smug face. 

“I’m sorry I have to leave so soon,” the director continues. “I’ll see you two back at the office?”

“Of course,” you say, standing up and bowing to him as he gets up from his seat. 

When the director finally leaves, you can’t help but clench your fists. Wanting to relieve the tension in your poor tendons, you reach for the wine bottle, refilling your glass for the nth time tonight. The rest of the restaurant is loud, but it is far too quiet in your corner of the room. 

Now you’re alone with Seungcheol.

The air crackles with an unspoken tension, thick and suffocating. Seungcheol, across from you, has his fingers curled tightly around the stem of his wine glass. His knuckles are practically white, the pressure of his grip betraying the storm raging inside him. 

He hasn’t touched much of his food, and barely spoke beyond a few clipped replies to you. He had really only responded to Director Chun all night. But it’s nothing new. You have long learned to recognize this silence; it’s the same, bitter one that had stretched between you in the months before you left him.

You don’t know why you told Joshua you could handle going to this. Why, after everything, did you let Seungcheol pull you into a setting so painfully intimate, so reminiscent of the past? The last time the two of you were in a restaurant like this, he had left for 40 minutes to take a call outside. 

Seungcheol swirls his drink absentmindedly, watching the ice shift in the glass before finally speaking. “You look well.”

You let out a breathy laugh, shaking your head. “Small talk? Really?”

His jaw tightens, and he sets his glass down with a quiet thud. “Would you rather we skip the pleasantries?”

“I’d rather we not pretend this is anything other than what it is.”

“And what is it?”

You lift your chin. “You tell me.”

Seungcheol exhales sharply, dragging a hand through his hair. He looks at you—really looks at you—for the first time since you sat down, and it sends a shiver down your spine. It’s the same expression he made when you were in his arms, four years ago.

The one that made you feel like the only person in the world. The one that he used to assure you that he loved you. 

And you hate yourself, because you can’t help but remember that he looked so good when he was yours. Worse, you can’t help but notice how he’s still devastatingly handsome. 

Only now, his gaze is shadowed with something darker. Something unresolved.

“You know, when you told me you wanted to end things, I could’ve accepted it,” he says, voice steady, but his fingers twitch slightly against the edge of the table. 

You swallow roughly.

“I could’ve accepted it if you said you just fell out of love with me,” he continues, “But then.” He takes a deep breath. “But then, you told me it was for my own good. That I wouldn’t be able to handle long distance.”

Your hands grip your wine glass. You want to say something, but you don’t know where to even start.

“You told me you loved me, and then…” he trails, before shakily saying, “abandoned me, because I couldn’t handle it?” He dips his head low, hands joining like he’s about to make a prayer. 

“Cheol, I—”

“Don’t. Just don’t.” 

Seungcheol stares intensely at his half-eaten steak, a strand of hair coming down from his forehead to poke at his eyes. Despite yourself, your hand instinctively lurches to tuck it behind his ears, before you quickly jolt it back. A cloud of shame begins to envelope your mind. It’s not fair. Why does your body remember him so well, even after he broke your heart? 

He takes a shaky breath before speaking again. “And you know what? That…that wasn’t even the worst part.” Choked up, he takes a deep breath and clenches his hands into fists to ground himself before continuing. “What’s worse, was what you said at the end.”

You furrow your brows, thinking back to all those years ago, right after you told him that he could finally focus on his work, and right before you walked away from him. 

────୨ৎ──── Four Years Ago

“I’m sorry for wasting your time,” you whispered. You didn’t dare to look at him. “I’m sorry I made you miss that convention for my birthday.” You sniffled, voice breaking. “You shouldn’t have had to do that. I’m sorry I made you watch those stupid movies, and that I made you go out when you didn’t want to. I should’ve been more considerate of your dreams, Cheol. I’m sorry, I’m sorry I only realized it now. I should’ve—”

You exhaled deeply, blinking your newest tears away. They fell down your cheeks in streams. “You won’t have to worry about that kind of useless stuff anymore, okay? You don’t need to deal with me anymore. I’m sorry you had to handle all of that for so long. I, I really lo…” 

You bit down on your lower lip, blinking desperately to get rid of your blurry vision. “I hope you get into the accelerator, Cheol. I know how hard you’ve worked for it. If anyone can do it, it’s you.” 

One last time, you smiled at him weakly, not meeting his eyes. “Goodbye, Cheol.”

And then you turned your back from him, walking away from the love of your life, partly because you really did wish him well on his startup journey, and mostly because you knew he was only with you out of obligation to himself—because he never loved you, anyway. 

────୨ৎ──── 

“Oh,” you say, eyes feeling strangely prickly. 

“I love—I loved you,” Seungcheol says, clutching his chest. He exhales roughly. “Did you not… see that?”

You blink rapidly.

His throat bobs as he swallows, eyes darting away for a brief moment. “I had plans for us,” he admits, voice quiet but strained. 

At the sight of his clear pain, your stomach twists uncomfortably. “Plans?”

He nods slowly, still refusing to meet your eyes. The candlelight on the table flickers between you, casting shadows that dance across his face, highlighting the tension in his furrowed brow. 

His mouth parts as if he’s about to say something—something important—but then he stops himself.

You reach across the table instinctively, your fingertips grazing his wrist. “Seungcheol. Don’t do this to me.”

He tenses beneath your touch but doesn’t pull away. Instead, he finally looks at you, and the sheer weight of emotion in his gaze nearly knocks the breath from your lungs. There is so much in his eyes—anger, regret, sadness, and a deep emotion you haven’t dared call love in years. All tangled together in a way that makes it impossible to separate one from the other.

“I was going to propose to you,” he confesses, his voice barely above a whisper.

Your breath hitches. For a second, the world tilts, the steady hum of the restaurant fading into white noise. You blink, your mind scrambling to process the weight of his words. “What?”

Seungcheol lets out a short, humorless laugh, shaking his head as if mocking himself. “I had the ring. I had everything planned out.” He exhales sharply, rubbing a hand over his face. “I was just… waiting for the right time.”

A sharp, painful lump forms in your throat. “Cheol—”

“But you left before I could,” he cuts in, his voice breaking at the edges. His eyes are glassy now, raw with unshed emotion. “You thought…you thought I didn’t love you enough. But I did. I loved you so much I—” He sucks in a shaky breath, his hands balling into fists on the table. “I was trying so hard to build a future for us. I wanted to give you everything.”

Tears burn behind your eyes, and your hands are still on his arm, but they’re shaking. “I didn’t need ‘everything,’” you whisper. “I just needed you.”

His face crumples for a split second before he forces his expression blank again. “I thought I was doing the right thing.”

Silence stretches between you, thick with everything you had never said to each other. The weight of missed moments, of love given but not received in the way it was needed, settles over the two of you like a monstrous thunderstorm. 

You nearly choke on the sob threatening to break free from your throat. “Why didn’t you say anything?”

His voice is hoarse, like he has swallowed glass. “Would it have changed anything?”

You want to say yes. You want to believe that if he had just told you, things would have been different. But deep down, you aren’t sure. Because the truth was, you had already been slipping away from each other long before you had walked out the door. 

You had told him you were leaving him so he could focus on his work. You had told yourself you were leaving him because he didn’t love you anymore. So, would you have really believed him if he had proposed to you? You’re not sure, but there’s no point in analyzing the hypothetical what-ifs, really. 

Because now, looking at the man who had once been your world, you wonder if you had ever really left him at all.

────୨ৎ──── Three Years Ago

It was Seungcheol’s birthday. It hit you while you were at the grocery store, in the fresh produce section.

You saw cherries.

You cried.

Later that day, your finger twitched over his contact on your phone, before falling to your hips. 

He was probably busy. He hadn’t texted or called you since the breakup, after all. He definitely wouldn’t want to hear from you even if he wasn’t busy, anyway. 

“I’m sorry,” you said out loud, knowing that the person who needed to hear it most wasn’t there. “I miss you. Happy birthday.”

────୨ৎ──── 

You blink, and suddenly you’re outside. There’s a chilly wind blowing against you, making you shiver. When you try to take a step forward, you find your body is too sluggish to move much. 

“You’ve had too much to drink,” Seungcheol says concernedly, his warm, strong hands finding an all too familiar spot against your waist.

“I’m fine,” you say, though your teetering body suggests otherwise. 

Somewhere between watching Seungcheol laugh at Director Chun’s obviously not funny jokes and trying to give your hand something to do instead of ball into fists hearing his confession, you had drunk far too much of the expensive bottle of wine that the director had bought for the three of you. 

Seungcheol says your name like it’s a warning, tone firm. 

But you can’t help but laugh. You’re too close to him now. And oh, he’s so warm. Instinctively, your body presses against him, because it’s familiar and comforting and something you’ve subconsciously been craving for the past four years with every fiber of your body. 

“I missed you,” you blurt. 

Seungcheol swallows roughly. 

“Fuck, don’t…” He can’t even bring himself to finish the sentence. “How did you get here? Taxi?”

You shake your head. “Too much money. Subway.”

“I’ll take you home, okay? Where are you staying now?” He squeezes your waist. 

“Mmh.” Thinking, you close your eyes, fully leaning into his touch. 

Three days ago, the company told you to move out of the original apartment they’d placed you in two weeks ago, and although you’d memorized how to get to your new place using the subway, you had yet to memorize the exact address. You’d always looked at your phone to double check, thinking that you’d be fine if you were stranded, since you’d always have your phone on you. Unfortunately, though, you hadn’t considered that you’d be lost if your phone died. 

“That’s not an address, sweetheart.” He inhales sharply, realizing his mistake after it leaves his lips. 

“I’m sorry,” you say with a frown, tears welling in your eyes. “Don’t remember.”

Here you were, wasting his time again. You’d left him four years ago because you were a hindrance to his career, and now you’re doing it again. Old habits die hard, don’t they?

You sniffle, “I’ll sober up soon, don’t worry. You can just leave me here. I’ll walk to the subway.”

Seungcheol’s throat bobs. “Hey, hey, don’t be sorry. I got you, okay? I’ll take you back to my place, if that’s okay?”

You nod, your voice small. “Okay.” 

He breathes a sigh of relief. 

Before you know it, Seungcheol has escorted you into the passenger seat of his car, and you’re on your way back to the house you had called your home only four years ago. 

“Did you miss me?” you ask childishly, staring at the driver with sleepy eyes.

His Adam's apple bobs up and down. 

For a moment, you don’t think he’ll answer. But then, he says softly, “I did.”

“Oh,” you say, and then you feel your eyelids get heavier. You let them close. 

Right before you fall asleep, you catch him whispering something that sounds a lot like, “I missed you so much, sweetheart.”

────୨ৎ──── Six Months Ago

You blinked rapidly. “In the fall?”

“Yes,” Director Chun said. “I’ll be heading over to the Seoul branch as well, for a few months at the very least. I promise you’ll be under one of our best. Department Head Choi Seungcheol is known for being collaborative. I’m sure the synergy will be great between the two of you.”

You froze. Surely, not. 

“Choi Seungcheol?” you asked breathily.

“Yes. Do you know each other?”

“No,” you said, far too quickly.

“Ah, I see. Perhaps he was impressed by the work you did with the Jeons,” the director said with a smile. “He requested you directly.”

Oh.

Oh.

────୨ৎ──── 

Sleep is supposed to be relaxing, isn’t it? So why does it feel like your chest is going to cave in on itself, like a big boulder has plopped itself down on you? 

You open your eyes quickly, only to be met with a mess of short, dark brown hair. 

You try to blow on the hair, only to feel it enter your mouth. It’s horribly dry.

“Ack,” you spit.

And then it occurs to you that your hair has never tasted like this, or looked like this, for that matter.

You try moving one of your arms to get rid of the annoying strands, only to find that it has also been rendered immobile. You tense your core, trying to flop like a worm, but it’s of no use. 

You furrow your brows, straining as hard as you can, but nothing happens. 

For a moment, you wonder if you’re having a nightmare. 

And then the boulder moves.

Your eyes widen into saucers. There’s only one explanation for this. You’ve only ever known one man who gives bear hugs in his sleep like this. 

“Choi Seungcheol?”

“Fuck,” it groans. “Thought I told you not to call me that, sweetheart.”

You close your eyes, wondering if you’re still dreaming. But when you open them again, you see Seungcheol’s face. 

Sleep lines are adorning his left cheek, and he blinks at you slowly. His pink lips are turned down in a slight pout, and the sight of him is so adorable, it makes you want to scream. 

“Did you…” you pause, mind racking an explanation. “Fall asleep on top of me?”

“You said you were cold,” he says slowly, eyes half-closed, voice deep. 

“Oh,” you say, then flush, feeling heat rush up the back of your neck and reach your ears. Trying to avoid eye contact with him, your eyes stray to your collarbone, and you see that you’re still wearing last night’s clothes. “Wait, did you let me into your bed with dirty clothes?”

“Mmph,” he says, rubbing his face into the crook of your neck. 

“Wow,” is all you can manage. He never let you do that when you were dating. 

“Go back to sleep, love,” Seungcheol mumbles. 

“Can’t breathe, Cheol,” you groan, patting his back. “Too heavy, baby.”

He groans but shifts off of you, then cuddles up next to you, hands finding your waist immediately. “Five more minutes.”

“Mmh,” you sigh contentedly. 

And as you close your eyes again, it occurs to you that Seungcheol is your ex, and that the two of you are definitely doing things that exes should not be doing. 

────୨ৎ──── Two Weeks Ago

You folded your pride. You extended an arm out to him first. 

“Department Head Choi Seungcheol, it’s a pleasure to work with you.” 

You spat his first and last name out like venom, knowing all too well that he hated being called by his full name. 

He stared at your outstretched hand, then scoffed.

Fuck. 

────୨ৎ──── 

When you wake up again, you’re alone in Seungcheol’s bed. Out of habit, your arm moves to pat the other side of the bed. 

For a moment, your mind flashes back to the lonely mornings you had with him four years ago. The days when the first thing you did after waking up was to check the other side of the bed, only for it to be cold. The hope of it all had fractured your heart slowly, but surely.

But today, for some reason, Seungcheol’s side is lukewarm. 

Confused at the lingering warmth, you sit up in his bed, rolling back the covers. 

Is it possible that he’s still here?

Then, you smell the distinct scent of ramen through the door to his room, which has been left slightly ajar. Planning on checking the kitchen, you move to get off the bed. But before your feet reach the ground, Seungcheol walks in.

He’s holding a tiny desk, the kind made for breakfast in bed. On it is a bowl of steaming ramen and a glass of water. 

“Morning,” he says with a shy smile, and oh—oh, it’s so full of endearment and joy and hope, of all things.

God, something about it is just so, so pure and domestic, it makes your chest constrict. Seungcheol had never made you breakfast in bed when you had dated, because he had always been the first to leave in the morning. 

But here he is, like he plans on making up for everything starting now. 

And with how bright his smile is, your heart is aching to just let him. 

“Is this… for me?” you ask in a small voice. Of course, it can’t possibly be for anyone but you, but something in you wants Seungcheol to admit it. 

Seungcheol nods. 

“Thank you,” you say. 

“Ramen’s your favorite hangover meal, right?”

You nod slowly, and Seungcheol grins, like he’s proud of himself for getting it right. But something about it pokes a nerve. What use is there in remembering it now, when you’re not together anymore? 

He watches you eat slowly, and you raise your eyebrows at the taste. 

“It’s really good,” you say between bites, giving a thumbs up. 

“Good,” he says, making intense eye contact with you. 

He’s completely focused on you, phone and computer completely out of sight, and it makes you squirm. Now that his attention is on you without any distractions, it’s too easy to see how gorgeous he is. 

You flush under his attention. “Stop looking at me,” you mumble.

“Don’t wanna,” he says dreamily, lying on his stomach on the bed, looking up at you with doe eyes. 

You giggle, covering your face with your hands in embarrassment.

Seungcheol reaches out to swat your hands away from your face, taking the opportunity to hold your hands. When you look at him again, you’re taken aback by how serious he suddenly is. 

Your laughter fades. 

He takes a deep breath, and your heart sinks. You already know what he’s going to say.

“Can we… try ag—”

“Cheol,” you gently cut him off, withdrawing your hands from his familiar grasp. “Let’s not… we’re not…” 

“Why not?” He looks at you innocently, with wide eyes. 

You take a shaky breath. “I can’t do this again, Cheol. It’s not good for me, and it’s not good for you.” 

At first, he just blinks at you, as if he misheard. But then, something in his expression hardens. “Who says you’re not good for me?”

“What?”

“Who says you’re not good for me?”

“Cheol,” you say with a sigh. “Let’s not do this again. It’s not gonna work.”

“Who says?” his voice breaks. 

────୨ৎ──── One Week Ago

“Again,” he said dryly. “Redo the business model.”

You held back your anger. “Yes, Department Head Choi Seungcheol. Is there anything else you would like me to do?” 

“Care more,” he said.

You frowned. “I have my full focus on this project, sir.”

“Care more,” he repeated. 

────୨ৎ──── 

“I’ve changed,” he says frantically. “I can prove it to you, I promise.”

Your chest constricts. 

“I won’t ever let you be lonely again, I promise. I won’t let it happen, I swear. I’m so, so sorry I hurt you back then, but I’m not the same man you left. I will never hurt you again.”

You swallow roughly, the ramen leaving a salty aftertaste in your mouth. 

“Seungcheol…”

He shuts his eyes tightly, like you’ve wounded him. 

“Please, call me Cheol again. Please, I can’t stand to hear you call me that.”

“It’s your name,” you tell him gently. 

“No, it’s not. To you, I’m Cheol,” he insists stubbornly, crossing his arms. You have to remind yourself to breathe at the sight. Since when was his body so defined? You have to look away from his pronounced biceps to regain your will.

“Look at me,” he says with a frown. You obliged and he continues, “Sweetheart, please. I promise I will never hurt you again. Please, please, take me back.”

On the bed, he’s kneeling now, hands drawn together as if in deep prayer.

“I won’t let work get in the way of loving you. It was horrible and so stupid of me and I’m so, so sorry but it was only when I lost you that I realized I forgot what the point of working was. It was to provide for you, and I couldn’t do that if you were gone because I didn’t properly show you the love you deserved. I’m so, so sorry, my love. Please give me another chance?”

Seungcheol looks at you with so much sadness, but the history you had with his ghost makes you unsure about what to do. 

“I don’t know, Cheol…”

He smiles weakly, resigned. “At least you’re back to calling me Cheol, though. Right?”

You nod slowly. 

All of a sudden, Seungcheol lights up, like a last-minute godsend of an idea came to his mind. “If it’s too hard to say yes now, how about taking it slow?”

“What does that mean?” His definition of taking it slow probably isn’t like yours. 

“I can take you out on some dates, and then you could decide?” 

Your heart sinks. He’s so hopeful—eyebrows raised, eyes wide, mouth parted. 

You don’t know if you have it in you to say no.

You press your lips together. 

Seungcheol must have sensed danger in your face, because he immediately interjects with a rushed confession before you even open your mouth.

“I love you. So much. I loved you then, and I loved you after you left, and I love you now. There was no one after you, you know?” He looks a bit crazed, hands scrunching the blankets roughly. 

Your heart jolts. 

He continues, “You were everything to me—and still are. There wasn’t a single day that I didn’t think about you. But I couldn’t bring myself to reach out because I thought you hated me.”

He’s not exactly wrong. You did hate him. Then again, there’s a fine line between love and hate. Both are powerful emotions that require you to care about the person in question. 

“I even quit the startup because I realized it had eaten up all my time, ‘cause it had taken you away from me.”

You gasp. This was the answer to why Choi Seungcheol, self-made entrepreneur who insisted on refusing to work for anyone but himself, had strangely become the department head of a company that he never had a hand in creating. 

“I was,” he sighs self-deprecatingly, “unemployed for a while. Until I heard you were working here, and then I made it my mission to climb the ranks until I could ask for you to get transferred to Seoul. And when you accepted, I was so…”

Your heart breaks a little for him.

“I thought it was a sign.” Hesitantly, he clarifies, “That you might want to try again.”

You inhale sharply. There he goes, again. Talking so sweetly. Back then, that was all he ever did to show you that he loved you. It wasn’t enough then, so why would it be enough now? 

At your silence, Seungcheol hangs his head, and your fingers twitch, wanting to reach out to him.

Except it’s different now, isn’t it? He’s finally doing all the things you once wished he would. Isn’t that what you wanted from him? You don’t trust him yet. But he’s trying, now, and every muscle in your body aches with an impossibly deep desire to pull him into your arms. 

You exhale, and out with your breath goes your final worries.

Your lips part before you’ve fully decided what to say. 

"Okay."

It’s barely a whisper, but it might as well be a strike of thunder with the way Seungcheol’s head snaps up. His eyes widen, mouth parting like he’s afraid he misheard you.

"Okay?" His voice trembles, cautious, like one wrong move could shatter whatever fragile thing is forming between you.

Your throat tightens. The weight of this—of him—presses down on you, but you nod anyway.

For a second, he doesn’t breathe. Then, his face crumples, and the sheer relief in his expression makes something in you splinter. His hands twitch where they rest on the blankets, like he wants to reach for you but doesn’t dare. He’s waiting—because this time, he knows he has to let you come to him.

And you do.

Slowly, hesitantly, you lean forward. His breath hitches, but he doesn’t move away. Your forehead brushes his, a soft press that feels like a heartbeat between you. You feel the warmth of his skin, the way his breath mingles with yours in the inches of space that remain.

Seungcheol exhales shakily, like he’s been holding it in for years. His hands hover near your waist, unsure, unsteady. He doesn’t pull you closer—he’s learned now—but he craves it.

Your eyes flutter shut, leaning into his touch, telling yourself it’d only be for a second. Just long enough to let yourself feel him, really feel him, without the weight of the past crushing you.

His voice is barely above a whisper, breath fanning across your lips. “Sweetheart…”

You could fall apart at the way he says it, so quiet, so reverent—like he’s afraid you’ll disappear if he speaks too loud.

Your heart aches for more, but your mind reminds you of how he had left scars in your heart. For now, this form of affection would have to be enough. 

After a few minutes in his arms, you reluctantly pull away to check the address of your new apartment on your finally-charged phone. Seungcheol drops you off, walking you to your door. You don’t invite him in, and he doesn’t ask. But something about the way he looked at you, right before you walked inside your apartment, lingers in your mind long after he leaves. He’d looked at you like you’d hung every glittering star in the sky. 

Four years ago, you had decided that this gaze was something he’d manufactured while putting up with you. Maybe, you were wrong.

────୨ৎ──── 

Seungcheol keeps his promise of taking things slow. He’d arranged for you to meet him at a cafe the next day, and he’s already there when you get there. It’s a small, cozy place tucked into a quieter part of the city, the kind with warm lighting and the scent of freshly ground coffee drifting in the air. 

You hesitate for a second when you see him through the window, seated at a booth near the back, fingers idly tapping against the ceramic cup in front of him. Then, before you can second-guess yourself, you push open the door.

His eyes meet yours instantly, and for a moment, he looks breathless—like he’s just as nervous as you are. But then he smiles. It’s a tiny, careful thing, but it makes your heart drum a little faster anyway. As you approach, he stands up, hand on his heart.

“Hey,” he says, voice soft, like he’s afraid to scare you away.

“Hey,” you reply, sliding into the seat across from him. 

The booth is familiar. For a second, you’re struck by the memory of late-night conversations, of stolen kisses over half-finished drinks. You really were deep in love, back then.

You shake the thought away as Seungcheol gestures toward the counter.

“Still the same order?” he asks, the corner of his mouth lifting in something that isn’t quite a smirk but close enough that you recognize it as one of his signature expressions. You raise an eyebrow.

“You think I’d change it?”

“I don’t know,” he admits, tilting his head slightly. “A lot of time has passed.”

You exhale a small laugh. “Yeah, well. Some things stay the same.”

Something shifts in his gaze, a flicker of relief, of hope, before he nods. He waves down a barista and places the order without hesitation—exactly how you like it. When the cup is finally set in front of you, you find yourself staring at it for a beat too long, a strange warmth pooling in your chest.

“Thanks,” you murmur, wrapping your fingers around the cup.

Seungcheol watches you, his own drink forgotten, but he doesn’t push. Instead, he leans slightly forward, forearms resting on the table as he asks, “So, what’s new?”

You take a sip, letting the warmth settle in your stomach before answering. “Well, I have a wedding to go to next month.”

His eyebrows lift slightly, intrigued. “Oh?”

“Yeah. My coworker from the New York branch, Lee Chan, is getting married next month. I gotta fly out for it.” You swirl your drink absentmindedly, watching the steam curl into the air. “It’s kind of crazy. Feels like yesterday he was complaining about bad Tinder dates, and now he’s getting married.”

Seungcheol huffs a small laugh. “Guess he finally found the right person.”

“Yeah,” you say, a little softer. “Guess he did.”

There’s a pause, and you realize that for all the implications, for the way the topic is naturally leading to the idea of a plus one, you don’t bring it up. And, notably, neither does he. The question lingers, unspoken but present. Instead, Seungcheol shifts the conversation.

“You still baking?”

You groan, dragging a hand down your face. “If you can even call it that.”

He grins. “That bad?”

“Worse.” You sigh dramatically. “I was trying to perfect my chocolate chip cookies, right? Like, I found this recipe online, and it looked completely foolproof. But somehow, I nearly burned down my apartment.”

His amusement vanishes instantly. “What?”

“I mean, not literally,” you backtrack quickly, waving a hand. “But there was a lot of smoke. And my oven might hate me now.”

Seungcheol’s brows furrow in concern. “That apartment’s new, isn’t it?”

You nod. “Yeah, company orders. Still trying to get used to it.”

He exhales through his nose, tilting his head as he studies you. “Isn’t it hard? Being in such an unfamiliar place?”

You blink, caught off guard. “Oh, uh, I guess?”

His tone is casual—too casual—but you’re not oblivious. You see the way he watches you intently, the way he’s gauging your reaction. He thinks he’s being subtle, but it’s clear what he’s hinting at. Someday, maybe you won’t have to be in an unfamiliar place. Maybe you could come back home, to me.

You let out a small breath, looking down at your drink. “It’s fine,” you say after a moment. “It’s just an adjustment.”

Seungcheol doesn’t push, but his fingers tighten slightly around his cup. “If you ever need anything…”

“I know,” you say, and you mean it. Because for the first time in a long time, it feels like he actually means it, too.

The conversation shifts again, moving from baking disasters to random anecdotes about work, about old stories that slip out without either of you realizing. And throughout it all, you notice something: Seungcheol is listening.

Not just nodding along, not just waiting for his turn to speak. He’s really listening—leaning in, responding at the right moments, his gaze locked on yours with a kind of attentiveness that makes your stomach flip in a way you don’t want to acknowledge yet.

It’s different. He’s different.

And maybe, just maybe, that’s why this doesn’t feel like a mistake.

Fuck, do you love him, still?

────୨ৎ──── 

After the weekend cafe date with Seungcheol came the work week, much to your displeasure. Today has been an especially exhausting day. The kind that seeps into your bones, weighing down your limbs, making even the simple act of unlocking your apartment door feel like a chore. You barely manage to kick off your shoes before collapsing onto the couch, groaning into the cushions.

You didn’t even hear your phone buzzing at first. It takes a few rings before you muster enough energy to blindly fumble for it.

“Hello?” Your voice is muffled, with your face buried against the pillow.

“You sound dead,” comes Seungcheol’s voice, laced with amusement but tinged with concern.

“Feel like it too,” you groan. “Long day.”

There was a pause on the other end. Then, softly, “Have you eaten?”

“I had lunch,” you say. 

Another pause. Then, decisively, “I’m coming over.”

“What? No, you don’t have to—”

“Too late. I’m already on my way.”

And just like that, the call ends. You blink owlishly at your screen, a bit too drained to call him back in protest.

Twenty minutes later, a knock comes from your door.

When you open it, Seungcheol stands there, hair still slightly tousled from the wind outside, carrying a takeout bag in one hand and a six-pack of your favorite drinks in the other.

“You used to drink these when you were stressed,” he says, holding up the pack as if that explains everything.

Your heart does something funny in your chest, but do your best to ignore it. Instead, you step aside, letting him in for the first time. 

Seungcheol makes himself comfortable in your kitchen, as if it’s the most natural thing in the world. He unpacks the food and searches for utensils without asking you for help. And before you know it, you’re sitting at your small dining table, warm food in front of you, while he nudges a drink toward your hand.

The silence is comfortable. You didn’t realize how much you needed this until now—until the tension in your shoulders starts to ease, until the simple act of eating next to someone who cares about you makes the world feel a little less heavy.

At some point, you sigh, rolling your neck to work out a kink. You hadn’t meant for it to be noticeable, but Seungcheol caught it immediately. Without a word, he shifts his chair closer and places a warm hand against your shoulder, thumb pressing gently into the tension there.

You freeze.

“It’s okay,” he murmurs, voice softer now. “I got you. Just relax.”

And somehow, without even thinking, you do.

It isn’t grand, or dramatic, really. It’s just the quiet comfort of someone who knows you better than you thought he did. Who is all of a sudden remembering the little things, after all these years. He eases the weight of the world off your shoulders without even trying.

You don’t pull away.

And neither does he.

────୨ৎ──── 

A week later, and the workday is winding down. But the plans you’ve been looking forward to—a nice dinner that feels like a step forward, another stitch in the frayed edges between you and Seungcheol—suddenly teeter on the edge of collapse.

You’re gathering your things when Director Chun steps into the office, looking around before his gaze lands on Seungcheol.

"Department Head Choi Seungcheol," Chun calls, his voice even but firm. "I need you to stay back for a bit. The New York office just called me about a misalignment between Mr. Han’s vision and the work we submitted to their team. We need to smooth it over before tomorrow morning. I estimate it won’t take very long."

Your breath catches. Director Chun always sugarcoats things. It wouldn’t be just a couple more minutes, it’d be several hours of extra work. 

It’s just a few words, a simple request by the director. But it’s enough to send you spiraling.

Because you've been here before.

You know how this story ends.

Your grip tightens around the strap of your bag as a million thoughts flood in, rapid and overwhelming. He’s going to say yes. Of course, he’s going to say yes. 

Work will always come first. It always has, always will. 

He’ll put you second again, and you’ll be left waiting, just like before.

The words you want to say—please don’t go, pick me, just this once—stick like molasses to the back of your throat.

You can’t stay here to hear him confirm it. You can’t bear to watch it happen all over again.

You walk away before Seungcheol answers the director, your feet carrying you toward the stairwell in a daze. The second the heavy door shuts behind you, a shaky breath escapes your lips. Your fingers press against your temples as you squeeze your eyes shut, willing away the sting that threatens to turn into tears. 

Your chest constricts so harshly, you think you might be having a heart attack.

It shouldn't hurt this much.

But it does.

The past and present blur together in your mind—memories of cold dinners, of unanswered texts, of waiting and waiting and waiting. Until you stopped waiting altogether.

Why on earth did you think that things would be any different, now? 

The door swings open with a rush of air.

"Sweetheart?"

Your stomach drops.

Seungcheol steps inside, eyes scanning the dimly lit stairwell before landing on you. His brows pull together in concern as he closes the distance between you.

"Hey," he murmurs, reaching out hesitantly. "What’s wrong?"

You shake your head, stepping back before his fingers can brush against your arm. "You don’t have to be here, Cheol."

He frowns. "What are you talking about?"

Defeated, you let out a humorless laugh, gesturing vaguely. "You don’t have to chase after me just to make me feel better about you choosing work over dinner. I get it. I know how this goes."

A pause. Then, softly, "Is that what you think happened?"

The sincerity in his voice makes you falter.

You blink at him, your heart pounding, confusion creeping in through the cracks of your resolve. "What do you mean?"

Seungcheol exhales, running a hand through his hair before stepping closer. This time, you don’t move away.

"I told Director Chun I couldn’t stay," he says, voice steady. "I told him I had a prior commitment, and that I wasn’t going to break it."

Your eyes widen comically. "What?"

His lips twitch into something that’s not quite a smile, but close. "I said no, sweetheart. I told him I had somewhere more important to be."

More important.

Your throat tightens.

"You—" The words catch, and you have to stop yourself from immediately replying, trying to process it. "You said no?"

"I did." His gaze softens, the weight of the moment settling between you. "I told you I wouldn’t let work come between us again."

His voice is quiet, but it carries years’ worth of unspoken apologies.

Of love that had once been misplaced, misdirected, but never truly lost.

Your eyes flicker over his face, searching. And the truth is written in the way he looks at you—open, unwavering, as if he’s willing you to believe him.

And you do.

It’s terrifying how easily you do.

The wall you’d built, the one meant to protect you from this very moment, begins to crumble under the warmth in his gaze.

Your breath shudders. "Cheol…"

His hand lifts, hovering near your cheek, close enough that you can feel the heat of it but not touching. His wide, sparkling eyes look eagerly into yours—giving you the choice, letting you decide.

Your chest tightens at his cute patience, the silent question lingering between you.

The space between you grows smaller.

You don’t know who moves first, but suddenly, you’re impossibly close, the tips of your noses nearly brushing. His breath fans over your lips, and your eyes flutter shut.

He doesn’t move to kiss you, but that’s okay. Because you’re finally ready to cross that line. 

Tilting your chin up into him, your lips meet, and the warmth of him grounds you in a way that nothing else ever replaced, or ever could. His lips are so, so, soft, and as he melts into the kiss, he lets out a small content sigh. Everything about him is familiar, and yet, somehow different. It’s charged with a kind of electric buzz, the tension from the past weeks finally coming to a head. 

For a moment, the world is still. You only see Seungcheol. 

Then, in a voice so soft it almost disappears into the quiet of the stairwell, Seungcheol parts from your lips for just a centimeter, whispering, "I meant what I said. You don’t have to worry anymore. I’m 110% for you, I love you."

You close your eyes, exhaling against his skin, relishing his touch. And you say the next words with a full chest, “I love you so much, Cheol.”

Because for the first time in a long time, you believe him. 

Masterlist

Author's Note: did u get the title?? seungcheol's the python bc he makes ur chest constrict and love is hard and hurts us sometimes anywayz happy valentines day <3

Disclaimer: nothing i write is representative of how svt acts off camera, take their names as stand-ins for oc's!!

Taglist: @syluslittlecrows - @junplusone - @fragmentof-indifference - @junniesoleilkth - @woncheecks - @peachypie97 - @viciousdarlings - @11zzyy - @thepoopdokyeomtouched - @dmstoyangyang - @christinewithluv - @snowcake666 - @rjreins - @namk00kie - @homelouisgirl - @slvrstrs - @jimintopiaaaa - @coupshour - @babycaratdeul

[amortxt]

⠀ㅤ⠀ ⠀𖥻⠀ㅤ⠀﹫⠀kento⠀nanami.

ㅤㅤⓘㅤㅤfluff, reader and kento are married + have a daughter, f!reader as it contains mentions of reader going through motherhood + being called mother, reader is implied to have taken nanami as a last name.

"shhh, shh, it's okay.. it's okay sweetheart.."

it was originally kento that had encouraged you to leave for this trip. you thank all your lucky stars for your husband being as supportive as he was throughout your journey of motherhood. never allowing you to have to pick your career over your family or your family over your career.

he was your balance. your hold onto the ground when you felt like you were ready to float away.

he was your everything.

but now he had begun to regret letting you leave today. your daughter was 7 months old. he had told you, that surely she was okay to spend just two nights away from her mother. but it seemed she had grown near inseparable from her mother. all understanding for just a baby, but in this moment he couldn't bare having to hear his daughter cry further. he was ready to begin breaking down himself at this point.

he tiredly reached for his phone. shamefully calling your number at 2 am, fully aware you had an important meeting early next morning. how he loathed himself at the moment. grumbling out a "dear god" as the phone rang for a few seconds.

you picked up shortly, unsurprisingly. you had made it very clear to him that he should call you no matter what, whenever he needed if he needed help. he had assured you that it wouldn't have to come to that, so you couldn't help but smile when you heard your daughters wailing in the background.

"didn't need me huh?" he didn't even need to see you. he could practically hear your insufferable smirk, that he unfortunately missed more than ever.

"never said that. now please god, sweetheart, she's not stopped crying for a good half an hour." you laughed, still on the other side of the world you were being woken up because of your daughters crying late at night. it was humorous, and strangely sweet.

you requested a facetime, and he accepted quickly. you looked straight into your daughters teary eyes, and she looked back all bug eyed, her crying slowly coming to a stop. you didn't know if she was more thrilled to see you or the metal square shine a bright light in her face.

"hi baby, you're not giving your papa a hard time, right?" your daughter responded in little babbles. your heart warmed a little, and you could see your beloved grinning in the background. you hadn't admitted it- barely even noticed it in fact, how much you truly missed your little family. you needed this too.

you and your daughter continued baby-talking for a good few minutes until you could see her yawning, to which kento had placed a bottle into her mouth. she slowly began to fall asleep, drinking the now lukewarm milk.

you looked at your husband with loving eyes. he looked back at you with just the same fervor. like you were his whole world, like you'd hung up the stars for him. even as you were halfway across the world from him. he would never hate you for caring about your career. it made you practically ill with adoration.

"stay on call with me please? i miss you."

"i miss you too, sweetheart. of course i will."

"goodnight, i love you papamin."

"goodnight mamamin. i love you too."

⠀ㅤ⠀⠀©⠀all work written by ﹫amortxt. do not repost.

[pinkgic]

ex-boyfriend fratboy!rafe. god help me!

cw. smut (mdni), fem!reader, toxic relationship, alcohol and drug use, mirror sex, degradation kink.

the music sounds distant, muffled by the white-tiled walls that appeared a light, smudged gray thanks to the alcohol fogging your brain—and the way his pelvis kissed your ass with each plap-plap-plap, echoing in the bathroom of a party you weren’t even supposed to be at. for this exact reason. you knew how it would end. with your lame coked-up excuse of an ex inside you.

and still, you couldn't even answer the big, ugly question sitting in your gut: why the fuck do i keep letting him do this? your body had betrayed you again, thighs spread wide and shaking as his cock hit that spot that made your toes curl against the cold tile. and, of course, your eyes met his in the large, square mirror above the sink. a voyeuristic form of self-loathing. as if you needed to confirm, once again, how the promises of, “no, i’m not gonna talk to him, not even look at him, i promise!” made to your friends, were entirely baseless.

perhaps even they had already accepted it—

“fuck,” he groaned, and a grin stretched across his stupidly handsome face as you let out another loud moan when his fat tip grazes your g-spot, bingo. thankfully, for the sake of your peace of mind (because he, more than once, hadn’t cared if the entire party heard how good his cock made you feel), the host’s house was massive. you’d ended up here with him because all the other bathrooms were occupied when the drinks you’d downed earlier hit, and that’s how you found yourself in the second-floor bathroom at the end of the hall. that's how “pee-and-leave” turned into this.

his right hand—the one not gripping your shoulder with his beefy arm wrapped tightly around your trembling torso—moved up, cupping your jaw and forcing you to look into the mirror at the two of you: sweaty, panting bodies. 

“fuckin’ look at that,” he panted, gaze flicking down. “hah, shit, look how those two bounce,” he slapped the side of your breast, leaving a hot, stinging mark. he was so mean.

and you hated yourself for clenching around him because of it.

his laugh was this low, mean sound, vibrating against your back as he leaned forward, his chest slick with sweat pressing into you like he needed to get as deep as possible. fucking gross. the thought was interrupted by the hot breath skating over the shell of your ear. “see that face you’re making?” he murmured. “‘s my favorite one. you look so—fuckin’—wrecked.”

and god, if he wasn’t right. your eyeliner had betrayed you hours ago, smeared into shadows that made your eyes look too big, too wide, like a haunted doll. your lips were red and swollen, half from the sloppy kiss that started this whole thing and half from biting down so hard to keep yourself quiet. the woman staring back at you was enjoying it, there was no way to deny that.

“shut up,” you hissed, you just wanted to look away. but his fingers curled tighter around your jaw, already marking his digits there.

“you don’t want me to shut up,” he taunted, his hips rolling deeper, lazier. like he had all the time in the world to ruin you. “you love it when i talk, when i tell you how fuckin’ good you’re taking it, like the slut you are.”

you hated him. you hated him so much you could cry—you were going to cry, but for different reasons. you hated the way he always knew exactly what to say, to keep you squeezing him between your slick walls, and getting you addicted every day a little bit more, increasing the dose.

but the worst part—the part that made your chest twist like a wet towel, wringing out something raw and acidic—was how he was right. he always was. every damn time. you hated how he’d figured you out. he was your ex, goddamn it!

because yeah, you did love it. loved the sound of his low voice dragging over your nerves like a matchstick ready to explode a bomb. loved the way his cock stretched you open until it felt like your brain short-circuited, leaving nothing but static between your ears. loved that stupid smirk, too. it wasn’t fair. he wasn’t fair. 

you tried to focus on anything else—the way the faucet dripped, the faint bassline pulsing through the floor beneath you, keeping your eyes open. “rafe,” you whispered in a treacherous moan.

his hand slid down your belly, splayed wide like he was claiming you, branding you his. “tell me,” his voice was almost tender now, mockery softened by the way he groaned as you clenched around him. “tell me how much you hate me while you’re drippin’ all over my cock.” 

you didn’t say anything. couldn’t. your throat tightened as your hips jerked back to meet his thrusts, sharp and desperate, chasing something you’d regret in the morning along with the hangover. or maybe right after you came. but right now, you needed it like you needed air. 

his laughter curled around you, mean and knowing, as his hand slid up your belly, splayed possessively just under your ribs. like he owned you. like he always had, no matter how many times you’d tried to scrape him out of your system. “that’s what I thought,” he muttered, his lips brushing your temple like a kiss. like he thought he was being romantic, like he thought this was some kind of fucked-up love story. “hate me all you want, baby. but this?” his hand slid lower, between your legs, pinching your sensitive clit, making you bite your lip hard enough to taste blood as your legs buckled. “this don’t lie.”

[sstan-hoe]

𝐊𝐞𝐞𝐩 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐄𝐧𝐝 𝐨𝐟 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐁𝐚𝐫𝐠𝐚𝐢𝐧

𝒑𝒂𝒊𝒓𝒊𝒏𝒈 — demon!bucky barnes × fem!reader

𝒔𝒖𝒎𝒎𝒂𝒓𝒚 — your boyfriend bought the perfect house, he said. The house in question beeing a ruin. You hated it but loved him. However, finding an old book and a cocky demon was not what you expected. He proposes a deal, will you accept? What if you don't keep your end of the bargain?

𝒘𝒂𝒓𝒏𝒊𝒏𝒈𝒔 — SMUT, light degration and dumbification, oral (both f/m receiving), p in v without protection, reader has short sex with bf and then later with bucky, filthy sex, a little rough and dirty talk — I'm a little rusty so please don't hate it too much lol

𝒏𝒐𝒕𝒆 — do you remember me? I sure hope so! I'm not saying I'm back, but I'm slowly coming back...for how long? idk. Anyway, I adore demon!bucky, and I love beetlejuice, so I kinda mixed it up. Please don't forget to give feedback!! Yeah also this has 7.8k words.

With a sigh you heaved a box out of the car, not believing you actually trusted your boyfriend when he said, he found the ‘perfect house’. Aside from the fact that he made questionable choices in the past, you should have checked it beforehand.

Now here you were, in front of a ruin almost and nothing about this house made you feel at ease. It looked like it would fall into itself at any moment, shabby windows and a broken roof.

Shaking your head, you walked inside with a spark of hope that inside looked better than outside. Spoiler, it did not.

“How could he buy something like this?” you whispered to yourself while putting the box down. He probably bought because it was cheap, and it was cheap because no one wanted it…wonder why?

Furthermore, there were two of you and this house was big enough for a family of four with a dog. Meaning it was too big and hadn’t even talked about children – not that you were ready anyway.

You decided to walk up the stairs, look a bit around as a sign of good will. Maybe it looked better in the higher parts.

Everything looked as if it would collapse every second, the wood crunching beneath your feet. The awful smell of moulding floor and plaster falling off the walls, made you roll your eyes. How could anyone want to live here?

At last, you found the stairs leading up to the attic, perhaps anything, really anything interesting was up there. You tried opening the door, but it seemed locked, again you forced your whole body against it and with a cracking sound it opened. You tried opening the door, but it seemed locked, again you forced your whole body against it and with a cracking sound it opened.

You stepped inside, looking around you saw furniture and a long table covered with white sheets. Curiosity got the best of you, taking the edges of the sheet and ripping it off.

Beneath it was a model of this town, the town you were in right now. It made you wonder how old this house was – or wait no, it was decades old, you didn’t need to wonder.

“Awesome, good job Andy,” you muttered to yourself as you let yourself fall onto a covered armchair. Your eyes wandered around the room, fixing on a box filled with paper. Pulling it closer, you lifted it on your lap.

Whoever lived here before forgot it apparently, inside were just pictures, some letters, and a book. “God, how old is this thing?” you asked yourself looking at the book.

It was covered in dust, wiping it away you noticed a different kind of writing, it almost seemed like runes. It probably was not the right decision to open the book, but there was nothing more interesting in this house.

 To your surprise, inside the book were letters you could actually ready, and you could pinpoint what Kind of language it was; Latin.

“Could not have become any weirder, found a real gem there Andy,” you muttered to yourself. No wonder the house was this cheap, crazy people lived here. “Honestly, as if they called upon some demons every Sunday, and probably truly believed some creature with four legs and horns would appear.” Shaking your head, you stood up and threw the book aside.

“Now you wounded me honey,” a voice behind you said, and it did not belong to Andy. With a scream you jumped up, turning around to face a man...,“Who are you?” you stuttered, not believing this was really happening.

He was tall, had broad shoulders, his brown hair was long but still a short, framing his face well. Then there were his dark eyes and his arrogant smirk...was he wearing a suit?

“Oh, do you not recognize me because I only have two legs and no horns?” he chuckled, taking a step closer to you. His whole being seemed dark, like only bad things followed him.

Something inside your brain snapped, as if it was overstimulated with the situation, “funny, this is so fucking funny, Andy!” you shouted through the attic. The man in front of you only chuckled, “listen I’m all for hearing a woman scream, but do you mind keeping it down?” His voice slightly hardening at the end.

You wanted to roll your eyes, now you we’re convinced he was a man – at least. “I’m leaving now, and once I’m gone you won’t exist anymore because you’re just part of my imagination,” you told him, hoping that you we’re right and you would wake up any minute.

He walked around you, coming to stand in front of the entrance. His frame almost as broad as the door, it made him even more intimidating. Face dark and calm, with no sign of humanity.

“You would like that would you not? But you can’t, can’t leave this house behind because of sweet Andy...,” he taunted you, and he was right, you couldn’t get out of this house...but you didn’t tell him that.

“Wondering how I know that? You should be a lot more careful with the books you’re Reading,” his grin spread across his face, taking a step closer to you.

“How bad do you want to leave this house?” he whispered, not stopping until he was right in front of you. His warm breath against your lips. You didn’t know what to say, if you should answer honestly...after all you we’re standing in the attic with a strange man.

“Fuck you,” was what you decided on and shoved him to the side. Bucky laughed, but as soon as he saw you glaring at him stopped although he couldn’t stop smirking,  “we’ll see about that.” You ignored his words and opened the door to leave this bloody attic.

Downstairs you found Andy who looked like a little kid on Christmas morning, he loved this house and you. Most of all he loved the future you two would be able to start here.

It broke your heart, not knowing if you would ever love this house like he did, if you could see the future, he did…for now you shook that thought away, thinking you would just work through all the weird occurrences. Maybe you’re just catching a cold, and there is no man upstairs. – And you would definitely send Andy up there to check if he could see that man too.

“And what do you think?” he stood in front of you, a wide grin stretched across his lips, “I know we have a lot to do, but it’s ours,” he wrapped his arm around your waist. A lot might be an understatement, and where would all the money come from?

“Yeah…ours,” you muttered, looking into his bright eyes. “We can grow old hear together,” he added, pressing a soft kiss to your cheek. You tried your best to smile at him.

---

Two weeks went by, construction workers came in and out of the house, working on the roof and façade. Shortly after your conversation with Andy, you showed him the attic, the book and nothing happen. Nothing happened in the last two weeks, so it had to be imagination.

Right at this moment, you stood in the kitchen – well it wasn’t much of a kitchen yet. You were crouched on the floor, trying to get those tiles clean and see if anything was still usable of that wood.

You opened a cardboard door and were met with something big and hairy, you tilted your head to get a better look when it suddenly moved, looking straight at you.

A loud scream came from your mouth, making the animal start running out of the kitchen. You wanted to cry.

Andy quickly came into the kitchen, “sweetheart what happened?” coming to a stop next to you. “There was a rat, a fucking rat Andy. There are animals everywhere,” you complained.

“It’s not that bad, we’ll have them out in no time,” he promised you, just as a loud crash came from the roof. Just then a constructer came in, “sorry guys, but there is mold on your roof, think it might get a little more expensive.”

You looked at Andy, watching his reaction intensely but he didn’t seem fazed at all. “Seriously? This is money we don’t have, you’re a lawyer not a trust fund baby! This house is a ruin, everyday there is a new problem, how can you not care?”

Andys eyes widened in shock, he didn’t expect you to have such an outburst. But it was understandable, after all everything was a little stressing at the moment. Gently he touched your shoulder, a soft smile on his lips, “don’t worry sweetheart, we will find a solution, I already thought of this.”

Quickly you stood up, “you already thought there was fucking mold on that roof? Then why buy this house, why spend this much money?” he could not be serious, this money could be used for so much more.

“No, not really, but I knew it wouldn’t be easy, that’s why I put some extra money aside,” he told you, coming to stand up next to you. You didn’t understand how he could be so calm, like everything was alright.

“Just ask, leave this house behind, live a nice life,” a voice whispered into your hear, dark and rough. A faint wave of warm breath flowed around your ear, “what?” you asked out loud, this wasn’t real?

“What?” your boyfriend repeated, looking a little confused, taking a quick look around. “Did you say something?” you asked him, it had to be Andy talking.

“I have everything under control, don’t worry,” he caressed your cheek and kissed your lips, you didn’t immediately react. Andy tilted his head a little, searching for something in your eyes, “hey, anyone there?” he questioned.

“Yeah, yeah I’m here,” you lifted your head to meet his gaze, “just need a breather,” you said, trying your best to smile at him. The man next to you nodded, just wanting you to be happy, he didn’t see how unhappy you actually were, how close you were to breaking.

As soon as you stepped out of that house, it felt like a weight being lifted of your shoulders. How could Andy stay this positive? There were rats, racoons and mold inside, doors that broke with a light touch and it was probably haunted. There was nothing in this house that would lift your mood.

“Still don’t wanna make a deal?” the same voice as before said, you swiftly turned around, now face to face with a familiar man. Every word on the tip of your tongue was gone, you were speechless.

“Oh, come on…you really thought I wasn’t real?” he grinned, face so close his nose was almost touching yours. You took a step back, glaring at him and hoping he would vanish into fin air.

“Fine, you’re real. What do you want? My soul?” you asked, you’ve heard stories about demons before and all of them included people losing their souls. However, none of them had the demon persistently asking for a deal, almost as if he was desperate.

“Normally, yes. But you my darling are too pretty for that…I want you, just for one night,” he didn’t move closer to you, still it felt like something was pulling you in.

“You want to sleep with me?” you asked astounded, this sounded like some the beginning of a bad porn video. What could he possibly have of this? You would never cheat on Andy, but could that be all? “Yes, I do and trust me once you had a taste, you will never get enough,” he grinned, showing his perfect teeth with slight fangs.

“I would never do that to Andy, and you can’t force besides I can’t even trust you to that there is nothing else,” you stated, crossing your arms over your chest.

“Darling, it is not all and I can’t force you, goes against my rules…and the rules in general,” the demon revealed, slightly shrugging his shoulders as he began circling you. “You just said that’s all, you’re already lying!”

Your words caused him to chuckle, “no, I said I want to fuck you. For the deal to seal you have to say my name three times, three times in a row it must be spoken unbroken.” He held his chin eye, closely watching your every move.

You scoffed, this was fucking stupid. “Who are you Beetlejuice? I don’t know your name, want me to guess it?” you spat at him, why were you even talking to him still?

“Who do think inspired them to make that character?” he promptly asked, voice laced with smugness, “but no, you don’t need to guess, it’s written in the book, or I can tell you and once you know it, you can scream it.”

“This is stupid and let me guess when I say your name you will be free?” you shook your head, not believing yourself. Maybe the mold in the house caused you to be high?

“Don’t be ridiculous, I can do whatever I want. You will say my name and sign a contract, saying my name will make you mine,” he rolled his eyes, you were going to be a hard one, but he already enjoyed it. Yes, maybe the name thing was a little stupid, but it was too funny seeing people do it.

“Whatever, I won’t make a deal with you. I’m not a cheater and I lived through worse, I will survive this bloody house, I love Andy,” you snapped at him before stomping away, back towards the house.

“Whatever helps you sleep at night darlin’, the name is James, for future references!” the demon called after you, he wouldn’t pass on a chance to make you his and if he had to worsen the state of the house, then so be it. There was no chance he would let you go.

---

The following few weeks went by without any sight of the demon and thankfully no part of the house collapsing. Still to many animals lived there, and the roof wasn’t completely finished and the rooms needed renovations.

And today no good news awaited you, you were tired and just wanted to lay on the couch. But as you stepped through the apartment door there stood Andy with a frown, making your stomach churn.

“Sweetheart, the house is going to take a little longer than expected but our lease is ending…meaning we will have to move into-,” “we have to move into that fucking construction site, are you kidding me?” to Andy your outburst was unexpected.

“I know it’s unfortunate but remember it’s our new home,” he took your hands in his, eyes full of hope. Completely oblivious to the fact how much you hated the idea.

“No, no it is a ruin, nothing is going according to plan and everything is horrible, I will not move into that wreck. I gave you a chance, and everything is going wrong!” you scoffed at him, shaking your head before leaving right out of the door again. This could not be happening, you were holding it together, trying to stay on the right path – then it did.

You took a deep breath and headed towards the park near your apartment. In order to clear your mind, you sat down on a bench near a lake.

Suddenly you felt a dark presence next to you, already knowing who it was. “You’ve been absent the past few weeks, were you waiting for everything to go to shit?” you asked in exhaustion.

“No, that would be very mean,” James chuckled, letting his arm rest behind you on the bench, fingers dangerously close to your shoulder. You dared to take a look at him, it knocked almost your breath out of your chest.

There is sat, thighs wide apart in a black tailored suit with a matching tie. His long hair combed back, matching his beard perfectly – wait since when did he have a beard? And why did it look so devilishly handsome?

“Liar, you’re waiting for me to agree,” you sighed, not being able to keep your eyes of him. “You’re sitting here talking to me…I know you want to,” he moved closer to you, fingertips ghosting over your shoulder which made you shiver. You closed your eyes, reminding yourself that this was a bad idea.

“I said no, I’m not cheating on him,” you told him confidently, crossing your arms over your chest. The bad thing however was, that you couldn’t move into any direction, on one side was his warm, beautiful body and on the other his hand waiting for you to move. He was ready to draw you into his aura.

“But would it be really cheating? He doesn’t even know I exist, little Andy would forget about the house, you would get the best sex of your life and live happily in that cute apartment,” the demon shrugged, foot nudging yours and slightly moving your leg to the side.

Taking a deep breath, you tried to resist every fibre in your body that wanted to give into him. “Just say yes,” he whispered inching closer to your face, lips almost grazing yours.

His words caused an idea to pop into your head, maybe you could use that to your advantage…, “fine, let’s make a deal. You get me out of that freaky house and then we will…,” your voice becoming a whisper at the end, lips close to his ear.

A smirk stretched across his lips, finally he got what he wanted. His hand came up to cup your cheek, “then say my name, say it,” James whispered. “It’s humiliating,” you argued, whining a little to which he only kept smirking – his face had to stay frozen at some point.

“No, it’s funny and we have to practise, don’t we?” the demon tilted his head to the side, eyes roaming over your lips with a hint of hunger.

James had lived for centuries, no millennia and had at least millions of souls in his possession, yet he had never crossed path with someone as beautiful as you. Never did he have the intention on sleeping with them – okay, he did sleep with some of them, but after taking their soul.

You, however? All he wanted was one night, one night to show you everything he had to offer and convince you to never leave his side again.

“Fine, James…,” you started, having to stop yourself from rolling your eyes, “…James,” you continued. Meanwhile the demons eyes glinted with pure excitement, “just one more time darlin’,” he whispered. “James,” you finished, making him laugh in a manner that perfectly fitted who he was.

“Good girl,” he said and snapped his fingers. You expected something to happen, like a change of scenery or a flash of light, “that’s it?” you questioned him, raising an eyebrow at him.

“I’m sorry darling, am I to boring for you? Should I put on fireworks?” James scoffed, this also never happened to him before. Everyone else shuddered, scrabbled to get away but there you sat, with a bored expression.

“Call Andy, ask how the renovations at the house are going,” he told you, lightly rolling his eyes at your suspicious glance. But you did what he said, Andy picking up after the third ring, “hey honey, how is it going with the house?” you lowly asked, expecting to be disappointed.

“What house? You mean the apartment? I guess everything is fine, nothing’s changed…are you coming home soon?” he questioned you thoroughly, confusion evident in his voice.

A huge smile crawled onto your lips, finally the nightmare was over. “Yeah, yeah, I will be home in no time!” you said with happiness before hanging up. “Now where is my thank you?” James pulled you from your thoughts, licking his lips.

“Oh, yeah we will think of a date later,” you answered standing up, pushing his leg aside. The demons face fell, he wanted you now. “You have to keep your end of the bargain,” he reminded you, standing up too with a glare.

He towered over you, flexing his broad shoulders while the air around you all of a sudden became thick. “I know but you never said when and you told me that you won’t do anything without my consent, so…,” for the first time you could grin at him in triumph. Patting his shoulder, you left him there at the park, letting him brood to himself.

James had never regretted not making a contract, he always made a contract to ensure he would not get screwed over and the one time he didn’t do one? He gets screwed over. Not to mention everyone was scared of him, begging him to let them live and they were desperate enough to do anything.

As he growled dark clouds began roaming the sky, his eyes took on their usual blood red colour and black horns emerged from his forehead. He was boiling with anger, no he would not touch you or hurt you, but he would also not leave you alone.

Coming home felt like a relieve for the first time in months, no house to worry about, no finances and just you with Andy. For the past few weeks your sex life had been awful, but today you felt like jumping his bones – Andy surely wouldn’t mind.

You opened the door, instantly seeing Andy on the couch. While walking towards him you started taking of your clothes, only keeping your lingerie on as you sat down in his lap.

“Oh, welcome home sweetheart,” he mused, wrapping his hands around your waist, “look at you pretty girl,” his eyes staring right at your tits. God, he loved the sight of them, how cruel of you to leave them in your bra.

“My eyes are up here cowboy,” you smirked, tilting his chin up with your index finger before capturing his lips in a heated kiss. Andy groaned in satisfaction, devouring you with hunger, tongue slipping into your mouth.

Meanwhile, you started grinding you clothed core onto his hardened erection. Moaned into his mouth as he gripped your waist tight, “mhm, let me taste your cock daddy please,” you whined as you pulled on his belt and who was Andy to decline your wish?

“Get on your knees,” he ordered, breathing heavily as he unbuckled his belt. Without hesitation you kneeled down, grasping his hard length.

Andy’s hand fisted your hair, holding you steady while you wrapped your lips around his cock. “Don’t you wish it was my cock you were tasting?” the voice didn’t belong to Andy, no it was James.

Your eyes widened, squeezing Andy’s dick harder unintentionally and choking on him. “yes sweetheart, choke on it,” he moaned, pushing your head deeper down. Thank god did he not notice. You continued your work, trying to ignore the weird feeling spreading in your stomache.

“I need to be inside you,” Andy gasped, hosting you up on his lap and pushing your panties aside. You held onto his shoulders for support, needing to concentrate on him for now. He helped you ease down on his cock, “Andy, please,” you whined, wanting him to just stretch you open.

“Can he even fully satisfy you darling? I doubt he can make you come as hard as I would,” his voice sounded taunting, he was probably having the time of his life and a cheshire grin across his lips.

“Shut up,” you whispered out loud without even realising it. Andy opened his eyes, looking at you with a hint of confusion, “what?” he asked.

“Nothing, just fuck me,” you begged and hoped he would listen before James ruined the mood for you completely. Your boyfriend didn’t need to be told twice, sitting you down on his member. The sound of your wet cunt motivating him to grip your hips and move you like he wanted.

“Really? That’s what turns you on, not what I expected,” it was as if he was lounging right next to you, but his voice sounded so distant at the same time. Fucking demon.

You started moving at a quicker pace in order to reach your high, gripping him like a vice. “Sweetheart just like that, I love you,” Andy breathed out, letting his head rest on your shoulder and biting gently into your skin.

“Aw, he loves you! How sweet of him, isn’t he just the best?” okay, yeah, now your mood and a chance of an orgasm were ruined. At least you could make Andy come.

You sped up, whispering how good he makes you feel, how bad you needed him and his big, strong cock. It didn’t take long for him to fill you up with his load and with that he groaned loudly inside your neck.

“Feel good honey?” you asked him sweetly, stroking his hair. “With you always,” he countered kissing you softly and full of love. Gently he lifted you of himself, telling you he will come back with a wet towel after wrapping you inside a blanket.

“Wow darling, couldn’t even make you come? Quite a show you put on,” now James was there, sitting next to you in all his might.

“Go away,” you snapped at him, hating how he could just show up at any point, anywhere and take up your mind just like that. “Yeah, I’m pretty down at the moment you know? Made this deal and the woman is not keeping her end,” he shrugged.

“Maybe you need to be clearer on your terms,” you simply told him, not giving him any glance, “you should go before Andy comes back,” you added with light annoyence.

“Don’t worry, he won’t see me unless I allow him to,” he shrugged, turning his head towards you. His hand came up to edge of the blanket, slightly moving it to the side to get a glimpse of your underwear but you slapped his hand away with a death glare, “don’t you dare.”

“I don’t take it kindly someone screwing me over, normally I would kill you…slice your throat open or make you suffer through endless days of torture…,” he whispered in your ear making you close your eyes as his finger trailed down the side of your cheek. James grinned, showing his sharpened teeth.

For the first time in a while you actually felt fear, you feared what he would do to you. Goosebumps erupted on your skin, couldn’t Andy hurry up?

“I won’t do that to you, no need to be so scared darling…however I will make sure you will never forget our deal until you do what you promised,” gently he kissed your cheek, it would be sweet and nice, if there wasn’t a threatening meaning behind his words.

Just then you felt a cold wind of air around you, and when you opened your eyes, he was gone. Andy came back, smiling happily at you while handing a towel over to you. He opened his mouth saying something you didn’t hear, your mind was couldn’t comprehend what was happening.

What would Bucky do? Would he hurt Andy instead? Would he harass you into sleeping with him? No, that couldn’t be, he told you, you had to say yes…right?

“Hey, hey? Anyone home?” he waved his hand infront of your face, a hand on your shoulder. You shook your head, mumbling a yes as you took the towel from him to clean yourself up, “I’m going to bed,” you said, standing up to leave your boyfriend in the living room.

Andy watched you leave, confusion written over his features, did he do something wrong? “Of course you did, you didn’t satisfy her enough,” a voice whispered in his mind. It sounded like his own, yet it had a dark touch to it.

He let his head fall down, sighing to himself before following you to the bedroom. Meanwhile, you took of all of your clothes off and put one of Andys shirts on, then curling under the covers. You weren’t sure how to handle the situation, but you knew it would cost you a lot of sleep.

The next day rolled around, Andy was gone before sunrise to work. You stayed in bed, called in sick for the day and researched if anything could help you right now.

You didn’t dare to leave the bedroom, not if it wasn’t completely necessary. Of course, if James wanted to, he could just appear here too, however you told yourself this was a safe space.

At one point you had to leave the room, carefully walking to the kitchen to find something to eat. In the end it became a sandwich, as you turned around with the plate in hand it almost fell right out of it again.

The kitchen gave a perfect view into the living room and therefore right on the couch. There he was, James, who you had been dreading to see, hoping for one day you would have peace. But no, instead he sat right in front of you and worse of all with no fucking shirt.

“Why are you half naked?” you pressed through gritted teeth, setting the plate down. James only shrugged, standing up to walk towards you, “does it bother you?” he knew it did, and he knew how handsome he looked.

“Yes, now go,” rolling your eyes, hoping it would actually work – probably not but it was worth a try. “You don’t mean that darling,” he whispered, walking closer to you with an intense expression until he stood right in front of you.

You took a deep breath before looking up at him, why did he have to be so tall? Most likely even taller than Andy…, “be careful, don’t want you hurting your neck,” James chuckled, hand coming up to cares your cheek. The act was so gentle you almost forgot who you were talking to.

“Reading minds now, huh?” you asked, trying your best to keep the glare on your face. “I could, but I just know how short your little boyfriend is,” he countered, oh how he enjoyed talking Andy down.

“What do you want demon? You threatened me and now make me look around every corner,” you said honestly. You hated how vulnerable you were right now.

“I wouldn’t have to if you had kept your end of the bargain…,” James tucked a strand of hair behind your ear. His touch felt good, and you hated it because it meant whatever he was trying to do was working.

“I couldn’t, I love him so much…I couldn’t do that to him,” even the thought of doing something like that, hurt you and most importantly made you angry about yourself, because why couldn’t you love Andy enough to accept the house?

“Can you look me in the eyes and tell me you see yourself spending forever with him?” James knew the question would hit a sensitive spot, it was part of his plan after all.

“That’s not fair,” you snapped, there was no way you would crumble under him. “Is it not? You wanted to make the deal, you wanted out of that house,” for once he tried not to smirk, knowing he was right.

“The house was a ruin!” you raised your voice, stepping away in order to leave the situation.

“Sweetheart? Who are you talking to?” What? Why was Andy home this early? One look from the door back to James made you realise he was already gone. Andy stepped inside the kitchen, again a little confused.

“No one, sorry, what are you doing home?” you asked instead, coming around the isle to kiss his cheek. “Have you looked at the clock? It’s five pm,” he chuckled, wrapping his arm around his waist.

“Oh, yeah right, I’m just a little tired,” you tried smiling it off, but Andy didn’t seem to buy your words entirely. Before he was able to ask questions you left for the bedroom again.

“See that? She is not happy with you anymore. She looks sad just being here with you,” that voice sounded in his mind again. For the whole day these thoughts had been haunting him, now he had enough.

With quick steps he followed you, “are you happy?” he called after you, making you still in your movements. “What?” “Are you happy? Do you still love me?” he questioned further.

“Why would you even ask me that?” you were utterly confused by his actions, by his words. “You’ve been acting weird, always closed up and when we have sex-“ “seriously? I sucked your dick off only days ago and let you fuck me like you wanted, I would hardly call that being weird.”

Andy looked at you with an unreadable expression, “wow, now that you say it! I just have to be wrong then,” he scoffed. Shaking his head, putting one hand on his hip.

“Andrew stop whining, I’m fine and you have no idea how much I love you,” you bit back, rolling your eyes at his stupid thoughts. Where does all of this come from? Of course, you had fights with Andy, but they all ended as soon as they started. Add to that, why was he so insecure?

You have known him for five years by now and he had always been confident in his being as well as your relationship.

“If you love me so much, why won’t you show me? I’m tired of this shit,” with that he turned around and headed towards the front door, “you’re acting like a child!” you shouted after him.

You took a deep breath, did this really just happen? “Wow, how sad, poor Andy,” great, James was just what you needed right now. “Told you it won’t last,” he leaned against the wall oppisite of you. “Did you plant these ideas in his head?” you questioned him, fury present in your tone.

“What if I did?” pushing himself off the wall, “it’s the truth, he doesn’t deserve you darling,” again his found their way to your cheeks. Why did he always have to be so close? Oh, right, because he knew it made you weak.

“You just want to sleep with me, you don’t like that I screwed you over and now you’re destroying my life!” you were close to tears, you thought after getting rid of the house everything would be better.

“No, no, I’m not but you could have such a better life with me, I knew it from the moment I first saw you,” James looked like he really meant it, as if you could just believe him.

“So, what, it was all a trap?” you asked, slowly beginning to get more angry than sad. “Well, I didn’t expect you to lie to me,” he admitted. A part of him, however, was proud of you, not everyone had the guts to lie to a demon.

Honestly you were fed up with him, with the whole situation. He destroyed your relationship with Andy and made you rethink your whole life. Then again, he was a demon, a creature you never thought would exist and yet here you were talking to him.

“You said you wouldn’t force me, but here you are,” you argued, wanting to break free of his hold. “Then step away, I’m not holding you. I know you’re fighting with yourself, take a step back if you really think you don’t want this.”

You did not step back, you didn’t move an inch. Biting the inside of your cheek, you didn’t dare to meet his gaze.

He moved his hand under your chin, lifting your head up, “it is time you keep your end of the deal,” with that he placed his lips on yours. At first, he didn’t move, waiting for you to change your mind.

Then you slightly opened your mouth, inviting him in – an invitation he gladly took. His tongue explored your mouth, consuming you with pure hunger. You tasted just like he imagined, like sweet honey and he doubted he would ever want to stop tasting you.

You snaked your arms around his neck, pulling him closer while he moved to tightly grip your waist. Suddenly he began pushing you towards the bedroom, without breaking the kiss.

Once you were through the door, you turned to push him away in order to breath, “you forget I’m human,” you said breathlessly.

Suddenly you were thrown on the bed, “James,” you shrieked, caught off guard. “Bucky, call me Bucky,” he said, undressing you with his eyes. You didn’t have time to question the change of name as he ripped Andys shirt of your body, “you can give him the shreds back.”

Bucky licked his lips, slowly kneeling down on the bed, his fingers skimmed along your naked skin causing you to lightly twitch. Hooking his fingers under your thong, slipping it down your legs.

Your breath hitched, everything about him screamed dominance but between your legs it was an unexplainable aura. Not even Andy was able to make you feel this way.

Throwing your underwear on the floor he wrapped your legs around his neck, “has he ever tasted you? Really, tasted you?” You just shook your head, flabbergasted with wide eyes, “no, he…just used his fingers,” you confessed, blood pressure rising.

Bucky only gave you one of his signiture smirks before lowering his head to your dripping cunt. He let his tongue glide through, before closing his mouth around your clit and harshly sucking on it. His hands kept your hips in place, he knew this was something you’ve never felt before.

A loud moan left your lips at this new sensation, hand coming down to tightly grip his hair. “Fuck,” you breathed, other hand holding onto the sheets.

Bucky lapped at your cunt like a starved man, “fucking delicious darling,” he groaned against you. Rocking your hips up against his mouth, you whined as it didn’t feel like enough, “more, please.” It made him chuckle, “I didn’t know you had manners, want my fingers so bad?”

You nodded franticly, bucking your hips up again as an invitation. He coated his two digits with your slick, then pushing them inside you. He already felt so much better than anyone else before.

“Gripping me like a vice, I can already imagine how tight you will feel around my cock,” he gloated, curling his fingers against your velvet walls. You just agreed with everything he was saying, enjoying the way he ate you up.

“Oh, shit,” you moaned as you felt a knot tighten in your stomach, the feeling of pleasure consuming your body and Bucky’s sinful words filling your thoughts. Bucky saw you crunching your eyes together and slightly lifting your hips. It was all it took for him to realise how close you were to coming.

The demon curled his finger against your g-spot, tongue circling your clit, “come for me darling,” his beard was scratching against your sensitive skin. A pornographic moan slipped from your lips as a rush of ecstasy crashed into you, it was all it took for you to have one of the best orgasms you ever had.

“Beautiful, my good girl,” Bucky kissed along your stomache, still keeping his fingers inside you to slowly work your through your orgasm. “Don’t lie to me, did little Andy satisfy you like you needed?” he hovered above you, letting his forehead rest on yours.

“No, no, he was always gentle and-,” “you want it rough huh?” he cut you off with a wicked glint in his eyes. You wouldn’t say it like that, but it never mattered what you did, Andy was always nice and took great care of you. Which of course is good to a certain point, however sometimes when you tried to initiate a rougher approach, it didn’t work. At all.

“Yeah, I mean, I’ve never…,” you mumbled, not knowing what to say to him. Without knowing him for long, you could’ve already guessed Bucky was gentle but had no fears of being rough and pushing you as far as he could.

A slap on your drenched cunt had you gasping, head falling back. “Are you already too fucked out to form logical sentences? One orgasm and you’re gone, what will my thick cock do to your little brain?” he cooed.

Yeah, you could die right on the spot. “Now, say it again,” he whispered, continuing to rub your clit in slow circles. Your brain began working overtime, trying to form a complete sentence to please him, “Yes, I want it-,” you had to take a deep breath as he pressed onto nub as he watched you with anticipation, “rough,” you finished.

It was as if something snapped in Bucky, like a coin dropping. Bucky ripped your bra in two before undressing himself. The sight of him made your mouth water, he may be a demon, but he looked divine.

Your eyes trailed down to his large member, standing proud and the tip hitting his lower stomache. Once he was completely naked, he came back to you, gently taking your ankles.

Thinking he would draw you closer to him, you lifted your hips but instead he roughly flipped you on your stomache. Then let his hands glide to your waist, pulling you against his chest. His body radiated with warmth and his hard cock pressing against your lower back.

“I’ll fill you up so good darling, you will feel me for days,” he promised, fingers pushing in your glistening pussy. “You’re so wet for me,” he pulled his fingers from, holding them up to your mouth, “open,” he commanded, instantly, without thinking you listened.

“Suck, darling,” he added, you followed his order and sucked his fingers clean of your slick. “Tastes good, doesn’t it?” a moan slipped from your lips at his words, you would’ve never thought something like that would turn you on this much.

“Now imagine how good we would taste together,” those were the last words you were able to comprehend before his pushed his leaking tip into your cunt.

A loud gasp sounded through the room, being slightly muffled by Bucky’s fingers. He continued to push further inside you, splitting you open. “Bucky,” you whimpered, holding tightly onto his arm.

“Mhm, I was right, you’re so fucking tight. Feel my thick cock splitting you open?” he growled against the shell of your ear. He continued pushing in, the way he stretched you made you feel a kind of pain you welcomed. Bucky began moving his hips at a slow pace.

You tried focusing on forming words, but your head felt empty, he filled you up too good. A deep chuckle sounded through the room, “can’t believe I already fucked you dumb,” he could believe it. “Fuck, see? This is what happens when you finally get properly fucked.”

“Please, faster,” finally you managed to say something, and it didn’t surprise Bucky, but who was he to deny your wish? His pace became rougher. You never thought a cock was able to make you feel this good, you never came from Andy’s before.

With every thrust he hit your spot, god how much he loved the feeling of you clenching your walls together. When he added his thumb into the play you moaned louder. He loved the sounds he could drive from you.

“Such a dumb little slut, this what you were made for,” lacing his hand around your throat and squeezing it made your walls clench resulting in Bucky groaning deeply.

You felt the need to have Bucky closer, his body flush against your, cock stretching you in ways you never dreamed of and yet he was still so far away. You took his free hand to wrap around your waist, a silent order to press you closer to himself.

“Darling am I not close enough for you?” in a teasing tone, he began pressing small kisses to your neck. His cock hitting deep inside you, watching a belly bulge becoming visible. Why did you try to prevent this moment from happening?

“Fuck best cunt I’ve ever had, I’m gonna come and let you milk my cock till the last drop,” Bucky was close to the edge, it had been too long since last had his cock buried inside anyone. He had masturbated to this thought countless times, but it was better than he could ever imagine.

“Come for me, come for the demon you deem he destroyed your life,” you tightened around him, head falling on his shoulder, “I need more,” you begged, you enjoyed his skilled hands.

The demon smirked, letting go of your neck to rub your clit, then shoved his pointer finger in beside his throbbing cock. In response you moaned loudly, a fully new sensation. “That way we can make sure I won’t slip out,” he chuckled, he wouldn’t have slipped out either way, but he enjoyed seeing your reaction.

“Fucking come for me, I said,” his tone became harsher, more controlling. Bucky curled his finger in rhythm with his hard thrusts. That was it the curling finger, the thumb circling your clit, the way he split you open with his cock.

A pathetic whine left you as you came all over Bucky’s cock, bliss shooting through your veins. “Bucky,” you sighed over and over again, the name music in his ears.

“Good girl, told you, you’d be chanting my name” he praised, his pace becoming uneven as his high neared, “milk every last drop of me or I will paint your pretty face with it and let you walk in front of Andy like that.”

He reached his high head falling in the nape of your neck. You accepted every drop of him like you were told, your hand snaking into his hair to ensure he stayed like this.

As the last drop came from him, he stilled in your cunt. Endorphins jumping through the air, you’ve never been happier and this because of a demon who had threatened to ruin your life, who stole millions of souls.

You didn’t know how to act, all your feeling were over the place. Everything felt right, for just a moment you were able to forget everything that happened.

Softly Bucky moved out of you, drawing a whimper from you, “I know you’re missing me already, but we gotta be careful,” why did we need to be careful? You wanted to questioned him, but then he was gone while you laid on the fluffy covers. It only took a second, then he was back with a wet towel to clean you up. You silently observed him, maybe he was right, maybe you couldn’t see a future with Andy and maybe this was more what you wanted.

yall know I love my andy, but he's just perfect for this role, and so there he went.... If you liked it, give a reblog and/or feedback!

[tiramissyoucake]

Thinking of sinister Mark with a breeding kink, he’s so abrasive and rough what would that even look like ? Love your work. 💕

-🌻 anon 😭😭

Oh ya'll want that GROSS SHIT, I get it. Also may have gotten too into Sinister straight calling reader bitch😭

MINORS + AGELESS BLOGS DNI

CW: piv seggs, fem reader, breeding, cumming inside, mark sucks readers tongue at one point, a lot of 'bitch' usage, making you a mommy mention, mentions of breeding, pregnancy, daddy mention, not proof read

Another day, another night with your usual intruder. Mark had solidified himself as a nuisance in your life. At first, when you were still terrified of him, you thought you could fight him off; repulse him somehow, the worse that could happen is death. Now, you realise that Mark had grown... attached to you, in the same way a person comes back to feed a stray animal every once in a while.

You learned the hard way that not a lot of people said 'no' to him and he's used to getting whatever he wants, either with approval or to force you into submission. Nights where he'd want nothing but you were the worst, you're the one who had to be prepared, the one night he felt like fucking you- you forgot to take a pill or prepare a condom.

"Are you TRYING to get pregnant?" He grinned, clutching your jaw in his hand and jerking your head closer to him. "No pill, no condoms, you got too comfy sucking my dick the last few times, huh?"

Your jaw hurt, your gaze was hateful, but downturned, you knew better than to give him attitude. He cooed at you like you were a little animal in an unfortunate trap. "Y'know what that means, hmm?" That your jaw would hurt in the morning with your throat after he'd suffocate you with his cum? You were too familiar.

"... I'll.. get on my knees." You mumbled. Your tone of defeat made him harder than he already was. "Oooh, baby... as much as I love how much of a good slut you're being, no."

His hands clutched your shoulders and pinned you down to the bed, tugging your thighs so his groin was situated against your clothed pussy, the flimsy fabric of your panties barely providing any protection. "It just means we'll give this babies thing a try."

Eyes shooting wide open, you protested as he gripped your panties with both hands from two ends and ripped them apart. "Wait! Mark— please, I'm sure there's a condom or two, just let me-"

"Shut the fuck up, God." He huffed as he jerked his pants below his hips, hissing as his cock finally was freed, throbbing and excited at the idea of impregnating you. "All you do is complain and whine, be grateful you're getting some good dick." He stated it like it's a fact.

Whenever he kissed you, he always had a hand around your throat, it was always messy. He let's out a grown as he runs the tip of his cock up and down your folds with his free hand, pre-cum smearing and mixing with your wetness "Mmf- you're wet." He grins against your lips. "I think you want it, dirty bitch." He chuckled, biting your bottom lip.

He kissed you once more, swallowing your moan as he pushed his cock in, a groan reverberating from him as your pussy accepted him so quickly, he parted from your lips as he licked his own, his hands caging your head as he readjusted himself on his knees.

After making sure to push his cock as deep as he could, bottoming out. He pulled back and thrusted just as quickly. Again. And again. And again. Until he was sure he'd bottom out with every thrust. "Feel that? You like how deep my cock hits?" He coaxed, watching you whimper and shut your eyes tightly. "Can't stand the fact that this pussy wants my cum, huh? Open, c'mon slut..."

His hand swatted your thighs harshly, prompting you to obey him as his hips pistoned onto you, a harsh repetitive 'plap!' Echoing between the sheets as he relished in the feeling of your pussy, fucking you raw was the best. "C'mon, you nasty bitch.. take it.. you wanna be a mommy?" he encouraged you with a hard thrust, prompting a gasp from you.

"Oooh, felt you tighten." Mark noted with a hiss, tugging your hips impossibly close, your cunt sucking in his dick so desperately, wetness forming a creamy ring around him. "You like that, bitch? Want me to make you a mommy? Want my babies inside you?" His free hand clutched your jaw once more, slotting his mouth against yours as his tongue easily pushed its way in, as if to rub salt into the wound- he had the gall to suck on your tongue when he pulled away.

You let out moans and gasps against your will, you knew it would only motivate him to fuck you harder but who could stay quiet under him? Mark fucks like he kills, brutally and for his enjoyment. Amidst his groans, you could see him bite his bottom lip harshly or pant like a man possessed. You could've sworn you saw him drooling at the sight of you and the feeling of your warmth enveloping his dick, you were his perfect idea of an unofficial housewife waiting to get fucked by her psycho husband.

He let out an animalistic grunt as he felt your body start to squirm, cunt tightening further. "You gonna cum already, bitch?" He chuckled, the tip of his dick hitting every spot so perfectly, you would've enjoyed it if he wasn't planning to pump you full. "Give it to me. C'mon, I'm gonna get you fucking pregnant, bitch...!"

Your hands gripped his wrists as he clutched your hips to manhandle you as he fucked you, pussy pulsing with every wave as your orgasm washed over you and they were only intensified by his thrusting. "Yeah, that's it.." he licked his licks. "Cream my dick, bitch. I'll give you my babies in a sec." He promised.

Mark groaned in annoyance, watching you squirm again, damn it, not when he was so close. He tilted your hips upwards, moving so his entire upper body enveloped you. "God, can you fucking relax? Mm!" He thrusted into you at a new angle as broken moans were forced out of you. "'M so fucking close, don't you dare ruin this for me." He grunted as his cock throbbed with a vile need.

"C'mon." His balls slapped against you with every harsh thrust, grinning from ear to ear at the leverage he's got over you. "Just a little more, 'm gonna breed you, daddy's gonna pump you full..!! Oh fuck!" He grounded his knees to the bed, his weight crushing you.

Desperately thrusting and chasing his release, he hissed through his teeth. "You better make me a daddy, you fucking whore." He gritted. "You wanna be a mommy, hm? Well here it is, bitch so fucking take it...! Take it—!!" He almost grinded his teeth together as he pumped you full of his essence, white, hot and in abundance. He swiveled his hips to push the sudden spits deeper into your womb, huffing as he groaned.

"Oooh... babymaking sex hits different, huh?" He grinned down at you. Your eyes had just begun to tear up from the onslaught of pleasure and rising discomfort from your filled pussy. "We should do this more often. Way more often."

[keravnous]

diet mountain dew; john wick/fem!reader (smut, 18+)

dating john wick - the playlist

The Boogeyman is out to get you. Little does he know, that you too are willing to do quite a bunch of things just to stay alive.

warnings: blood, guns, knives, injuries, physical violence/fighting, assassination attempt; dub-con, rough sex, unprotected sex, fingering, oral (female receiving), choking, dirty talk, spanking, a lot of manhandling bc for the love of god he doesn't know how to be soft anymore, gun kink, knife kink, size kink, strength kink, squirting, body worship if you blink, is this hate-fucking? idk; john has a horse cock change my mind; john is in his 50s, the reader is in her 20s; set somewhere after the series i guess? (I refuse to accept he's dead); problematic family relationship as a plot device; let's all collectively ignore the fact that he would actually never touch another woman or even dare to catch the smallest of feelings again; john gets off on the violence

word count: 10,6 k

thank you mel for a) listening to my ramblings and b) reading a good chunk of the first third of this dumpster fire and still going nuts about it, kissies and thank you v for listening to my keanu ramblings without losing faith in me

You wonder, if praying will help you. Probably not.

The sound of carnage, screams and gunshots in the hallway abruptly stops. You hear the assailant's heavy footsteps echoing off the floorboards outside of your hotel room mere seconds before the door bursts open, flies out of its hinges and rattles to the ground, wood creaking and breaking, splinters flying everywhere.

There had been a hit out on you for two days and every single soldier in your father's militia was ready to defend your life with their own.

Literally. You can tell by the man entering your suite.

You can tell by just how much he is covered in blood. You can tell by the way it drips down his forehead and how it soaks his white shirt - even the soles of his shoes creak with it. You can tell by the way he is totally and utterly drenched in red red red, and because you are certain it is not his.

They literally gave their life for you. The thought hits you like a blow to the head. People have died because of you. Fathers, brothers, sons. You recall your last conversation with your own father. They want us dead, they put out a contract on us - you had never seen him so nervous, so disheveled. What does that mean - his anxiety had been washing over you in seeping hot waves, sending cold shivers down your spine. It means, I need you out of the house - now.

Nausea bubbles in your stomach as the man now approaches you, casually strolls into the suite with his finger on the trigger of the gun dangling from his hand and you stare back at him - a deer in the headlights, frozen by fear in the eyes of its deadly predator. One of your father's men jumps from his cover, fires a shot and gets hit back with one straight between his eyes. It happens so quickly, that you can't turn your head away. You see the bullet piercing his forehead, blood splattering as soon as it exits the skull on the other side. His head flies back a little, and then his body goes limp, slack, as he falls to the ground with a heavy thud.

You want to scream. You want to vomit. You want to run. But there is nowhere to run to, nowhere to hide from him.

There's only one soldier left with you in the suite now and he is hiding around the corner, near the bathroom. The stranger - the assassin, the killer - does not lower the gun again, and does not let his eyes stray from you as he carefully enters the room. You feel terribly exposed, dressed only in your negligée, not daring to move.

Now, that the dim light of the suite's living room strikes his face, you can finally see him, see the man who has come to end you. He is older than you, maybe nearly twice your age, with dark hair and even darker eyes, matching his black suit. Lean and athletic, chest heaving slightly with physical exhaustion. The Boogeyman.

You do not know who or what you had expected, what cruel and dreadful images your brain had conjured up in the past 48 hours - 48 frightful hours of being moved around from hideout to hideout by your father's men, not staying in one place longer than necessary - but it certainly was not that. Not him. He is a lot more handsome than his reputation has led on. Seeing him on the subway around rush hour you would have never suspected him to be in this business. He looks nice. And that is exactly what makes him dangerous.

You have heard his name before. Echoing from the walls. Baba Yaga. Whispered with both: fear and respect. The Boogeyman. Blurted out: like a curse or like a blessing. Mister Wick: like redemption, like damnation. Jonathan, the king's son walking the earth as the devil.

John. The sound of his name is oddly human - disturbingly human - for someone looking as calm and collected, focused and concentrated as he does right now, while being drenched in blood and pointing a gun at you.

You must have said his name out loud, because his eyebrows twitch irritatedly, a movement so quick you barely missed it - must've sound desperate too, then.

Vision zeroing in on the barrel of his gun, your hands clutch the sofa's edge. There is so much adrenaline pumping through your veins right now that it freezes your limbs, has your ears ringing. The only thing responding to your brain fully are your eyes, and they snap away from the gun and over to the remaining soldier. It's a quick look, not even a second, but the hitman seems to recognize it and - with near inhumane speed - flicks his gun, and fires two shots. Blood splatters against the white door as the shots pin the soldier's body against it, and is it finally drops to the ground heavily it leaves a nasty trail, all wet and sticky and red.

Could be you.

You want to scream, but your body does not belong to you anymore, does not respond to your commands. It is a desperate, cruel sound that leaves your throat instead as you flinch with the sound of the gun being fired.

"Let's make this quick" his voice is gravelly and rough, like he has seen a thousand grim things and the pain of it has etched its way into his throat, left a nasty mark on every tone that ever dared to cross after.

That is when your fight or flight suddenly kicks in. Well, more specifically, it kicks in while he is speaking, as he starts to swap the empty clip of his gun.

He underestimates you. Everyone does. Your father, your brother. The countless men lying dead littered across the hotel's 25th floor. It will be his mistake.

You latch forward, grabbing the vase from the coffee table in front of you. The weight of it in your hand drags you down.

With all the strength you can muster, which is quite a lot considering the massive amounts of adrenaline that are currently amping up your body - you throw it at him. It connects with his forehead sharply; a deep, irritated noise bursting from his throat as it crashes, splinters and falls to the floor.

You are braver, braver than you should be as your assault does not end there, your body pushing you forward, leaping over the table and crashing into his broad shoulders.

I will not die today

Body ramming into his, he stumbles, as your fist connects with his chin. You have only been partially trained in hand-to-hand combat, after pleading your brother for months until he eventually gave in. Sadly, he wasn't nearly as thorough and honest with it as he was training his drug dealer and gun runners. But now, it is the only thing you can rely on.

There is nothing else; no one else left alive in that building who might be able to help you. It is up to you. So, you might as well try.

And Oh, does desperation fire up your blood.

I will not die today

The diversion does not last long and he - John John John only human only human only human - grabs you by you waist hard, fingers digging into your flesh and into the expensive silk, before he slams your body into the ground. All air leaves your lungs with a dull sound erupting from your chest, just as pain blooms around your ribs.

You cough and he looks down at you, confusion making his brows twitch, before cold-hearted determination takes over once more. John aims his gun at you once more, pulls back the hammer and you do not even think about it, your leg rising as you kick against his hand. The shot misses, buries itself deep into the expensive carpet a few inches next to your skull. You have no time to do either: panic or sigh in relief; instead, you deliver him a kick to his stomach, fighting yourself back onto your feet, punching him straight in the face.

John grunts and grabs your wrist, but you see it coming and throw yourself into his wide frame, wrapping your other arm around his back and thus hooking it underneath his right shoulder, dislocating his arm and preventing him from aiming his gun at you. You claw onto him as he twists your arm close to his stomach, while you wrap your legs around him, making it harder for John to shake you off.

I will not die today

You kick and dig the heel of your foot into his thighs and the back of his knees and he grunts and buckles a little, but turns wild and relentless quicker than you can blink, throws the two of you into the next wall. You gasp sharply as your back connects with the large mirror, splinters digging into your back - not deep enough to actually cut skin, but it stings nonetheless, the impact making you dizzy.

Sharp pain shoots through your back and your neck, but you are not willing to give up yet, as raw energy and rage and desperation surges through your body - one of your legs coming loose and your knee hitting his stomach repeatedly, making John grunt in pain and you use your momentum to dig your hand deep into his back, holding onto him and then swirling out of the deadlock he has got you in, jumping his back like a monkey.

His gun clatters to the ground and for a split second, the room falls silent. Then, roaring like an animal gone wild, he grabs your calves and slams his back into the nearest wall, has you screaming with the impact. You can feel blood pouring from your nose, feel it trickling down your lips.

I will not die today

John is stronger than you are, so so much stronger - the apex predator: all muscle, unbreakable focus and the sheer will to kill. But you are not only a little quicker; you also really want to stay alive. It is a force he rarely encounters. And quite frankly, it irritates him.

He may be older than you, taller than you and stronger than you but you have something he does not have: you actually still got something to lose.

And you fight like it, too. All scratches and sharp yells, as you punch and scrabble at his shoulders and tear at his tie, trying to strangle him with it. John is struggling against it, gasping for air and winding beneath your assault and then his grip around your claves grows hard like iron, seconds before he pulls - throws you over his head like you weigh nothing. You land on the expensive carpet with a heavy thud - groaning as you crash onto your side with sharp pain shooting through your shoulder, down your ribcage.

I will not die today

John sputters and stumbles forward, looking for his gun but you are quicker, kicking it away with your foot. It clatters back onto and slides over the wooden floorboards.

For a second you consider your choices, fighting yourself back onto your feet but John - a practiced and seasoned fighter - beats you to it and lands a blow to your upper back, sends you back down with him - a mess of sputtering saliva and painful groans. His body topples onto yours and he quickly rolls the two of you over the floor.

John is heavy and warm on top of you, as he keeps you in a tight headlock, your chest pressed to the floor and neck bend in a painful angle. He presses his strong forearm down onto your windpipe and you choke and cough, feet kicking, hands dragging across the wood, clawing at it feebly.

You can feel his breath on your cheek, hot and damp. You can feel his torso pressing against your back as he kneels behind you.

I will not die today

Mustering all your remaining strength, you trash against him, ramming your backside into his stomach. He grunts and for a split second, his grip loosens. It is all you need. Throwing your elbow back, you hit him in the chest and he caves in.

You cough, crawling forward and then scrambling back onto your feet, one of your negligée’s straps falling down your shoulder in the process. You hastily pull it back up, seconds before John launches a cascade of punches onto you.

A few of them hit you as you try to block them; dull pain igniting in your body, blooming in your face and arms. Your breath goes heavy as you stumble backwards. You cannot do this. There is no way. You just physically can't.

He is stronger. Taller. Heavier. Deadlier. Your body and every single muscle, bone, nerve in it aches and you wheeze but he is already onto you again, half-tackles you and grabs your waist, ready to smash you back onto the ground.

You cling onto him with all your remaining strength, struggling against his huge frame, wrapping your hands around his neck in an attempt to get him to stumble.

His hair tingles on your naked arms. Oh wait --

Tearing at his hair - which has him grunting in both, pain, and irritation at the unusual attempt - you clumsily pull yourself up onto his shoulders, cutting his face right above his eyebrow with your nails in the process until you finally wrap one leg around his throat and close it around there tightly, choking him. John tries to pull you off him and succeeds after quite the tussle, only to find your frame clinging to him, legs and arms wrapping around his body, hands scratching and feet kicking.

I will not fucking die today

In an attempt to either get rid of each other or submit the last blow, to finally kill the other, you two swirl through the room - a deadly dance of torn skin, smashed glass panes and mirrors, bruises and cuts. Somewhere in between kicks and punches, he managed to pick up his gun - and right now, you are mustering all of your exhausted strength to prevent the barrel from pressing against your skull.

Eventually, John crashes your bodies through a large wooden door, and is not quick enough - unable to stop his own oxe-like strength - to stop himself from stumbling into the room. The two of you only come a halt as his knees hit something soft and ironically that is what finally topples both of you over, landing onto the mattress of your bedroom with a soft thud and deep, exhausted grunts.

Your ears ring, and you are ready to lash out at him again despite the physical exhaustion, to strike him square across the face, as --

There is something hard pressing against your crotch.

The world falls silent.

No. No, there's no fucking way. It's got to bea hidden weapon. Must be.

But clearly, it is not. There, between your spread legs, his hard cock presses snugly against your panty-clad pussy.

And he just feels so huge - mouth-watering huge - that your body responds in its own way, hips snapping up, stuttering against the hard bulge. John lets go off a shaky, ragged breath, hand still clutching his gun. And you know, that this is your window.

Feeling the warmth that his body and his hard dick are radiating through his expensive suit, you roll your hips once - a languid, slow motion, rubbing your pussy over his bulge.

And he groans. A deep, primal sound that sounds a little coarse. John is looking at you, starring you down, but there is a shadow dancing over his eyes, turning his brown eyes into deep and dark, black pits that gives him away.

He is horny. The Boogeyman is fucking horny. You would laugh, if the realization wasn't knocking all air straight from your lungs. Because it just another reminder, proof of what he actually is: human.

And what a sight he is to see - eyes turning darker every second, his chest heaving with every breath and making it seem like his shirt is going to pop a button or two any second now, his cock prodding against its restraints and your clothed cunt.

It makes you want him. The thought leaves you dizzy, makes you gasp.

Apparently, that is all he needs to roll his hips back into yours. And that - that is just unfair. It's playing dirty. It's, it's -- His dick feels huge as it trails along your folds, has the muscles in your abdomen clenching.

"Fuck", you breathe, a little overwhelmed with and helpless at the sudden surge of lust that ignites your body, the wetness pooling between your legs.

John is not saying anything, just stares you down while he continues to slooowly roll his hips into yours, grinds his cock against your cunt. Your pelvis twitches upward as you start to meet his movements, and then you can hear it. He let's go of a deep breath, and it sounds like the faintest moan.

You need to hear more of that. You need more of him, your cunt aching and hole clenching around nothing already.

"John", and this time you say his name - consciously - it sounds a different way of desperate: your voice reduced to a small whisper, torn at the edges by a wanton whimper ripping from your throat.

If it throws him off-guard he does not show it, does not let you see it. Instead, he grabs your chin hard, gaze locking with yours. Dark pupils blown wide, swallowing the honey-brown of his eyes, and your breath hitches.

"Yeah?", he rasps, and it does not take more than one long look from you for him to lean in, to press his lips onto yours.

The kiss tastes of blood and adrenaline and doom, and you relish in it. Relishing the way his lips move against yours and his beard tickles a little, relishing how his tongue presses into your mouth. It feels like he is eating you whole, licking into your mouth, one hand dancing over your waist - featherlight, like he doesn't know how to touch a body without hurting someone, destroying someone.

I will not die today, motherfucker

Your whole body now sings with it, the security of an impending victory, as you roll your hips into his once more, your tongue now licking back into his mouth. For a second you think about how to strike again, now that he is seemingly distracted, but all will to fight leaves your body as one of his hands brushes over your knee, wanders further and eventually rests on your thigh.

The touch is electrifying and then his hand grows braver, his movements more certain, as he grabs your thigh, feels you up. It happens so suddenly, that you gasp into the kiss.

John parts from you, his lips a little plush already. "Oh God", you whisper as you stare Death Turned Human straight in the face, not a single thought remaining in your skull despite your lust.

He doesn't speak, as he gently let’s go off your leg and straightens back up and for a second you think he is going to hurt you, with the way his brows are furrowed - but he doesn't.

Instead, he moves in, right over your comparably tiny frame - a mountain of a man. John kneels above you, his weight pinning you down while he straddles your thighs and Jesus fucking Christ - what a sight he is to see.

Dark locks falling into his forehead, a little sticky with sweat and the bits of blood from the cut your nails gave him moments ago - right above his left eyebrow, still lazily trickling down into his lashes. His chest heaves with ragged breaths, as he hastily gets rid of his jacket, carelessly drops it to the ground. His black button-down clings to his muscular body underneath his waistcoat and his equally as muscular thighs pin you down to the bed, black fabric nearly tearing at the seams. And then there is his hard cock.

It looks as huge as it felt, with the way it bulges his pants, the outline of it clearly visible as it buckles proudly against its restraints. You are certain, you will not be able to close your hand around it fully - not a chance.

One of his hands - the one lacking a finger, which you only now notice and what sends shivers down your spine - wanders over your body, pulling your negligée down in the process, right tit spilling out of the soft silk. He immediately grabs it, cups it with his large hand and squeezes. You mewl, marveling at just how big his hand is, just as his whole body is in comparison to you. His fucked-up finger digs into the flesh, sending shivers down your spine.

John's hand gropes your tit, before he impatiently pulls the neckline down roughly. You sigh, arousal shooting down your spine and tingling in your lower belly, as two of his fingers nudge your nipple, pinch it.

He watches your face intently, as he continues to grope you, rolls your nipple between his fingers. You mewl, breath accelerating a little but it is just not enough and you buck your hips upwards. John grunts in, what you assume is an approving manner, and let's go off your tit, reaches to his belt at his loins.

Quickly pulling a knife from God-knows-where exactly, a sharp blade enters your vision.

You blink, panic seeping through your lust and your legs twitch a little with fear. If John notices it, he neither shows it nor does he say anything, just moves the knife closer to your body.

The blade shines in the dim light as it dances over your exposed thighs carefully, the metal cooly pressing against your skin, before he flicks it and cuts your negligée open. The thin, soft fabric cleanly cut in half it now lazily slides from your aching body, falls to its sides. Your chest heaves, shivers running down your arms and back.

It happens so quickly that you can only blink. As your brain finally catches up with your eyes, you come to realize that he is holding a real fucking tactical knife. You have thrown one once - they are sharp as hell and deadlier than a bullet. The sound of fabric tearing easily, like paper, proves your point.

And John's movements with the blade are so fast that your breath hitches, a little afraid he might cut you. But he does not, instead, he quickly pulls the torn silk off you and away from under you, carelessly tosses it into the dark of the room.

The edge of the blade dances over your skin and you do not dare to breathe, as he trails it up and down your curves, gently nudges your nipples. "I could kill you", he says calmly and then, in lightning speed, presses the blade into the crook of your neck. Your head sinks back into the mattress, in an instinct to flee the sharp edge.

All it does is to expose your neck further and something gleams in John's eyes, as he presses the sharp tip down slowly, carefully nudging your skin with it. The metal is cold and hard and sharp and your breath hitches. Just a little bit more and it might burst your skin, draw blood.

But, to your own confusion, you do not feel threatened anymore. Oddly enough, your nerves tingle with excitement. You blame it on the already high levels of adrenaline that still pump through your veins, rushing back and forth from your brain and your lungs, but a small voice inside of your head whisper gently, deviously, that you know That's not it. And he knows it, too.

It's in his eyes as well, the sheer excitement of it all, the fucked-up pleasure it evokes in the both of you lays heavy in the air.

It turns you fucking on. It turns you on, that the man who - minutes ago - tried you kill you and did hurt you very fucking badly in the process of it, now decides to let you live.

It turns you on, that you are at his mercy.

It turns you on, that he decided to spare you - just for now.

It turns you on, that these large and strong hands holding the knife have that sort of power over you. And thus, as the blade nudges your head back further, you moan.

"I could cut your throat", John's voice is heavy and thick with arousal and you can feel your heartbeat picking up, breath accelerating. His gaze drops down, watches the rapid rising and falling of your breasts hungrily, while another soft moan escapes from your lips.

"Don't", you breathe softly.

The knife practically burns on your skin, and you can feel arousal flooding your clothed pussy, rubbing your thighs together for any sort of friction. John can feel your squirming underneath him, but he can also see your eyes turning watery and dark with lust, pupils blown and a pretty pink spreading on your cheeks, your breath growing shallow. And he just really needs to fucking taste you right now.

As quickly as it appeared, the blade vanishes from your throat before he twirls the knife like the ruthless, reckless professional that he is, and buries it deep to the hilt in the mattress next to you. The sharp sound as it pierces the thick fabric has the hairs on your body standing up, goosebumps rolling over your skin.

"I'll do it later", he rumbles - casually, like he is talking about doing chores or picking up groceries - before hunching over you, grabbing your chin with his fucked-up hand, and kissing you again. His tongue immediately pushes into your mouth, like he is starving to taste you.

John eats you whole, with the way his lips move against yours. His hand cups your face, tongue licking into your mouth, toying with yours. His kiss steals your breath and you start to get dizzy with it, hips bucking. You can feel his lips curling up and then he parts from you, leaving you a gasping mess, spit pooling at the corners of your mouth.

"Let me touch you, John", you whisper, voice a little small because you do not know why you feel that way, and if he will even allow it. But you just need to feel him.

For a long moment his gaze dances over your face and something shifts behind his eyes, like a shadow gets lifted and then very quickly returns. Ultimately, he gives a court nod, so small you nearly miss it and gives you a little more room while straightening back up.

Carefully, as if not to spook him, you dart one hand out, place it on his chest. The muscle is firm underneath his suit and you run your hand along the lapel of his jacket, down and then back up, before it slips beneath it.

John's body radiates warmth under the black fabric of his shirt and your other hand comes up, before you shove the jacket off his shoulders and onto the floor next to the bed.

Your breath hitches.

He is wearing a holster, a reminder of his deadliness, of the gun laying somewhere next to you. Maybe, he sees the fear returning in your eyes, but he is quick to shrug the holster off, throws it into the dark where it clatters onto the wooden floor boards. What is left in front of you are broad shoulders and a muscular chest, the fabric nearly tearing at his movements.

As you run your hands over it, you cannot help yourself - you need to fucking feel him for real.

Quickly making work of his waistcoat and tie you toss both to the side carelessly, before your hands roam his broad chest. His button-down clings snugly against his upper body and you can feel the muscles work beneath the black fabric as your hands brush over them. You tug at the shirt, pulling its tails from his pants before hastily opening the first few buttons. The skin underneath is pale, littered by blue - red - black bruises, birthmarks scattered in between like stars. You pop open the rest of the buttons, greedy to touch him. And as the shirt falls to the sides your hands are already onto his chest, roaming over and admiring the muscular, defined canvas of strength, that violence has painted a pretty picture on.

John is watching you intently as you undress him and then explore his body, your pupils blown wide and dark, mouth agape a little. He is a little taken aback by it - by someone not seeing his body as the ultimate tool of death that it is, but as something else, that he cannot really pinpoint because he can't even look in the mirror without seeing destruction and decay. But the way your gaze wanders over his body, the way you touch him, is different from that and he has not felt anything like it in years.

And John wants. Carnal desire tugs at his brain, shoots arousal between his legs, makes his cock twitch and a low growl escaping his throat.

The sound gets you going: pushing yourself up with one hand, the other wrapping around his strong neck for leverage as you sit up, mouth immediately clutching to his throat. He tastes of sweat and after-shave - sharp and musky - and you run your tongue over his skin greedily, licking and sucking at the skin while your naked body presses against his.

It disarms him. The gentle touch that you put his body up to, while everything still aches from plowing through the better half of your father's militia and beating the hell out of you, confuses him. Your touch, your lips on his skin are soft and not aiming to hurt - instead, they grow more and more needy, wanton and hasty, as you lick over his bruised skin, tasting his sweat. Your hands over his abdomen caress his defined muscles, in awe of his utter strength, thumbs brushing through the soft and dark trail of hair leading beneath the waistband of his trousers. And all John can do, is watch, his gaze locking with yours as goosebumps erupt on his skin.

And you - oh you; your head swims with the way you turn this animal into a human again, unlock a different set of animalistic needs within him and hearing John's breath growing heavy really fucking does it for you, feeling his scarred and beaten-up skin underneath your hands, wrapping them around the deadly machine that is his body. It makes you want more.

Shedding his blood-stained shirt off of his shoulders, your hands roam over his upper back - feeling the scars there: of knives, larger and small ones and round ones of bullets that once pierced his skin. There is something else, a burn scar, in the shape of a cross and he hisses as your fingers brush over it, nails digging into the stunted skin.

It pulls John out of his stasis, reminds him of who he is and you can feel the air swinging with it seconds before he moves. His large hands wrap around your shoulders and then he pulls you off him, throws you back onto the mattress. You yelp, eyes growing wide as you watch his face as it turns from lightly dazed back to stern, wild, with his brows furrowed.

"That's enough", he says, voice coarse and it still feels like a small victory, even though he spreads your legs roughly, hands digging deep into your thighs - hard enough to bruise - before he kneels between them. He yanks your body forward at the back of your knees, watches your tits bounce and then leans in, his lips immediately attacking your throat, your neck.

His lips are surprisingly soft against your skin, his beard tickling a little as it brushes over your tits, your stomach, your thighs while his tongue licks fat stripes over your nipples and down down down your upper body, right to your navel. One of his hands creeps up your body once more and roughly cups your tit, squeezes, and gropes it, rolls your hardened nipple between his index and middle finger. His stunted ring-finger digs deep into your tit and you gasp, hips bucking. John's lips suck and nibble at your skin, before eventually ghosting over your pubic bone, teasing you before assaulting your thighs again, teeth biting down gently into the soft flesh. You gasp and moan while he gropes your body, inhales your scent - as you watch how his lips, tongue, and teeth dance over your thighs, moving closer to your cunt.

John finally, finally, puts his mouth onto your pussy, peppers open-mouthed kisses around your clit, before clothing his lips around it and sucking on it hard through your panties. Your hips buck as a high-pitched moan erupts from your throat, hands flying into his greying locks.

"Fuck", you whine, feeling fresh wetness flooding your folds, dampening the thin fabric further. John can see the outlines of your wet pussy pressing against your panties and parts from your clit momentarily, only to lick a fat stripe over your clothed cunt, watching it twitch.

"That's fucking pretty", he rasps, gaze locking with yours and you feel all air leaving your lungs. His eyes are so fucking dark, like gleaming black pits swallowing you whole, his breath a little flat with arousal.

You want him to fuck you. Really fuck you. To plow you open, rail you until you cannot sit nor walk. He is already so so close to you, but too far away at the same time. "Please", is all you manage to utter out. And it seems to be sufficient enough for him; seems to get across what you want, what you need.

John's fingers wrap around the front of your lace slip, tugging at the fabric - that rubs along your cunt at the sudden motion and has you gasping quietly - and then he pulls. The lace tears easily as he rips it apart, and cool air hits your wet and hot pussy, as he practically peels you out of your underwear, throws it to the side. The look on his face is wild and you can hear him taking a deep breath, smelling your arousal, before he spreads your folds apart with his thumbs, gaze wandering over your plump and flushed cunt.

Teasingly brushing over your clit with his thumb, John watches your reaction intently. And fuck, you do not disappoint. Throwing your head back, you moan, drawing in a deep breath through your opened mouth that heaves your chest, your eyelids fluttering.

You are dying for him to touch you and as he does, it feels like your body catches fire - lust washing away the dull pain in your limbs and near your ribs.

"Oh God", you breathe out as his thumb draws another wide and slow circle over your clit, your hands darting out and grabbing the sheets "Please."

And John complies, his thumb rubbing over your clit in a slow but steady rhythm.

Gasping, your hands clutch the sheets, knees darting away from each other, giving him more space. John accepts the invitation, grabs one thigh hard, fucked up ring-finger digging deep into your skin. His fingers move further, abandons your clit and dance over your folds, down to your hole. It flutters as two of his digits tease it, gently circling around it.

"Please", you whine once more, lifting your hips a little, a desperate noise leaving your throat. John smirks to himself, before pushing two of his fingers into you.

The stretch is sudden and bigger than expected and you moan coarsely, as he pushes his digits along your walls deeply and nestles them into your seeping hot cunt up to his knuckles. And Jesus, you feel so full already; your head swimming as you consider how big his cock must feel, then.

Your breath goes quick and shallowly as he starts to move them, and then he leans in. Nudges your clit with the tip of his tongue, licks over it.

You feel like combusting on the spot: your nerves tingling with arousal, your whole body still aching from the beating you gave each other earlier - the pain in your back blooming as you stretch it with your hips desperately shoving themselves near his touch - your pussy squeezing his fingers.

John pumps his thick fingers in and out of you, his tongue rubbing and circling your clit and soft, needy moans fall from your lips. Obscene, wet sounds fill the air, mingle with your moans and heavy breathing. His lips close in around your clit, sucking at it while his fingers rub along your spongy walls and your cunt squeezes them hard as fresh wetness floods your folds, your squirt wetting his beard and dripping down on the sheets below.

You can hear - feel - John humming against your pussy, peppering the wet skin with open mouthed kisses, licking over it, and tasting your slick.

You feel so fucking good - lust pulsating through your veins, loins on fire - and your head falls to the side, body rocking with sharp gasps and your mouth agape, eyelids fluttering as --

There's the gun. And the knife.

You could easily grab either one or the other next to you, pull the blade out of the matress or the hammer back; put a bullet right between his eyes or plow the blade deep deep into his skull. Killing the Boogeyman. Killing Baba Yaga.

That would do wonders to your family's business. It would emancipate you from it, you would be free. Free to rule.

"Thinking 'bout killing me?", John rumbles, tongue licking a fat stripe over your cunt, nudging your clit. Your gaze flickers back to him: hair a mess, eyes gleaming darkly, hands on your thighs to keep your legs spread. He does not look surprised. Neither does he look worried.

Realization hits you like a blow to the head: he is toying with you. Has been the whole fucking time. The wolf hunting the deer, running a few rounds through the woods to weaken it; its breath whistling with exhaustion, long legs buckling before it collapses - an easy kill. An easy kill for an old wolf, one, that can't quite handle a real hunt anymore.

But maybe, just maybe - judging from the look in his eyes - he got lost in his own game. Its reins slipped from his bloody hands, the wolf tumbling to the ground.

Looking back at him, your lips curl into a sweet smile. "Not anymore", your hand darts out, brushing the loose strands of dark hair from his face - the soft gesture leaving him visibly confused -, "John."

Two can play this game. And maybe, just maybe, the deer can tire the wolf out first.

Something gleams in John's eyes, dances over them like a shadow and he seems to accept the challenge - readying to tire you out - tongue licking over your clit once more, making you shiver and mewl, as he pulls his fingers out of your dripping hole. You feel empty and --

"Do you really think, you could kill me?", he rumbles, voice deep and rough around the edges, "Stupid slut."

And then, quicker than your brain can process it, his hand comes down on your dripping wet pussy.

Your breath hitches, topples over and leaves your throat as a raw, needy moan. Softly stinging pain blooms between your folds and sets your nerves on fire. Blame it on the bruises, blame it on the pain you both inflicted on each other moments ago, but: it riles you up. Mingles with your aching bones and aching cunt, has you arching your back.

"Y'really think you could kill me", he doesn't sound offended, not even amused - voice plain, like he is inquiring if you really believed the earth to be flat. Like you really are stupid.

And you start to feel stupid, too. There was never a chance. You never had a chance. Your death was sealed, determined the second John stepped into the hotel.

You were stupid to believe you could outrun or beat him. You are stupid. And John has every right to show you, teach you, punish you for it.

Giving your cunt another firm slap, John watches your hips twitch, hears your pussy squelching and soft moans falling from your lips. "Shit", you sigh and he slaps your wet pussy once more, feels your slick folds wetting the palm of his hand.

"D'you like that, girl?", and as your only response are wanton gasps falling from your mouth John chuckles deeply, gives your pulsating cunt another two firm slaps. Seeing how he is pulling you apart, how good he makes you feel really seems to do it for him, gets him quite talkative.

"Uh-huh", you make dumbly, quite illiterate, watching him stroking your flushed, hot cunt with two of his fingers. Shivers run down your spine.

And then he leans back in, licks a fat stripe over your sensitive, flushed cunt, from the hole up to the clit.

You squirm, mewl as his beard brushes over your overstimulated skin, leaving a slight burn that mingles deliciously with a fresh wave of arousal that floods your body scalp to toes.

The muscles in your abdomen clench as two of his fingers circle your fluttering hole and then push in, rubbing along your plush walls agonizingly slowly and you can feel yourself tightening around it. Your juices squelch from your cunt as you squirt against his tongue and your slick runs down your folds, wets his fingers and palm while his tongue laps at your pussy, tasting your sweetness.

John pushes is fingers deeper as you moan and sigh, hands fisting his hair and hips moving against his tongue, his digits thrusting into you.

"Oh god", you huff as his lips close in around your clit, sucking on it and the tip of his tongue flicking against it occasionally.

Another wave of fresh wetness floods your cunt as you squirt once more, wetting the sheets below, your slick running down John's wrist.

John parts from your clit, nudges it with his tongue, his beard glistening with your juices.

"Yeah, that's fucking it", another one of his thick fingers pumps itself into your tight little hole and his other hand - also slick with your juices - grabs your thigh, "That's a good girl."

You feel so full, your spine feels like it's on fire and your brain tingles with it, sends wave of pleasure down down down your body; muscles in your loins clenching, chest heaving. It becomes all too much as he leans back in, rubs his tongue over your clit, lips sucking and teasing your folds.

The slight burn of John's beard tickling your plush, hot cunt. His fingers working your open and stretching your tight little hole open far and wide, obscene squelching sounds filling the air as he works you open, brushing against your g-spot occasionally and making you see stars.

But it's too little. It's just not enough.

"Fuck", you whine as John's thick fingers brush over your g-spot with quite some force, tongue lapping at your seeping cunt, "Shit, please. Please, just fuck me, please!"

You can feel him grinning against your wet cunt, beard a little sticky with your juices, letting go of your pussy with an obscene pop. "Yeah", he licks his lips, tastes you on his tongue, "D'you want my cock?"

And that - that might be what makes you lose your mind. Because yes. Yes, you do.

You have been craving to touch it, to feel it since it had pressed against your clothed pussy earlier. Thus, all dignity leaves your body with one, clean whine that breaks free from your throat.

"Yes, fuck - oh god, John", you brabble, legs falling apart further, inviting him in, his digits sinking deeper into your soaking wet hole, "Shit, please fuck me, John - please, please, please --"

Pleas are still falling from your lips like a chant, as a surprising noise breaks the silence, so strangely beautiful that it has you nearly shuddering: John is laughing. It's a nice baritone sound, and the fine lines around his eyes crinkle with it - it's so beautiful, that it drowns the world out. You watch him in awe, as he shakes his head, avoids your gaze.

"Jesus. Look at you", he huffs, voice dripping thickly with amusement, "If you need it that badly--"

Straightening back up and kneeling between your legs, John slips his fingers from your cunt and makes quick work of his belt, trousers, and boxers. The second he frees is cock, you start to drool like a fucking pavlovian-dog.

His dick is so fucking huge. It is nicely curved and cut, the bulbous pink head glistening with pre-cum and a thick, pumping vein at the bottom that rakes from the base to the tip, as it rests between trimmed, dark pubic hair. His cock bobs against his abdomen as it bounces free, smears the pre-cum along the pale skin, twitches at the sudden contact. And Jesus fucking Christ, you just want to fucking touch it, feel its velvety skin in your palm. But you just know that you won't even be able to wrap your hand around its base fully, it's impossible, it--

"I-it won't fit", you whisper, a little taken aback by his sheer size.

"Oh, I'll make it fit, baby."

John takes his cock in one hand, thumb right beneath its head, and rubs it against your slit. And Jesus fucking Christ. Your hips snap up, meet his movements, and he grunts while he spreads his pre-cum along your cunt, gathers your slick. The thick head of his dick prods against your entrance and you take a deep breath, looking down between your legs. You watch how he slooowly pushes in and you gasp at the sudden intrusion, the delicious stretch making you moan.

His cock feels so fucking big, hot, and heavy, as he nestles the tip in, your hole clenching around it. John's brows furrow, and he doesn't wait long until he pushes his cock in further.

The thick base starts to stretch your slim rings of muscles, a sharp pain shooting through it. He can feel your hole protesting, can see you wincing. "Breathe, baby", he hums, "Let me do the rest."

His coarse voice mingles with his words and the waves of pleasure shooting through your body despite the dull pain, conjures up a pretty pretty image that floods your brain - there's sunlight everywhere, orange rays of it hitting a bed covered in white sheets, sweaty bodies on top of it; limbs entangled, hands intertwined with their golden rings shining brightly in the warm light, heavy breathing and sloppy kisses, and lazy thrusts as his cock fucks you awake. The thought makes you dizzy, your legs falling apart and hole fluttering open, inviting him in.

The slight burn leaves you a gasping, whimpering mess as he pushes himself in deep, nestles his huge cock in between your aching, hot, and tight walls.

And John feels like he is going to pass out. No blow to the head, no bullet to the chest, no knife to the stomach could ever make him feel as dizzy as the feeling of your hot cunt squeezing him does right now. His whole body is vibrating with want and lust and he just really hopes that you don't notice that he has gotten a little rusty. The thought quickly gets drowned-out as he looks down, where his thick cock practically splits you open, vanishes in your hole.

"Shit", he huffs out, places one large hand on your stomach and thrusts. Feeling himself moving inside of you has him moaning, gaze shooting up to you, meeting your eyes, as his hand presses down. "You feel me right here, baby?", he rasps and you nod, mouth agape by the sheer force of his thrust, tip of his cock prodding your cervix.

John can see his cock moving inside of you, the way your stomach bulges a little. He gets a little dizzy with, and then his eyes make the mistake of moving up to your face. And it takes a whole lot of fucking will-power of him to not just thrust and thrust and thrust and fuck you until you cry, bleed.

You are so fucking pretty. Mouth agape you watch how his cock vanishes between your legs, splits your cunt open, with his eyes heavy-lidded and cheeks flushed. Your lips are plush and red from his assault.

Your hands grip the sheets and your breasts heave with your deep breaths, that grow a little more flaccid. Next to you lays his gun, knife still buried into the mattress. His eyes drop to the weapons and his breath hitches. And for a split second, like a flash of light, he wonders what in God's name he's doing here. He is a professional. The Ballerina works like that. He doesn't.

A sweet, sweet noise rips him out of his thoughts. "J-john", you mewl, eyes still trained on his massive dick splitting you open, "I-it, it's --"

"Yeah?", he breathes, the sound all soft and careful around the edges.

"Heavy", you breathe.

"Does it hurt?", he kind of wants it to. Make you pay for what you did to him. He kind of doesn't want it to. Make you enjoy what he's got to give.

John realizes he is fucked.

You nod, head flying back into the cushions, while your brows dart together.

John's free hand flies to your clit, nudges it gently, before slowly rubbing wide circles over it. You gasp, as you feel fresh wetness flooding your cunt and dripping down your folds to where his cock splits your hole open, pools around it. He carefully pulls out a little and then pushes back in, assisted by your slick. The way you moan spurs him on and the circles on your clit grow faster and smaller.

Aching your back, you lean into the touch. "That's a good girl", he whispers, voice raw and coarse, dripping with lust and the exhaustion of holding back. John bottoms out, while continuing to rub your clit and he can feel your walls growing plush, your hole fluttering around his dick, relaxing with your hot, seeping cunt inviting him in. "Feels good?"

"Yeah, fuck", you feel like you are being split open, with his thick cock filling you to the brim and rubbing along your walls with every little movement, the thick head prodding gently against your cervix, "Shit, John."

It feels so fucking good, all thoughts being washed away from your brain as he starts to move carefully, thrusts into you once, twice. You moan, lips slightly parted, before your gaze flies to him.

And Fuck. John's chest is flushed a little, muscles of his abdomen flexing with every thrust while his gaze is trained down to where his cock fucks into you, brows darted together a little and his breathing audible.

"John?", you whisper, and his gaze immediately shoots up to you as your comparably tiny hand wraps around the wrist of his hand that is still rubbing your clit.

"Yeah?"

"Fuck me."

For a long moment, he just looks at you and you think - no, you are convinced - that you can see a glimpse of the human being he once was. Caring, sweet and gentle; as he seems to really take it into consideration if you are ready yet, if you know what you are begging for.

Apparently, he does deem you prepared enough, and the soft gaze gets replaced by a dark gleam as all gentleness vanishes from his face once more. Without a warning, John rolls his hips back only to thrust into you again, deep, and hard, immediately picking up a quick rhythm.

It comes as a genuine surprise to you and you gasp, mewling but it quickly feels just so fucking good, practically lights your body up and leaves every nerve-ending on fire, each thrust has you moaning loudly.

It spurs him on, makes him grunt and for a while, you both just watch him gliding in and out of your tight hole, with him feeling your muscles squeezing him and you feeling his cock stretching your open further and further. Your lips as slightly parted and his brows are furrowed as he rolls his hips into yours and you feel time getting lost on you, the only thing of importance remaining is the feeling of him filling you up. John's hands roam your body, wandering over your thighs and your stomach, your hips before angling your leg, pushing the heel of your foot on his shoulder, and grabbing your ankle with one hand, his dick slips into you even further, balls slapping against your ass heavily with each thrust.

You can tell that John has not fucked in a long, long time. It's not the way he does it - all fluid, languid thrust of his hips, muscles dancing under the soft skin. It's mostly the way he pants and grunts - sounds just as desperate as you feel. And still, he has the stamina of a racehorse.

You can feel that he wants to prove it, too, as his free hand grabs your thigh and hoists your other leg over his hip bone, practically pulling your lower half off the bed in the process. Your pelvis now clings to his, obscene sounds of his cock fucking into your wet pussy filling the air while he huffs with his thrusts, yet does not slow down.

The grip on both, your ankle and your thigh are hard, and you are certain his hands will leave a bruise but you just cannot bring yourself to care. Deep down you know, that someone will see them: your maids, your friends, your family.

But all thoughts, all worries get swapped from your brain as your gaze wanders up from where John's dick hammers into you steadily, rakes over his defined stomach and chest and finally, finally lands on his face.

He looks downright, utterly, and breathtakingly -- pornographic.

John's dark pupils blown wide gleaming with arousal, his cheeks are slightly blushed and a thin layer of sweat makes him glow in the dim light of the living room falling onto the bed. It surrounds him like a halo, a Saint of Death and Decay, with his dark hair falling into his forehead and onto his shoulders. He brushes it out of the way with his stunted hand, a ragged breath making his chest heave. There is still some of your slick wetting his beard.

You can't help your mind from going there, from wondering how different things could have been. What it would be like if you had met me in a bar instead of him entering your suite, leaving the hallway behind him looking like a slaughterhouse. Maybe he would have laughed at your jokes, in the dim light of your favorite bar in the city. Maybe he would have liked the same music as you do. Maybe, just maybe, he would have brought you home only to stay the night and fuck you until you would have lost your goddamn mind.

Your hand wanders down your body, strokes your waist and hip in the process, before it languidly drops between your spread legs, two fingers darting out and rubbing circles over your sensitive clit.

John moves quickly, his usual deadly precision shattering your peaceful fantasy, his hand ditching your thigh and closing in around your waist. "Don't you fuckin' touch yourself", he growls, and it's the first time you hear real, actual emotion dwelling in his throat - not his toneless, cold and mechanical rumble. He sounds pissed. Offended.

And the best part is: it seems to get him fucking going.

John leans in, your calf still resting on his shoulder and the slight pain of the stretch is delicious as he nearly folds your body in half. You can feel his dick sliding in even deeper into your hole and you gasp and whine, one hand coming up to dig into his biceps to just hold on. Hold on, while he pounds into you with perfectly angled, deep and strong thrusts, hitting your g-spot with every single one of them.

You know that the suite's door is in shambles, that anyone could walk in here and see you having your brains fucked out by the man who is here to kill you - but you don't care. Part of it is, because the gun is still resting next to your head on the sheets. You could just grab it and shoot anyone dead in heartbeat, whoever is trying to disturb the pleasure that shoots through your body.

But it is also him.

It's the way John is towering over you, back hunched, looking all wide and powerful and deadly, with the way he shields your body from view and harm as he thrusts into you. As he pushes all his rage, adrenaline, and strength into your tight hole, groans, and pants into your ear.

There is nothing you can do, despite holding onto him, nails digging into his back, clutching his broad shoulders, fingers running over his tattoos desperately. He is fucking the living daylight out of you, your body moving like a ragdoll underneath the mountain of muscles and strength. Your cunt is being split open by his cock, as you feel him hammering into you and you feel like you are going to lose your mind, panting and moaning with each of his thrusts.

"John, fuck", you moan sweetly, eyes rolling into your skull as he pounds into you, "You feel so fucking good, shit --"

"Yeah", he huffs, his forehead slowly sinking onto yours, "You too, baby."

You can see his eyelids fluttering, feel his upper body heaving beneath your hands, smell the blood on his skin, mingling with his musky scent. Blaming it on the sickening cocktail of hormones that is flooding both - your brain and your body - you lean in, your lips desperately smacking against his.

And Jesus Fucking Christ. Does John kiss you.

Kisses you like he is starving for it, licking back into your mouth - his body pressing yours into the mattress with his whole weight and muscle, while still thrusting into you.

Your hands tangle into his hair, tugging at it. John moans against your lips and your stomach flutters at the sound, and you want more. One hand moves to lay at the crook of his neck and your tongue presses against his, licking back into his mouth. Adding some force to his neck you invite John deeper into the kiss, and he follows suite, steals you the last bit of air your lungs were holding. Panting you part from him, thumb brushing over the crook of his neck.

Greedily breathing against his lips, you can't help yourself. You feel so alive and you want him to wreck you, to leave something behind that you will remember for every day your heart continues to beat. Greedily breathing against his lips, you can't help yourself but to whisper: "Harder."

John blinks, hips stuttering. And then, he grunts. His hand digs into your waist as he grabs you there, hold you in place will his hips rut into you. Picking up a near brutal rhythm, obscene sounds of your slick being pushed in and out and in out of your hole as he jackhammers into your g-spot, the bedframe rattling as John's thrusts pound it into the wall - leaving you a gasping and moaning mess. His belt clinks with his thrusts and you cling onto him, sharp whines escaping your throat.

"John John John", his name leaves your mouth like a mantra, sharp and high-pitched. His head falls forward, dark locks brushing over your cheek as his temple rests against yours and then you hear it.

John moans.

It's a deep, carnal sound. Your stomach flutters and lust shoots through your body at the noise, your tight cunt squeezing his thick cock as you squirt around his cock like a broken fucking hose, wetting his pubic hair. You can feel it rubbing along your wet folds, the sensation making you mewl, leaves your hips shuddering.

"Shit", you breathe, hands cradling his muscular back and then you can feel his dick twitching inside of you, accompanied by yet another one of his sweet, sweet moans, "Fuck, John--"

He raises his head and your gazes connect, before he leans in, presses his lips onto yours once more. The kiss is surprisingly soft and in stark contrast to the way he ruts and pounds into you and then he hits the spot once more and -

Everything goes white as your muscles clench and unclench suddenly, as you nearly scream against his lips; your hole practically milking his cock as you cum, pussy gushing and squirting around him like a broken hose.

John continues to fuck you through your orgasm and his heavy breathing reaches your ears through the cotton candy, that slowly wraps you in as everything turns light and bright. He moans deeply against your cheek as he comes, too - shoots hot ropes of cum into you and paints your walls with it.

His movements still as he buries himself deep into you, cock twitching with each thick rope of his cum and you can feel him fill you up, as his massive frame slowly sinks down onto you.

Your legs grow heavy and the stretch of your left leg is turning painful and you - a little clumsily - pull it away from his shoulder, stretch it out. Your limbs start to shake and you close your eyes, drawing in deep breaths through your nose.

The room is silent, the air heavy with the musky scent of sex.

Your chest still heaves with the remains of your orgasm, bliss still spreading in your brain and your veins, making you feel like you are flying. Your heart is still racing, as you feel him moving again.

Blinking up at him, you can see him grabbing the gun.

"Don't", you say softly, voice coarse from screaming your lungs out in pleasure just moments ago, "Please, don't." You are not ready to scream yet again. Not ready to scream in pain, instead of pleasure.

John does not reply. He pulls the hammer back, checks the chamber - all with one hand.

"Kill him instead, please."

He freezes, eyes locking with yours. "Who?", he sounds just as exhausted as you. The wolf, tired out. The deer, bleeding, limping.

Call it Post Nut Clarity, call it Finally Taking Your Future In Your Own Hands, call it Emancipating Yourself. Call it Having Wrapped A Deadly Assassin Around Your Pinky.

You were not safer here. You never were. Just more isolated. Easier to locate.

Easier to kill.

Realization hits you like a blow to the head, your vision swimming.

See? I will not die today.

"My father. Kill him."