#non-verbal prompts

[gonzague-if]

from the ask game, downfall or abrupt for nevers

Thank you! I was going to do abrupt, but then I got an idea for downfall that is huh... thematically relevant to the scene I plan to write with him in chapter 2 lol.

So... downfall .   find  my  muse  collapsed  on  the  ground .

You never liked hunting and it was even more apparent in this moment. Your horse was not used to this. The yelling, the dogs barking, the crowd of riders rushing through the woods, all of it had made her nervous. You tried your best to appease her, patting her neck and whispering gently to her.

Nothing worked. You had given up on following the rest of the courtiers and participating in the hunt. You did not want to anyway. Falling back, you focused on your mount, neverminding the risk of getting lost in the forest.

Then a musket fired, the explosive sound bouncing on the tree trunks and echoing throughout the woods. Then another, and another, and another. Your horse neighed in her distress and reared up. One moment you were on the saddle, the next your back was hitting the roots-covered soil, the air expelled out of your lungs.

For a moment you laid down, vision blurring, unable to breathe, temples pounding with the rush of blood, ears ringing with the sound of an army of brutes gunning down some poor animal. From the corner of your eye, you vaguely noticed your horse galloping away.

The noises were becoming fainter and you were not sure if the hunt was moving away or if you were losing consciousness. You gasped, taking in the smallest breath. It was not enough, you were still prone, unable to move. You took another tiny breath. And another. You closed your eyes, relieved that you could at least breathe.

Hooves hitting the ground drew your attention and you opened your eyes again. The sensation was strange from where you were lying. You felt the vibrations traveling through the dirt more than you could hear the sound. Then a voice called.

“Gonzague!”

Nevers. You let out a trembling sigh. At least you would not be abandoned here. You still could not respond so you waited, listening to your friend’s horse coming to an abrupt halt nearby. You could not see anything, but you heard a mess of metal clanking and some shuffling as Nevers swore under his breath.

“Damn horse…”

You frowned. It was taking him an awful amount of time just to get down from the saddle. Finally, a loud thump made the ground shake and Nevers waded through the underbrush — quite clumsily, from the sound of rustling ferns — toward you.

“Gonzague!”

If you had the energy, you would roll your eyes. If you had been able to respond, you would have done it the first time. A disheveled — more than usual — Nevers entered your field of vision as he fell to his knees beside you, expression taut, eyes searching your face desperately. His rough hands grabbed at your face, cradling it awkwardly.

“Please, please, don’t be dead!” “I am not dead, you idiot,” you tried to reply as wryly as you could.

But your voice was weak and wheezy. He sighed with relief and his smile was almost blinding.

Then he frowned again, his hands running down your torso frantically. “Are you alright? Are you hurt? Is anything broken?” “Nevers, please,” you struggled to say, your breath short.

He paused, docile, looking back at you as you took your time to inhale and exhale, wetting your lips.

“I have… no idea. Just… let me catch my breath.” “Of course… Of course.”

He smiled hesitantly, concern overshadowing the expression.

Moments passed and Nevers waited as patiently as he could. You could tell by his fidgeting that he struggled with sitting still. But he did, for your sake. After a while, your breathing had returned to normal. You heard heavy steps and vegetation being ruffled and you perked up.

“What is that?” Nevers looked to the side with a soft smile. “Your horse… She is back. I think she is worried about you.” “Are you not projecting a little?” You said with a chuckle that soon turned into a coughing fit.

After your struggles breathing, your lungs were a little sensitive.

Nevers frowned down at you, his big hand, warm and heavy, coming to rest on your chest. “Are you sure you are alright?” “I think so,” you reassured him.

You decided to attempt sitting up. Nevers accompanied the movement, supporting your back as you did so. You moved your legs and arms to make sure everything seemed functional. You were still shaking, but otherwise, so far, so good. When you turned your head, you noticed indeed the presence of your horse, approaching tentatively, head lowered in shame, or what looked like shame.

“I think I can stand up,” you said before putting your words into action. “Hey there, there is no…”

Nevers stood with you, and it was a good thing he did. Your legs were wobbly and you would have fallen back to the ground if he did not catch you.

“Yes, that is what I thought,” your friend grumbled.

And without preamble, he slipped one arm under your knees and swept you off your feet.

“Nevers, what are you doing?!”

It was incredibly embarrassing and you found yourself frantically checking around yourself to make sure no one was witnessing that.

“Carrying you?” He replied with a confused frown, unaware of how undignified you had to look. “To where?” You asked, more sensibly.

Your face was still turning dangerously hot.

“Huuuuuuh… Your horse? My horse?” You groaned. “Just… Take me to your horse.”

When he helped you haul yourself up on his saddle, a nagging thought in the back of your mind kept whispering that you were far more comfortable in his arms.

[danafeelingsick]

Hii I have an idea for 26 (kinda literal). Sickie is (almost?) non-verbal but v affectionate. So when caretaker wants to check if sickie is nauseous, caretaker will try to hug sickie or pet his belly. Sickie loves to be hugged by caretaker, but not when he feels sick. And ofc there must be a bad accident/illness one day.

Novemetober 2023 Rescheduled

@monthofsick

Prompt list | Masterlist | AO3 collection

Day 26. Nonverbal illness indicators

Word count: 1,1k~

CONTENT WARNINGS: descriptions of vomiting, tummy ache, tummy rubs, sickie is non-verbal (non-specified), sickie and caretaker are partners, implied relationship, A & B, caretaker is A and sickie is B, they/them pronouns for both

AN: i'm just going to pop back in with this and disappear again. i hope you like it! :) i love your requests and sorry for the wait!

“Morning, B…”, A greeted sleepily.

Sitting in the middle of the living room, B acknowledged them with a small nod, their eyes focused on the tv.

A found it odd they wouldn't turn to greet them properly, but chalked it up to B being sleepy and made their way to the kitchen to get their breakfast started. It was still odd, considering all they were watching was one of those variety shows A knew they didn't care about.

Sure, they hadn't thought much of it when they woke up and found the bed empty, B nowhere to be seen. They must've gotten up early, and didn't want to bother A on a day they could afford to sleep in. That had to be it.

B wordlessly scooted to the side, letting A take a seat on the sofa. Judging by the empty bowl they had seen inside the sink, A was fair to assume B had already had breakfast. Still, they left a bit of fresh coffee on the pot, just in case.

“Whatcha watching, B?”, they asked, setting their mug on the side table.

Eyes still locked on the TV, B grabbed the remote and brought down the program’s summary. Sure enough, it was some variety show in its millionth season, A was sure that B hadn’t a clue who any of these people were.

“And… you're enjoying it?” A raised an eyebrow, chuckling slightly. B simply shrugged. “Nothing else you wanted to watch?”

B held out the tv remote, willing A into taking it. This time they turned to finally look at them, and A quickly took notice of B’s frowny expression. Sure, they had the right to be a little grumpy that early in the morning, especially with such a nosy partner like A, but that just didn't seem like it.

“Oh? Are you sure you don't want that?”, A joked and B purposely wrinkled their nose, shoving the remote in their hand. A chuckled again, this time with a hint of relief that B was willing to play along. “A shame, I was *so* invested”, they added, leaning back.

It didn't surprise them that their partner hadn't found anything to watch, as soon as they started surfing past the channels, they grew bored. B, on the other hand, looked as if they were paying close attention to the few seconds they were allowed on each program.

A knew they would tell them if there was anything they wanted to watch but, after several minutes, B just seemed to withdraw into themselves. They leaned forward and crossed their arms firmly, their face pinched in a frown. It could've been A’s imagination, but it did seem like they had grown a bit pale.

“B?” their partner scooted closer, trying to take a better look at them. “Is there something wrong, honey?”

Despite B shaking their head vehemently, they curled into themselves, arms wrapped tightly around their stomach. A noticed they were shivering, their eyes squeezed shut and felt their heart drop. B looked like they were about to cry.

“Baby, are you in pain?”, A asked again, and gently pulled their partner closer. A slow touch on their back became a hug, and soon B was nestled in against their chest, fighting to hold back tears. “Is it your stomach?”

B hesitated, letting out a noise like a muffled sob, which prompted A to plant a kiss on their head, murmuring sweet reassurances. Their hands replaced B’s over their tummy and began gently rubbing it, trying to get them to relax.

“Does it hurt here?”, A asked, fingers slinking under the fabric. B shook their head again. “No?”

They felt B’s abdomen almost wince under their touch, as just the pressure of their fingertips was enough to cause them pain. There was a faint bubbling just underneath the surface, making A think the cause of B’s discomfort could be a simple indigestion. Although, their stomach was visibly upset, which threw A off when B denied feeling any pain.

A was about to ask again when they felt B’s hands began to pry their own away, trying to pull away from them. It was a process, B looked desperate to get away from them, but also seemed to be hesitant in applying any force to A’s fingers.

They understood it quickly and held their hands up, just as their partner hiccuped. In any other situation A would think nothing of it, but this time the sound was wet, almost suffocated by gagging. B scurried away from them, managing to lean over the edge of the sofa before they broke into a shallow retch.

A was only able to see their back as it began to heave, the sound of liquid splattering on the floor clueing them on what was happening. They felt awful for not realizing it sooner, but pulled themselves up, running to be by B’s side.

“B…!”

The poor thing continued to heave, fists holding onto the sofa as their stomach emptied itself, their whole body still shaking. A held them by the shoulders, going to brush their hair out of the way when they noticed the fresh tear tracks down B’s cheeks.

“Oh, honey… it's okay, I’m right here with you. I'm not going anywhere”, A reassured them, wiping their face with a thumb.

B shuddered, their face scrunching as they burped out a stream of stomach contents. A glanced at the puddle soaking into their carpet, noticing the bits of pale breakfast cereal and curdles of milk, and quickly looking away. They could do without that sight for now, instead focusing on B as they continued to spew more of it.

“There you go… get it up”, they encouraged, rubbing the side of their arm lightly, slowly so as to not overwhelm B even more.

B coughed as the spell began to taper off, drooling out threads of slimy bile still clinging to their lips. A held them as they worked through the last bits of bile, the sounds were grating to their ears, but A knew they were having it much worse.

“Shh… there you are”, A murmured, reminding them of their presence.

B sniffled, looking at the mess they had made. They couldn't hold back the tears any longer, everything just felt awful, they felt so sick.

“Hey, shh… it's okay, there’s no need to cry”, A told them, resting their hand on their back. “Come here, do you think you’re done?”

B nodded slowly amidst the tears, and leaned into A, letting them pull them into their chest. They hugged them tight, like they meant from the start, rubbing B’s back as they continued to sob.

“Honey, you should’ve told me you were sick”, A said, petting B’s hair. “Nevermind that now. We’ll move to the shower whenever you're ready, okay?”

B nodded, breathing in and out as they tried to calm themselves down.

[dont-hug-me-its-yuri]

Day 29 and 30 for dhmis oddtober: Happy and Creativity!!

(@persy-r-bozo)

[whumpetywhumpwhump]

Sign language in whump is one of my favourite things- your whumpee could be deaf, sure, but they could also be prone to non-verbal episodes (neurodivergent), asthma attacks (talking is pretty much impossible), or migraines (if they open their mouth, they're 99% sure they're going to throw up), etc etc

perhaps caretaker is the only one on the team who can interpret them- that could lead to frustration and upset when caretaker isn't there, and when caretaker is?

often all whumpee can sign is 'hurts', 'tired', or

'i love you'

[dainluvr]

Imagine non-verbal Whumpee who has had Whumper speak for them basically their entire life, they can’t actually tell anyone that they’re in danger, to help them. They try to send subtle signs when Whumper’s family or friends visit as a last resort but it barely works.

Bonus: Caretaker notices and tries their best to help Whumpee but it’s not often Whumper invites them over so they have to figure something out before it’s too late, not to mention, Whumper sticks to Whumpee like a leech.

[child-of-peace]

Hey, so I’m aware that non-verbal autistic people don’t want semi-verbal autistic people to use “non-verbal” for when we can’t speak or “lose speech”, so why don’t we just come up with our own word?

My proposals:

Sinevocal (sin-eh-vocal, Latin for without voice) or Aneuphonic (ann-you-phonic, Ancient Greek for without voice/speech - though this one may be too similar to aphonic which is a completely different thing, though I think they’re dissimilar enough?)

(I’m personally a fan of aneuphonic!)

In a sentence:

I went sinevocal yesterday after a bad shutdown.

Oh, I sometimes go aneuphonic when I’m overwhelmed.

It’s essentially like saying I went without a voice for a period of time, which does what it says on the tin, I think.

[pluralprompts]

Prompt #694

Headmate A can only ever "speak" in animal noises, and is struggling to communicate with the rest of their system.

[bothsidesofaquestion]

[ intrude ] sender walks in on receiver treating their wounds

non verbal angst prompts - selectively accepting

“Scheisse.”

He hisses, the medical tape falls to the floor.

Tearing the stitches apart to start over it’s best and, he knows he shouldn’t have done this before -completely- stopping the bleeding but alas, he is stupidly in a rush.

Inserting his finger into the wound is better, he should have done that in first place. He knows where is that damn artery and thinking about sewing it to solve two problems at once was both and impossible.

He presses the tip of his digit against the severed vessel… There!

The streak stops, a few drops fall to the floor then, it’s done. He almost smiles but, he sees her first.

“Ach, Wanda.” He swallows, his mouth is awfully dry. “This looks… Extreme but trust me, I know what I’m doing.” He reassures.

“I have enough medical training for this und, this wouldn’t be the first time I’ve done it…”

Yeah, neither to myself or my team mates and it won’t be the last time anyway.

“Um…” He bites the insides of his lips. “Perhaps, you could help me?” He is sure he can do this by himself but, extra help is always appreciated.

[byanyan]

struggling to exist rn, so. idk man I'm kinda just lurking lmao

[bxtonpxss]

[gonzague-if]

volumes, mayhaps, with dearest Peyrolles?

Thank you! <3

volumes .   gaze  at  my  muse  in  a  way  that  silently  says  ‘i love you’ .

It had been a long evening and you had grown annoyed with the imbibed courtiers, becoming overfamiliar with each other and even with you. You slapped one last straying hand away from your waist and made your way toward the Château de Saint-Cloud’s exit without saying goodbye to the Duc de Chartres. You were certain he was plenty busy anyway.

It was bracingly cool outside after the damp heat of the gathered bodies in the palace’s reception lounges. The dark of the night was soothing against the bright multitude of candlelights at your back. You took a deep breath of fresh, invigorating air and stepped down to the gravel path, the small pebbles crunching underfoot.

To your surprise, a carriage appeared in the castle’s glow, horses trotting up to you before turning to a stop. It was your equipage, you realized once your eyes started getting used to the darkness. The door facing you opened and Peyrolles jumped down. They held the door for you.

You smiled even if they probably could not see it.

“Ah, little Peyrolles,” you said as you climbed aboard. “Ever so reliable.”

You sat at the back of the coach and your factotum took their usual place in front of you. The driver spurred the horses forward and the carriage swayed gently as you made your way down the path, away from the Château de Saint-Cloud.

“How did you know I wanted to leave?” You asked Peyrolles after sitting quietly for a couple of minutes. “I saw monseigneur through the windows. You seemed about ready to leave.”

You narrowed your eyes at them, trying to gauge their expression. It was all but pointless, their face was entirely obscured by the shadows of your carriage.

“Were you watching me, Peyrolles?” “I thought I saw someone creeping around the palace, I was investigating.”

You perked up at that, linking your hands together and leaning forward.

“Really? What did you find?”

They hesitated.

“Nothing. It may have been my imagination.” You straightened your back, resting it against the plush seat. “I am glad you looked into it, regardless.” You saw them nod. “Of course, monseigneur.”

Another quiet moment passed, the coach finding the road back to Paris.

You sighed contentedly as you relaxed on the bench, stretching your legs until your knee bumped into Peyrolles’s. You thought you saw them stiffen, but you could not be sure in the night’s gloom.

“I am looking forward to being back home,” you declared. “With nothing but me, a good book and your silence, a perpetual companion.”

You grinned at them, even though you could not tell if your teasing was affecting them in any way.

“What about you Peyrolles? Are you happy to return to the hôtel? It must have been dreadfully cold to stand around like that in the middle of the night…”

Maybe you had too much to drink as well. You were awfully talkative tonight.

“I have no problem enduring a mild discomfort if that means monseigneur is safe,” Peyrolles replied evenly.

They were always constant in their answers, always repeating the same words, their tone unwavering. You always thought they were simply acting professional, indulging you politely, probably bored of your antics. But tonight… Tonight, as the alcohol warmed your limbs, making you feel loose and open, it rang differently.

It was familiarity. Reassurance. Comfort.

“You did not answer my question,” you said softly. “Are you happy to come home with me?”

Silence.

“I’m always home with you, monseigneur.”

Your heart started thumping harder in your chest. You could not see them, you wanted to see them. Then, as if the heavens heard you, the carriage turned and moonlight fell through the window, lighting steel eyes, staring back at you steadily. Always the same eyes. How had you never noticed it before?

[quarterlifekitty]

I’m sorry this train just won’t stop

More Johnny and Ghost with Ghost’s selectively mute (edit; I originally labeled reader as non-verbal, but I was made aware mutism more accurately describes this!) gf

Soap loves it when Simon fingers you in front of him, movie totally forgotten, and lets him cum on your stomach when he jerks off. And seeing Simon wipe it from your pretty belly and put his fingers between your lips? Goddamn.

But you know what makes him feel over the fucking moon? When you hug him at the door when he’s heading out. When you say goodnight so, so quietly in his ear.

We all know that man is a dog. And now you’ve got him by the fucking leash. He’ll do anything to hear more of that voice.

He’s totally addicted. Now every time he meets up with the guys and you’re along, or he comes to your place for movie nights, he’s leaning down for you to whisper hi, Soap, or goodnight, Johnny. Two little words and he’s melting. And he starts unlocking more little bits— learning to prompt in ways that you’ll respond.

Instead of asking how you’ve been, what you’ve been up to, running his mouth the way his thumping heart is telling him to, he just asks “you okay?” So he can hear your sweet, quiet tone when you say I’m ok.

Makes him fucking hard. He’s never been so hard on so little before. Just two fucking words and he feels like he’s gonna pass out from his blood rushing down.

[entomolog-t]

Abnormal g/t OCs you say?

The Shadow we Cast

Mark- an arachniphobe/germaphobe human has a run in with a strange spider loving little man who has no concept of hygiene and is starved for human connection.

INSTAЯ

Non-verbal/mute tiny monster man

Too many ‘normal’ people in g/t stories I think.

Give me a germaphobe human that loses their mind finding out a borrower has committed the ultimate sin (walked on their counter)

Give me deaf borrower who thinks their being quiet while borrowing, and the human just plays along, pretending they don’t hear all the noise they’re making

Give me autistic giant who holds a human captive simply so they have someone to infodump to

Give me human with visual and auditory hallucinations that just thinks the little guy they’ve seen running around their house is a hallucination

This isn’t even mostly about representation, I just think applying these to the g/t dynamic makes an even more interesting dynamic

[evansbby]

𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐝𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐦 𝐢𝐬 𝐠𝐨𝐧𝐞

𝐏𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠: dark!Steve Rogers x reader

𝐖𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬: EXTREMELY HEAVY SUBJECT MATTER, heavy depictions of domestic violence, physical and verbal abuse, NON CON, smutt, major angst, rough, breeding kink, dirty talk, mean Steve, housewife kink, domesticity kink, victim-blaming, manipulation, self-deprecating thoughts, self-blame.

𝐒𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲: Steve was always a great husband. Until he wasn't.

𝐀/𝐍: SUPER DARK. Very angsty. Very heavy subject matter. This fic explores domestic violence. This fic can be triggering so please read warnings beforehand and please do not read unless you have read them.

“Sweetie, come downstairs.”

Steve only has to say it once and it’s enough for you to drop whatever you’re doing and follow wherever his voice is calling you. On this occasion, you switch off the iron and set it aside before straightening your dress and scurrying down to greet your husband.

“I’m sorry, I got wrapped up in my chores,” you explain, helping him take his jacket off before he wraps one strong arm around your waist and pulls you into him. Gosh, he was so big and strong! Steve’s physique always made you nervous and skittish – but in a good way, mostly. Carefully, you link your arms around his neck, reaching up on your tiptoes to give him a kiss.

“You’re still learning,” Steve says after a long, lingering kiss to your lips followed by several small pecks that make you smile. “I don’t expect you to know everything straight off the bat. But for every rule missed, you must repeat it back to me.” His hand slips down to cup your ass through the thin material of your dress, and he gives it a firm squeeze as if to prompt you. “So, what’s the rule, baby?”

“That a good housewife always greets her husband at the door when he gets home from work.” You recite it dutifully, because by now you know all the rules by heart. Steve had made you learn them before you’d got married. You remember the long days of sitting in his lap and repeating each rule after him, and you also remember the soreness of your ass each time you got it wrong.

You never got them wrong anymore.

“Good girl,” Steve praises and you glow. You take his tie off for him, all the while asking him questions about his day. How work was, if anything special happened, if he was hungry. (Of course he was hungry, you knew Steve had a voracious appetite for both food and… other things.) He could eat enough for three men in one sitting – which was probably why he was so big and strong and imposing. And scary. Well, you were definitely scared of him. Sometimes. But you try not to think about that.

“This looks great, sweetheart,” Steve sits down on his place at the head of the table and pulls you into his lap. That was another thing about Steve, another one of his rules. He preferred you in his lap instead of in your own seat – at the dinner table, on the couch, anywhere. Even in the presence of other people, which embarrassed you sometimes but you’d never tell him that. It was one of his rules, and that meant it had to be obeyed, no questions asked.

“Thank you, Steve. I tried really hard to make all your favourites.”

He feeds you and himself at the same time, and now it’s his turn to ask you questions.

“Oh, my day was pretty boring,” you accept the bite of chicken pot pie he feeds you, chewing thoughtfully and trying your best to ignore the way your heart starts pitter-pattering harder. “I did all the chores I was supposed to do, and then I did some shopping. I got us some pretty new bedsheets.”

“That’s nice, sweetie. Did you buy anything for yourself?”

“No. I just came straight home after that, and…” Your voice trails off, and you hope your increased heartrate and clammy palms aren’t showing in your face.

“And what?” Steve blinks, those angelic blue eyes looking at you expectantly.

You shouldn’t lie to him. He was your husband. And it was one of his main rules, after all – you weren’t allowed to lie. And it wasn’t like you’d done anything wrong…

“Well…”

The change in his demeanour is subtle, but it doesn’t escape you how he grabs your arm, his finger stroking against your bare skin as a deathly silence falls over the room, as if he’s awaiting your next words with careful patience.

You shuffle on his lap. Oh, why didn’t you just spit it out the moment he’d come home!? Now he’d think you’d deliberately kept it from him until he’d asked, and-

You take a deep breath, “Th-The car broke down on the way back.”

Silence. You dare to peak up at his eyes to see them impassive, waiting for you to continue. He gently sets the fork down beside his plate, an unreadable expression on his face that does nothing to calm your nerves.

“I don’t know what happened, but it broke down and it wouldn’t move and I…”  

“Why didn’t you call me?”

It’s a toneless question, any warmth he’d possessed earlier now gone, and it makes you start shaking even more.

“I tr-tried but there was no service, and I knew you’d be busy, and… and… I’m sorry, Steve, I know I should have called you. I know I’m meant to call you when stuff like this happens, but in that moment I–”

“How did you get home?”

Another question. His voice flat, but the grip on your arm tighter than ever. You gulp.

“L-Luckily there was someone passing by, and they said their auto-repair shop was only five minutes away, and–”

“They?”

Your hands are shaking uncontrollably now, and you clasp them in your lap in a bid to get them to still. Your breathing grows more rapid, you can feel your palms grow sweatier as you squirm under your husband’s deathly calm gaze. You’re too afraid to look directly at him, but you know he’s expecting an answer. For a split second, you consider lying. But the consequences of that notion have you spitting out the truth before you can think about it any further.

“H-He.”

Steve goes deathly still. You hear him inhale sharply, his body tensing up even more underneath you. A part of you wants to burst into tears and run, run, run! But fear has you rooted in place, and even if it didn’t, he’s got a firm grasp on you, and you could never, ever overpower him.

“You got into a car with another man.”

He doesn’t even pose it as a question. No, the words leave Steve’s mouth in a statement of contempt and accusation. Except his tone is still so levelled, so dangerously low and contained.

“N-No! No, Steve, no! He offered to tow the car, and take it back to his repair shop. H-He was fixing it, Steve! And I swear I was only there for fifteen, maybe twenty minutes! I promise, and then I came straight home!” You’re tripping over your words, trying to get your explanation out. The explanation you’d subconsciously been rehearsing in your head all day because you knew it would come to this. You knew the moment that friendly stranger had tapped on your car window and offered his help. But what else could you have done in that moment?

“Steve, I know I should’ve called you the moment I had service, but I –”

“–But you were too busy with the mechanic.”

“No, no, Stevie, it’s not like that at all!” In hopeless desperation for this not to end badly, you bravely lock eyes with him, cupping his face in your hands, “I just didn’t want to bother you, I knew you had an important meeting around that time.” And I was also too scared to call.

His grip on your arm steadily tightens, till you can feel his fingers digging into your flesh. And you can see the vein in his forehead, the way his face is flushed red, the way he’s clenching his jaw, the way his eyes look so dark.

You wince, “S-Steve, please, you’re hurting me.”

“What did you do?”

“H-Huh?”

“In those fifteen, twenty minutes you were at his shop. When you should have been calling or texting me. What did you do?” Steve grips your chin, his thumb and forefinger pressing painfully down on your skin as he makes you look up at him. His expression is unreadable, his tone still low, but you can see that vein pulsing in his forehead. You know what it means.

“Nothing, I promise! I just sat in the waiting area, and…and there was no service, and–”

"Don't lie to me."

"I'm not, I swear I'm not, I-"

“You were fucking him.”

The accusation drops like a pin, except it feels more like a car crashing straight into your heart. You feel everything; hurt, panic, but most of all – fear.

And Steve’s eyes are so, so dark, and his words so matter-of-fact. He’s still got a death-grip on you, holding you firmly in his lap while you start shaking violently. Oh no, no, no, no… How could you persuade him that you hadn’t done that? How you could never do that?!

“No, Stevie, I would never! I t-told you, he was fixing the car, I barely spoke to him, I–”

“You fucked him. In the car that I bought for you. And then you thought you could keep it a secret from me.”

He isn’t hearing you. No, he’s going to that place. That place where his eyes turn black and his expression goes all far away, and his anger consumes him to the point where rationality goes completely out the window. And you’d give anything to not be dragged down into his dark place, where your pleas reach deaf ears, where your tears and screams don’t mean a single thing. Well, not until it’s all over.

“I didn’t, Steve, please believe me. I would never cheat on you, never ever. Please, you’re hurting me!”

His fingers clamp down on your upper arm so hard, you know they’ll leave a mark. Another one you’ll have to hide with a meticulous makeup routine and carefully selected clothes.

It takes all your strength to pry his hands off you, and you jump off his lap like a hot poker, slowly backing away as dread fills up your stomach. Dread that increases tenfold the moment he stands up too, up to his full height that makes you cower in total, utter fear.

“Don’t fucking lie to me,” his tone is hard now, louder, more biting, and your eyes zero in on his hands as they curl into fists at his side. “Do you think I was born yesterday?”

You continue backing away slowly, acutely aware that he’s stepping forward each time you take a step back. And like clockwork, you know how this goes. Soon your back would meet the wall, and then… Your eyes dart up behind him, up the stairs… Maybe, if you could get to the bedroom in time, perhaps lock the door?

“ANSWER ME!”

You jump, “No, Steve, I don’t! B-But I’m telling the truth. I barely spoke two words to the man, all I did was wait while he fixed the car. Please believe me,” your voice drops down to a broken whisper, “please…”

No talking to other men. It was perhaps Steve’s biggest rule. And it hadn’t always been like that, but slowly, through time, this rule had developed into one that your husband was the most obsessed with. The most angered by if ever broken by you. And what had started out as a little bit of a jealous streak had turned into white hot, obsessive, possession – almost paranoia. He saw red if a man ever looked your way, and God forbid if he thought it was the other way around…

“You’re fucking lying,” he spits out, each word coated in pure disdain that feels like ten stabs to your heart. “Had you been telling the truth, you wouldn’t have hid it from me until I asked you how your day was. You would have told me yourself, but you didn’t. You slept with someone else, and you thought you could fucking hide it from me, didn’t you?”

“No,” you whisper.

It only takes him two strides to get to you. And you’re frozen in fear but it’s like your body goes into fight or flight mode. He lunges at you, and you know he’s going for your throat but by some miracle you dodge him. And then you run, run, run for the stairs. Two at a time, oh you could make it! You’d lock yourself in the bathroom, wait for his anger to subside. You’d done that before, sometimes it would work, sometimes–

You take the stairs two at a time, but Steve’s legs are much longer than yours. He’s bigger than you in every way possible, stronger, faster too. It’s almost laughable how quickly he catches up to you, his footsteps heavily thudding on the floorboards. On the upper landing, and you’re almost at the bedroom door when he grabs your arm and yanks you back, and then–

SMACK.

The first hit always winds you. You never get used to it – his fist connecting with your jaw, the way your head snaps to the side, the ringing in your ear that blocks out all sound for a handful of moments. And then the pain, the numbing paint that’s all too familiar, radiating and spreading like hateful wildfire as you reach up to shield your face.

“Don’t fucking run from me, you little slut.” Steve slams you against the wall before pinning your wrists by your sides. “Look at me, look at me. I’m going to give you one last chance to tell the truth, and you better think very carefully before you speak, and don't you fucking lie to me. Did. You. Fuck. Him?”

A broken sob escapes your lips, a whimper filled with desperation, “N-No.”

It’s almost like he’s donned a mask as his handsome features twist into a snarl, his eyes narrowed to slits and yet you can still see the crazed darkness that consumes them like a cloud of black smoke. His lip curls in what looks to be contempt, and he shakes his head. “You’re a fucking liar.”

His grip on you tightens, if that was even possible, and his eyes flash, and suddenly he’s shaking you violently, your head hitting the hard wall with a thud as you cry and struggle against him.

“How the fuck could you? How could you sleep with him? After everything I do for you!? Answer the fucking question, how could you!?”

You want to defend yourself, tell him that you didn’t, you wouldn’t, how could he possibly believe you could? But you know there’s no point, you know he doesn’t hear anything when he gets like this. No matter how hard you cry, how much you beg and plead with him. He only sees red, never facts. And you’re still in shock from the first hit, so when you open your mouth nothing comes out.

The slap comes out of nowhere, the harsh cracking sound echoing across the hallway and bouncing off the walls as if to mock you. Your head whips to the side, and you’d have fallen down from the sheer force had he not been holding you up with his other hand.

“P-Please stop,” you croak out, finally finding your voice as the tears stream down your face from the pain of it. From both the physical and the mental anguish because you’d truly done nothing wrong! Hadn��t you? Sometimes he made you question yourself with how angry he’d get at you. “Please, Steve, it hurts, I didn’t–”

“Shut the fuck up and stop lying!” Steve roars, shaking you so hard you have to close your eyes because everything’s starting to spin now. “You thought you were fucking slick, didn’t you? Fucking someone else behind my back while I was at work, then coming home and acting like everything was fine, doing your fucking chores like you didn’t just act like a goddamned whore,” he shakes you again, his grip on your shoulders so hard you feel like passing out. “-thinking I wouldn’t’ find out, thinking I’m some fucking idiot who can’t put two and two together. That’s what you thought, didn’t you? DIDN’T YOU?!”

He backhands you hard when you don’t answer, before throwing you over his shoulder like you’re a sack of potatoes. Limply, you lay there, half disorientated and half crestfallen because you can’t even find it in you to defend yourself anymore.

He strides into the bedroom before throwing you on the bed, hard. You land with a thud, still clutching your face that blooms with never ending pain. Again, you try to shield yourself, but it’s like a rabbit trying to hide from a hungry lion. A hungry lion fuelled by crazed hatred and contempt. And that’s what hurts you the most – how he looks at you like that. As if you’re the worst person in the world. As if he really hates you and truly believes you’d ever cheat on him.

“You’re mine,” Steve snarls, climbing on top of you and once more grabbing your wrists. “I don’t give a fuck if you think you’re a free piece of ass who can run around town spreading your legs for the first man who looks your way. I own you, you fucking whore, and it’s your fucking fault that I’m doing this now. But you need to fucking learn…”

“N-No, please,” you cry out weakly when he grabs the material of your dress and rips it clean in half. Oh no, not this. Please not this. Not when he was so mad, so violent, not when he had that crazy look in his eye. You couldn’t do it, you couldn’t. He wouldn’t be gentle, and it would hurt so much. And you were already hurting so much. “Steve, I’m begging you, please, please, don’t! D-Don’t, I promise I’ll be better! I didn’t cheat on you but I swear, next time I’ll call you, next time I’ll–”

Another slap to your face shuts you up, and your sobs turn silent. Still there, just silent. Filled with dread and anguish and fear for the horrific roughness that is to come. That always came no matter how hard you begged. No matter how careful you were to follow his rules. You always messed up somehow. Oh, you could’ve been better! You should’ve been better and then you wouldn’t be here! And he’d still be nice, and you’d be sitting downstairs eating dinner and laughing, and…

Oh, how did it get to this?

“Everything I do for you, and you throw it all back in my face,” Steve snarls, and he’s so unrecognisable. Like a dark stranger looming above you, pelting out harsh words that he knows will cut deep, twist like a knife straight through your heart. Make you feel like you’re the worst person alive, and certainly the worst wife. Someone who can’t do anything right. Someone who can’t even keep her husband happy.

“I give you everything you could fucking want, I provide for you, don’t I?” He grabs your face with one hand, squeezing so hard it hurts. “Don’t I? Don’t I fucking give you anything you could ask for? And all I want in return is for you to listen to me. Your goddamned loyalty, that’s all I want. For you to fucking understand that you’re my property, that you need to do what I say. And what do you end up doing? Cheating on me like the fucking whore I always knew you were.”

He makes you believe it sometimes. Well, at first you didn’t, but now you’re not too sure. Maybe you were a terrible wife, because otherwise why would he always get so mad? You always tried your best to keep him happy but you never did enough. Did other wives do more than you did? Was that why their husbands never got mad at them? Was that why they were always happy and relaxed? While you walked on eggshells, waiting for him to explode? Maybe he wouldn’t be like this if he were married to a different woman. A better woman. Someone who didn’t make as many mistakes as you did. Someone who didn’t annoy him that much. Someone who kept him happy and didn’t make him so mad all the time that he had to accuse her of cheating. Someone he didn’t look at with pure hatred in his eyes, like he was doing with you now.

Steve kisses you roughly, possessively. Pressing his lips down on yours as if he wants to imprint the feel of them on you, sear it straight into your memory. As if you could ever forget. But it’s the sweet kisses from Steve that you want to remember, not the hate-fuelled way he’s kissing you now. But you just lie there limply, lie there and let him kiss you, let him pull your now tattered dress off you. And you wonder if he can taste the saltiness of your tears, and you wonder if even a tiny part of him cares.

How did it get to this?

“I’ll show you,” Steve mutters darkly, “I’ll show you who you fucking belong to. And it’s all your fucking fault, because you’re gonna feel it. And maybe this time, you won’t fucking forget it.”

You look beyond his shoulder as he unzips his fly and pulls his hard cock out. You look at the tiny speck on the wall, focus on it really hard. Focus on it till your vision blurs, focus on it so you don’t feel the excruciating pain as he forces his huge cock inside you. Focus on it till you can’t feel his hand wrapping around your throat, till you can’t hear the pure hatred hurtling out of his mouth. Maybe if you focused hard enough, it would all go away. Like magic.

It wasn’t always like this.

You remember your first date with Steve, almost a year ago to the day. Your friends had set you up with him, telling you he was only a couple of years older than you. Great looking, had an established career. But a bit shy, a bit reserved, someone who mostly kept to himself. You’d agreed, because you were shy and reserved too, and suggested ice-skating as a first date activity to help, well, break the ice.

And it had been so funny, because Steve couldn’t ice skate for the life of him.

“I don’t know how you do it,” he’d huffed, awkwardly “skating” up to you in the middle of the rink. Except he was less skating and more just dragging his skates across the ice while holding his huge arms out to balance himself. It was comical, because he looked so big and out of place, and yet so cute that you couldn’t help but giggle.

“It just takes a while to get used to,” you’d answered, skating around him before impulsively grabbing his hands in case he fell over or something. And you’d immediately widened your eyes when you’d realised what you’d done, about to drop his hands like hot pokers because you were never this forward on a first date! But Steve had chuckled, keeping a tight grip on your gloved hands and pulling you closer.

“Nope, I just think it’s in my genetic makeup to be bad at ice skating,” he’d said as he’d let you guide him back to the side of the rink where he could hold the railing, and yet he didn’t let go of your hands as he winked. “Either that, or I’m actually a pro who’s faking it just so you’ll hold my hand.”

You’d gone to the Christmas market after that, and Steve had bought you a hot chocolate with whipped cream and marshmallows on top. You thought he’d stop holding your hand once you were off the ice, but he’d held it throughout your stroll through the markets. You’d delicately sipped your hot drink, secretly thrilled at how nice and safe it felt to hold his big, warm hand. How he was so handsome and he genuinely seemed interested in you.

“You’ve got whipped cream on your nose,” Steve had pointed out, and before you could wipe it off, he’d done it for you. And then his hand had stayed on your face, cupping it gently while the market bustled around you, busy as ever but the two of you seemed to be in your own little bubble. And then he’d kissed you, and it had felt so incredibly right. Like coming home from a long, cold day and being met with the warm familiarity of your own house. A house where you felt safe, and content, because in that moment, that’s what he made you feel.

Safe, warm, content, happy.

“I’m never letting you out of this fucking house again, you hear me?” Steve grunts, slapping your cheek not-so-lightly and knocking you out of your reverie. You blink several times, hoping it’s just a dream. But his rough thrusts remind you that it’s not, and your mouth curls in pain as his hand goes back to wrap around your throat. “Not until you learn not to act like such a goddamned slut, not until you learn to fucking listen to me, and be good. This is all your fucking fault, okay? That’s why I have to teach you.”

“St-Steve,” you cry lightly, unable to breathe because of how he’s pressing down on your neck, “I-I can’t… I can’t…”

“Shut up!” His thrusts grow harder, even more unforgiving. And all you can do is lie there and take it, and hope and pray and wish that you were somewhere else right now. With someone else. Or no one at all. His hands, which you’d known to be so gentle once upon a time, are rough as they squeeze and fondle and slap you as if you’re an animal, a toy, something he wants to pound till he breaks. “You deserve this, you little whore. Tell me, was that fucker’s cock worth it? Was it worth ruining what we have? FUCKING TELL ME!”

So unfair. It was so horrifically unfair. Because you’d never think of cheating on him, never ever. You love Steve, despite everything you love him so much. But he didn’t love you. Of course he didn’t. Maybe he had at first, but he didn’t anymore.

What had you done to make yourself so unlovable? What had you done to make him hate you so much?

Again, you think how he feels like a stranger, a stranger who’s hurting you and violating you in the most unforgiving way possible. All while you lie there and take it. And how was this Steve? The very same Steve you’d fallen in love with less than a year ago? The same Steve who’d confided everything in you? Told you that you were the one for him, told you how much he loved you, how happy he was that he’d found you? How was this the same Steve?

You still remember how surprised your friends had been with how close you and Steve had gotten in such a short amount of time. But they’d also been happy, and taken all the credit of course, as they’d set the two of you up.

And you remember feeling so goddamned happy all the time. Happy whenever you got off work and you got to see Steve. Giddy because of how comfortable you felt around him, despite knowing him for such a short period of time. One date turned to two, which turned to five, and before you knew it, you were looking forward to spending nights at his place. Cooking for him, kissing him, climbing up on his roof and talking all night while staring up into the stars.

It was during one of those moments when Steve had told you that you were the first person he’d felt close to in a very long time. He’d told you that he hadn’t had a great childhood, that his parents hadn’t been very nice people. And because of that, he’d run away when he was sixteen and never looked back. He didn’t speak to them anymore.

He’d told you he’d had a girlfriend before, and they’d been together many years until she cheated on him. And he’d squeezed your hand then, looking up at you from where his head had been resting on your lap, and the stars in the sky had reflected in his eyes so brightly, and he’d told you that you were the first person since then that he’d felt connected with, that he’d felt like he could be himself around. That he loved you so much despite the fact he’d only known you a couple of weeks. He loved you so much and so hard, that you were all he could think about. That you consumed him. And he loved that. And he loved you.

So, where did all that go?

That’s what you wonder now, your body jolting from each unforgiving thrust as the man who is your husband fucks you relentlessly, fucks you like he hates you. Tells you repeatedly, again and again that it’s all your fault.

Your fault. Maybe it is your fault. Oh, if only you hadn’t gone out today! If only you’d just stayed at home and been good! Then the car would’ve never broken down, and none of this would have happened, and Steve would’ve been happy. And you wouldn’t have made him upset like how you always seem to do now.

“I’ll make sure you never fucking disobey me again,” he mutters, pushing your legs up and throwing them over his shoulders while you moan in pain underneath him. His cock is a blur, pummelling in and out of you like a jackhammer. And it’s crazy, the very person who’d made you feel such pleasure in the past, could be inflicting so much pain on you now. “I’ll make sure they all know who you belong to the moment they fucking look at you. Fuck, I’ll show you.”

The contempt in his tone kills you over and over again. Makes you think you’ll never be good enough to make him happy. Make anyone happy. Maybe it was you who had ruined Steve, turned him into the monster he’d become. Maybe it was all your fault, your fault that the sweet, caring man you’d met had turned into your worst nightmare. Someone you were so fucking scared of that sometimes you couldn’t even breathe.

“I’ll knock you the fuck up,” Steve grabs your chin, pressing his forehead against yours, “Maybe then you’ll get it through your head that you’re not the free piece of ass you seem to think you are. And everyone will see who exactly you belong to.”

You whimper, too frightened to protest, your body jolting with each thrust. And it always hurts when he’s this rough, it always burns so bad because of how big he is.

You remember a few months into dating him, when he’d taken your virginity. He’d been so sweet, so gentle. Holding you close and murmuring sweet nothings in your ear while you cried in his arms despite trying to be brave. He’d told you he was big, and that it would hurt and he’d pull out if you wanted him to. But you’d held on to him so tightly that night, because despite the pain, it had been so special to you. And he’d been so kind, so tender, and you’d basked in the glow of being loved. And the pain had been worth it, because you’d felt so close to him, and he’d told you over and over again how much he loved you, how special you were. How you completed him. How you were so pretty, so exquisite, how if he could take all the pain away from you and give it to himself, he’d do it in a heartbeat.

Now, he roughly presses his huge palm against your abdomen, and you can see the outline of his cock in your stomach as he continues to jut into you with inhumane force. Each thrust makes the bed rock underneath you, the bedposts hitting the wall with thwack after thwack while you silently lay there, the tears drying up on your cheeks, and yet your whole body still burns with pain from the constant onslaught.

“God fuck, your pussy’s still so fucking tight despite how much of a fucking whore you are,” Steve mutters through gritted teeth, “I’m gonna fill you the fuck up, get you pregnant once and for all so everyone knows not to fuck with what’s mine. And I swear to God, from now on you won’t even look at another man, let alone fuck some hick ass mechanic who’s trying to take you away from me because you’re too goddamned stupid to realise it.”

He hadn’t always so possessive to the point of insanity. Not the way he is now. You remember the old Steve, how he’d see you having innocent interactions with other men and not think twice about it. But slowly and surely, that had changed.

“I don’t like you talking to other men,” Steve had admitted to you once a few weeks into your relationship. “I know it’s irrational but I just hate it.”

“Oh, Stevie, it doesn’t mean anything,” you’d giggled, although you remembered secretly feeling so giddy that he cared enough about you to be jealous. That meant he was serious about you! “It’s you that I want, I couldn’t care less about anyone else!”

“I know,” he’d sighed, grabbing your hands and pressing kisses on them in a way that made you giggle even more. “I guess it’s just something I have to work on.”

But what had started out as simple, innocuous jealousy had morphed into something so much bigger, twisted, and ugly.

It began with a simple request; “please baby, don’t talk to him. I don’t like it.” And you found yourself listening to him, thinking he’d leave you if you didn’t. You distanced yourself from any male friends you had, including co-workers and even your relatives. You couldn’t stand to see Steve upset, and he’d asked you so nicely, so why wouldn’t you listen to him?

After that, he’d made you move in with him. “It’s just easier this way,” he’d assured you, despite the fact that you’d only been going out less than two months, “I feel more comfortable knowing you’re safe in my bed at night, and then I don’t worry as much.”

Then he’d made you quit your job. “I don’t like how those men at your work look at you,” he’d said, “I’ll take care of you, sweetie. You don’t need to work anymore.” And so, you’d quit without a second thought. It’s what had made Steve happy, so why wouldn’t you listen to him?

Then, he’d wanted to know where you were all the time. “I worry about you so much, you have no idea,” he’d told you once when the two of you were in bed and he was holding you close, stroking your hair while you lay on top of his chest. “I need to know where you are all the time, okay? I just… I need to know. And who you’re with. You need to tell me, or else I’ll go insane.”

Constant check-ins, constant texts. You were allowed to go out with your girlfriends, but never past a certain time. And certainly never a holiday or a girls’ trip. He had to know who your friends were, if they had boyfriends or brother, he had to know everything. And you were so in love with him, you hadn’t even realised that maybe it was all too much.

“My ex-girlfriend was having an affair behind my back for one year,” he’d told you quietly one night. One hot August night when the two of you had climbed up on his roof, and he lay with his head in your lap. His feathery lashes fanning his cheekbones, and his face softened by the moonlight, he’d looked like an angel that night. “One whole year, and I didn’t have a clue until the day I caught her. Them. I caught them in my bed.”

You’d listened with baited breath, because Steve never really spoke much about his life before you. Not his childhood, nor his parents who he didn’t speak to. And definitely never his ex-girlfriend.

“I just can’t lose you,” he’d said, staring hard at the dark night sky, “I don’t know what I’d do if I lost you, if you left me. If someone took you away from me, I think I’d die.”

You’d kissed him then, and whispered against his lips, “I’m not going anywhere, Stevie. I love you so much, and there’s nobody else out there for me. Just you. So don’t worry, because you’re stuck with me for as long as you’ll have me.”

He’d sat up and taken you into his arms, hugging you so tight you couldn’t breathe – but in a good way. “Forever,” he’d mumbled into your hair, “I’ll have you forever, and then after that too. I’m never gonna let you go.”

You’d married him a month later in a small ceremony with just your family and some friends. And he’d looked so happy on that day, so handsome and happy and he’d held you close to him the whole night. You were happy too, and thrilled that he was so happy. “Now everyone knows your mine,” he’d whispered in your ear while you two slow-danced, “This is all I’ve ever wanted, you’re all I’ve ever wanted. Thank you. I love you.”

“If you ever fucking cheat on me again, I’ll kill him.” Steve grabs your jaw hard, his fingers pressing against your skin until you cry out, ripped away from the safety of your memories and back into the present. “And you too. You got that? I’ll fucking kill you both.”

You’ve cried all the tears you possibly can, and so you just lay there. Limp, shaking like a leaf yet feeling so numb. So numb and alone because he wasn’t your husband. He was a monster, a monster you didn’t even recognise. Your angelic husband warped into a monster because of you, because of you, because of you!

With a grunt, he unloads inside you. His hot cum searing you from the inside out, and there’s so much of it. And he holds you up, with your legs pressed up over his shoulders, spilling load after load of his seed into you, making sure it stays, making sure it sticks.

And then he throws you aside, rising up to his feet and staring at you with blazing eyes. He’s still fully dressed in his suit, while you lie below him in your tattered dress. The one you’d chosen so painstakingly to wear for him today.

With glassy eyes and limbs that don’t move, you watch him as he does up his fly, muttering profanity under his breath. He’s still so angry, you can tell by that vein on his forehead, and the way his fists are balled up by his sides. You hate his fists. They scare you more than anything else in the whole world.

He doesn’t utter another word. Instead, he leaves. You hear him go down the stairs, hear the jangle of the car keys, the slam and lock of the front door.

He was gone.

Your body curls up into foetal position, and you hug yourself hard. It’s the only solace you can give yourself. Everything hurts. From your face, your jaw, your arms, your whole body down to your heart and your soul. Oh, you hate yourself! For being so weak, so pathetic!

But most of all, you hate yourself for making him how he’d become. If only you’d been a better wife, if only you’d been able to make him happy. Good wives didn’t get hit. So maybe this pain was what you deserved.

If only you hadn’t lied about the car…

Oh, the car! The goddamned car! You wish to God you could turn back time. But what could you have even done differently?

You remember feeling a sense of dread the moment the car had stopped working. And it had increased tenfold when you’d taken your phone out to call Steve, only for there to be no signal. Of course, the car had decided to stop working in the middle of nowhere. It was less than ideal, since you had to get home and finish all your chores before Steve got home. Otherwise, he might get mad, and then…

“Hey there, you OK?”

The knock on your window makes you jump, and you find a man peering in at you, a friendly yet slightly concerned look on his face. Oh gosh, Steve would be so mad if I spoke to this man now, you think to yourself. And yet… there’s not much else you can do. Your car won’t start back up, and you don’t know the first thing about repairing it.

“H-Hey,” you roll your window down, trying not to look directly at the stranger’s tanned face. “I’m OK, thanks for asking. My, uh, my car isn’t though. I think. It won’t start up.”

The man nods, “Yeah, that’s why I came over. Saw you on the side of the road and knew you wouldn’t be parked here for no reason.” He pauses, listening to the hum of your engine with a thoughtful look on his face. “I think I recognise the sound. If I could get this car back to my auto-shop, I think I could fix it.”

“Really?” Hope fills your heart before reality comes crashing down. Steve wouldn’t like for you to be going into auto-shops with men you didn’t know. You weren’t allowed to talk to any man unless Steve approved it. And you gulp, thinking how mad he’d be if he found out. The hairs on the back of your neck prickle as you think about the last time he’d gotten mad at you… No, you couldn’t go with this man, it wouldn’t be worth the trouble.

“I, uh, I think I can get it to start back up myself. Thanks anyways though!” You say with false brightness. But after a few more failed attempts, you slump back against your seat in defeat, and the man chuckles.

“A valiant effort. But as I said, my shop’s only about a mile and a half down that way. And luckily, I’ve got my tow truck with me now. Let me help you, and you’ll be on your way in no time.”

His face softens when he sees the hesitant look on your face, and he runs a hand through his unruly brown hair before fishing something out of his pocket. “Here’s my card, just so you know I’m legit. C’mon, let me help you. I couldn’t possibly leave a lady out here all on her own with a broken-down car that’s an easy fix.”

You bite your lip. His business card did look legit. And after another quick glance at your phone – still no signal – you nod and smile at the stranger. Maybe Steve would be proud of you for taking the initiative and getting yourself out of a sticky and potentially dangerous situation.

The ride to the man’s auto-repair shop is short enough. And he spends the next fifteen minutes fixing your car, all while you sit in the waiting room fretting and typing out texts to Steve that you’re too scared to send. You need to think of the perfect way to explain what had happened with the car, the most delicate explanation that wouldn’t result in him getting mad. Oh, you didn’t want him to get mad! Not when things had been going so well recently, and he hadn’t gotten mad in a long time, and you were starting to believe that he still loved you, and wasn’t annoyed by you all the time, and didn’t hate you, and–

“She’s almost fixed!” The man had announced cheerily, walking into the waiting room and shooting you a bright smile, one that had melted off his face the moment he’d seen the look of worry on your face. “Hey, are you alright?”

“I’m fine,” standing up and smoothening down your dress, you’d shot the man a puzzled look. “What do you mean, almost?”

“Almost as in I need an extra part to complete the fix, but it won’t come in until tomorrow.” The man runs a hand through his wavy brown hair that curls charmingly at the base of his neck. “But don’t worry, she’ll be back home in your driveway by noon tomorrow at the latest. I promise.”

“T-Tomorrow?” your blood runs cold, and it’s insane how your hands start shaking instantaneously. “But it can’t stay here overnight, my…my husband, he’ll find out, and then–”

“Husband?” The man repeats slowly before quickly gathering himself and taking a step back. “Well, ma’am, I’m sure he won’t mind about the car, so long as you’re alright. And don’t worry, I can give you a lift home.”

“N-No, you don’t understand, he…” you swallow harshly, squeezing your eyes shut for a second and clasping your hands to get them to stop shaking so violently, “N-No, he can’t know I was here, he can’t, he’ll…”

“Why don’t you let me speak to him,” the mechanic says slowly, pointing at your phone. “I’m sure I could explain the problem with the engine–”

Your eyes widen in pure fear, “NO! I mean, uh, no, that won’t be necessary. I just, oh God, I-I…” Suddenly, you can’t think straight. If Steve found out you were at this man’s auto-shop alone with him, that he’d spoken to you, that you’d spoken back to him… Oh no, Steve couldn’t find out. He’d get so mad, and he’d hurt you, and then everything would be awful for days.

“Is everything okay, ma’am?” The guy has a look of serious concern painted on his face as he stands before you. He’s tall, tall just like Steve, and looks just as strong too. “I know it’s none of my business, but you look awfully scared.”

You force a laugh that comes out a tad too high-pitched, “I’m fine! I’m totally fine! I just…”

“Let me give you a lift home,” the man says gently, taking a hesitant step closer to you. “I can speak to your husband, let him know it wasn’t your fault that your car broke down.”

“That’s not what he’d be angry about,” your eyes widen when you realise you’ve said too much. “I mean, he won’t be angry at all. Not at all. Everything’s gonna be just fine.”

More than him, it seems like you’re trying to persuade yourself.

“I, uh, I’ll call myself a cab,” you say, but the man places his warm hand on your wrist to stop you, and the contact makes you jump. He’s so… gentle. It’s a strange sensation. And then he just… looks at you. For a handful of seconds that feel like ages, he just looks at you with inquisitive blue eyes, as if he’s trying to read you, or at least trying to understand.

“Please, allow me,” finally, he tears his eyes away, and he’s got his phone out and he’s already dialling the number, “the reception here isn’t great, but my phone seems to work through it.”

It’s only later, when you’re getting into the cab, that he grabs your arm once more. Well, “grab” would be the wrong word. He gently placed his hand on your arm as if to stop you, and you hesitate, half distracted by the need to get home before Steve and come up with an excuse about the car, and half curious about what the mechanic has to say.

“You have my card,” he says slowly with significance, his voice lowering to a deep rumble. “Call me tomorrow about your car. Or,” he adds when you start closing the cab door, “if you feel like there’s another reason you should call me, then please just do it. I’m here to help.”

He holds your gaze for a moment or two, a few wayward strands of his brown hair falling over his forehead before he pushes them back. You find yourself forgetting to breathe, before you quickly shake your head and force a smile before looking away.

“Thank you for your help.”

Now, you lie alone on your bed, on your side with your knees up to your chest, shielding yourself and your poor body from whatever lies ahead. You can feel the outline of the mechanic’s card in your dress pocket, and muster up the strength to take it out.

Should you call him? It’s not like you had anyone else. Your family lived miles and miles away on the other side of the country. Steve had moved you to a different state after the wedding, claiming the two of you needed a fresh new beginning to start your new life together. And so you’d left all your friends and family behind without a second thought, loyally following your husband into the sunset because you loved him and trusted him.

You’d made new friends now, but they were the wives of Steve’s friends, and you didn’t know if you could trust them. What if they took Steve’s side? What if they recognised that it was you who’d turned him so awful and mean? That it was you who was the rotten one, poisoning everything you touched because you couldn’t keep him happy, couldn’t be a good wife?

You stare so hard at the card until your vision blurs, and then you stare some more. After a while, your thoughts just cease altogether, and you just lie there. Just wishing you didn’t exist. Wishing you were never alive to begin with, wishing you never felt the immense love in your heart that you still do for Steve. Wishing love never existed and neither did you. That you just disappeared into thin air one day and Steve could move on and be happy and be better for someone who made him better. Someone he genuinely loved and cared for and wanted to be better for.

Someone who so clearly wasn’t you.

You don’t know how long you lie there. Motionless. It’s different this time. In the past, after he’s left you like this, you’ve been able to get back up. Brush yourself off, make yourself pretty again and pretend it never happened. For the sake of both of you, just pretend it never happened.

You remember the first time he’d hit you. It was a month or so after your wedding, and Steve had taken you out to a work party of his. And you’d felt so relaxed, so pretty on the arm of your husband, wearing the dress he’d chosen for you, the jewellery he’d bought you. The diamond earrings sat pretty on your ears, a present from him that very night. He’d come up behind you while you’d sat at your vanity getting ready, and kissed your cheek and told you how much he loved you, how you deserved all the prettiest things in life because you were the prettiest thing in his life.

You’d felt so at ease, being led around by Steve whilst you mingled and spoke with his work colleagues. But his good mood hadn’t lasted as the night had gone on, and halfway through the evening, you’d sensed him go silent next to you. Deathly silent. His grip around your waist had tightened to the point where it was almost uncomfortable, and his jaw was tight too. His lips set into a straight line.

He’d been just as silent on the drive back home, and it was only once the two of you were back in your bedroom, that he’d chose to speak.

“You were getting awfully comfortable with some of the men at the party,” he’d commented while you were undoing his tie.

You’d wrinkled your nose, “What?”

“Don’t say what. You know exactly what I mean.” His tone was cold, colder than you’d ever heard it. Soon, you’d grow used to the tell-tale signs that he was going into that dark, forlorn place he went to when he got like this. But back then, you didn’t really have an inkling.

“D-Did I do something to upset you, Stevie?” You’d asked hesitantly, not knowing what to make of his detached anger. You’d reached back to undo the zipper of your dress. Usually, he did it, but he wasn’t offering to do it then.

“Do I have to spell it out for you?” His tone had been so cutting that you’d physically flinched, and when he’d turned back around, his eyes were blazing accusatorily, “You were acting like a goddamned slut tonight, flirting with all those men.”

You remember the insult not even hitting you, because the absurdity of his statement had taken you so far off guard that instead, a giggle had escaped from your lips. An awkward giggle, like you had no idea what to say to such an absurd accusation.

“Do you find this funny?” You’d never forget the look he’d given you then, how he’d strode across the room, how big he’d looked, how scared you’d felt in that one second.

“No, Stevie, I was just–”

The strike had come out of nowhere. Like a clap of thunder, almost. You’d heard it before you’d even felt it. The slap that seemed to reverberate off the walls, except it was his palm against your cheek. The force of it had you reeling, and you’d lost your balance. Crashed against the wall with a thud before you’d fallen down.

You still remember how unreal it all had felt. Like an out of body experience, almost. Surreal. And the pain had bloomed instantly on the side of your face, and you’d looked up at him and he’d looked down at you, a horrified look on his face. He’d held his hand out in front of him, staring at it hard, and the darkness from his eyes had cleared.

Back in the present, and you can’t stop shaking. You feel numb, empty, and yet you can’t stop shaking. You try to think back to the old Steve, the good Steve. The sweet Stevie who was a little bit shy, and yet so charming and witty at the same time. So poetically in love that he’d made you fall for him, hook, line and sinker. The romantic Steve who’d whisked you off your feet and you’d happily followed him into the sunset without a second glance backwards.

Steve. The love of your life.

You just wish he still loved you back.

You don’t know how long you lie there. Seconds, minutes, hours, they don’t mean a thing. Not when this was to be your reality for the rest of your life. Again, you feel the charming mechanic’s card in your hand, but now you can’t even muster up the energy to hold it up.

It’s the dead of the night when he finally comes back. You haven’t moved an inch, but the sound of the front door shutting and the footsteps thudding up the stairs has alarm bells going off in your head.

No, no, no. No more hitting, no more pain. You couldn’t take another slap, you couldn’t, you couldn’t, you couldn’t! In fight or flight mode, you heave yourself up, shaking with fear. The only place you can think of to hide is under the bed. And maybe he wouldn’t care to look for you, maybe he’d stay in the guest room, maybe he’d just leave you alone.

But you see Steve’s shoes as he enters your shared bedroom, and you find that you’re holding your breath. Slowly, he steps inside, and you hear him call out your name quietly. You squeeze your eyes shut, hoping to be transported away. Far, far away where nothing cruel could reach you, and you could be happy all the time and not have to feel any pain, not ever, ever, ever!

It’s when his fingers wrap around your ankle that you start crying again. But no sound comes out, perhaps because you’re in shock. Or maybe because you’re just too scared. Rigid, frozen in complete fear, you’re limp as he pulls you out from under the bed.

“Oh God,” he whispers as the stark white orange light of the bedroom hits you. “Oh…Oh God… I…” his voice catches, his blue eyes clear and alert, blinking several times as he takes you in. Your poor, quivering body, and haunted, dead eyes that look anywhere except at him.

“I didn’t mean to,” he hoists you up into his lap gently as he sits on the cold floor, a mix of shock and regret on his face as he repeatedly shakes his head, surveying your face, your arms, your shoulders, your stomach, “Baby, I… Oh God, I didn’t mean it, I swear I didn’t…”

You find the tiny speck on the wall once more, and you fix your gaze upon it until it blurs. You're so numb, so far away, and you barely feel his hand as he gingerly touches the bruises and marks he’s left on you. Some old ones, some new. Some that had yet to turn dark and noticeable, some half covered in makeup from before.

Carefully, Steve strokes your face, the same side he’d slapped repeatedly only a few hours before. But the gentleness doesn’t register to you. Nothing does. You stare at the speck even harder, wondering if it was always there.

“I’m so sorry,” he breathes, his tone hushed, regretful. Filled with anguish. “Baby, I’m so sorry, I… I got angry, I shouldn’t have got angry but I just…” his voice trails off as he stares hard at his own hand. As if he can’t believe he’s done this, as if he can’t believe that his own hand was capable of doing so much damage.

The speck on the wall seems to get bigger. You wish to God it would swallow you up whole.

“I swear I won’t do it again; I won’t ever hurt you like this again, I swear on my life,” Steve holds you up against his chest, cradles you like you’re a baby. And it feels so alien, to be handled so delicately. He hugs you close, burying his face in your shoulder, and that’s when you hear his voice break, “I won’t do it again, you have my word I’ll never hurt you again. I’m so fucking sorry, oh God, I’m so sorry.”

I won’t do it again. You’d heard that before. That’s what he’d said the first time he’d hit you. That’s what he said after every time. The speck grows blurry.

“Baby, please say something,” he stops hugging you, but still holds you in his lap, his strong arms around you in a way that should make you feel safe but right now you just feel nothing. His voice is thick, “I swear on everything, I won’t lay a hand on you again. I just… I don’t know what’s wrong with me, I don’t know why I get like that. Everything goes black, and it’s like I can’t think straight and then by the time I can, it’s too late. But I swear I’ll get better, I swear on my life this won’t happen again, baby, just please. Please say something.”

If you painted over the speck, would it still be there? Would it disappear entirely, or would the paint chip off after enough time had passed, and reveal the ugliness once more?

“I’ll go to anger management, therapy, you name it,” he shakes you gently, his thumbs stroking your cheekbones. “I want to get better for you, be better for you. I know I’m not a good man, baby, I know you deserve better and I’ll do anything. I swear, this is the last time I hurt you, okay? Please, just believe me, okay? Just say something.”

Steve stands up with you in his arms, your limbs falling limply down by your sides, your head lolling down too. Almost like you’re not real, like you’re a doll who was alive for a little while but you’re not anymore. You certainly don’t feel alive. You don’t feel anything. Just numbness.

Tenderly, he lays you down on the bed. The same bed he’d roughly thrown you down and violated you on just a few hours earlier. And a part of you, a tiny part of you from the deepest recesses of your mind, wants to muster up the courage to look into his eyes. To search for the man you love, to see if he’s still there. But the dark numbness eats you from the inside out, and so you just stare blankly at your speck on the wall.

“I promise I’ll change,” Steve repeats, the desperation now evident in his tone as he clutches your face, wills you to look at him. “Please, just listen to me. Believe me when I say I’ll change. Wh-When we… when we have our little girl, I’ll change. I’ll be a good husband and a good dad, make both of you happy. I won’t ever get like this again, I can promise you that now, alright? That’s a promise I’m making to you right now.”

A child? Would he hurt it too? Would he grow to hate it too, simply because it would be yours?

He grabs your hand, and his is so warm. Or is yours the one that’s freezing cold? It had been cold under the bed, but you’d liked it. Feeling cold was a different kind of pain, one that distracted you from the pain he’d caused you.

He kisses you desperately, all over your face as if trying to get you to say something back to him. Instead, you notice another speck on the ceiling above the closet. How many were there? Were they secretly laughing at you? Mocking you for staying so long in a speck-filled house?

“Baby?” Steve’s eyes glisten, his face so ghastly pale as he grabs your hand and presses more desperate kisses on it, “Baby, please say something. Say you forgive me. I-I don’t know why I do it, okay? I just, I’m so fucking terrified of someone taking you away from me. Taking away the one person, the only person, in my whole fucking life who means everything to me. I couldn’t stand it, I thought he’d take you away from me, and I just saw red, and I’m so sorry. I hate myself for doing this to you, baby. I’m so sorry, please say something!”

But you can’t! How can you, when it doesn’t even feel like you’re real anymore?

The specks are all around you now, growing larger and larger. You can hear Steve apologising over and over again, hugging you close as he begs for your forgiveness. But you’re too far away, so far away that you can barely hear him anymore. Lightyears away, in your own universe where you’re brave and confident and nobody ever messes with you. Nobody ever hurts you. And you take care of yourself, and it’s enough.

You find yourself hurtling through windows of time, entering one before flitting into the next as the specks grow so large it feels like they’re consuming you. You find yourself observing your birthday last year, when you’d baked your own cake and Steve had spent hours decorating it for you. Using your favourite-coloured frosting, and of course you’d gotten some on your face. He’d kissed it off for you, and told you that you were adorable.

Now you’re on Steve’s roof, the night he’d told you about his big promotion at work. You’d yelped in excitement, hugged him so hard it had hurt – but the good kind of hurt. And he’d had those stars in his eyes as he’d held you. “You’re my best friend, you know?” he’d said, “Every time anything good happens, you’re the first person I look for in the room to tell.”

Memory after memory, one cherished moment after another. And you’re so possessive of these moments, like you want to lock them up in a jar and keep them safe forever. Not let them get tainted like how he’d gotten tainted. Because of you, of course.

Maybe I’ll stay here, you think as the specks continue to consume you. It’s safe here. I’m happy here. He’s happy too. Maybe I’ll stay forever...

But something's stopping the specks from swallowing you up and taking you away. Taking you far, far away where Steve couldn't hurt you anymore, the place where there was only love and never hate. But something's stopping you, pulling you back like gravity that you simply couldn't defy. A stranger's voice, warm and sweet like honey, cutting through the freezing cold numbness.

“If you feel like there’s another reason you should call me, then please just do it. I’m here to help.”

You feel the card clutched tightly in your hand; the hand Steve isn’t holding on to. And it pulls you back, back, back to reality. Another memory, but this time it’s a stranger with blue eyes and a friendly smile.

The specks slowly start to disappear, and you find yourself back in your bedroom. Back in Steve’s arms. Back in his warm embrace, except it does nothing to stop you from feeling so numbingly cold.

“I love you,” Steve whispers, “I love you so much, I’d die if I lost you. Please forgive me, baby. Come back to me. I won’t ever hurt you again.”

He lifts you up and hugs you once more, holding on to you so tightly as if his life depends on it. Strokes your hair and whispers sweetly in your ear, says all the words of regret that you've heard before. But you lie motionless in his arms like a broken doll, your poor cheek resting limply on his shoulder.

And it’s over Steve’s shoulder that you look down at the card in your hand, and read the man’s name, along with his number. And suddenly, a coolness washes over you.

Your finger twitches. You take a deep breath.

“Baby?” Steve draws back till you’re both face to face once more, and his eyes have those stars in them again, the stars you'd fallen in love with, the stars you'd wanted back so bad that you'd let it get this far. He cups your face, and presses his forehead against yours.

“You forgive me, don't you?"

THE END.

Okay so. That was a lot. It was a lot to write. If you're still here, then thank you for sticking around till the end. I hope you enjoyed reading it and I hope you found the story that I was trying to tell compelling. Please do let me know what you thought. What do you think reader will do now? What do you WANT her to do now? Who was the stranger? Why is Steve the way he is? IDK. Any raw thoughts and feedback would be incredible as always. Thanks so much for baring with me while I tried to post this fic. One last thing - this is a work of complete fiction. Thank you <3

[muntitled]

Condom or No Condom: Dreamy Edition

-' 7dream x afab!reader

-' Which dreamies are wrapping it up

-' cw: +18, mdni, Name calling, Breeding Kink, Coercion, Degradation Kink

Missed Renjun <3

# Mark | No Condom

-a very shy boy at times but his kinks are anything but

- the type to verbalize his interests in different kinks with small actions so you'd really need to pay attention

- Mark would intentionally forget to buy condoms

- Recently he'd be staying inside you longer.

He'd already be easing you out of your clothes, leaving wet kisses along your soft abdomen as you begin to tug on his long brown strands.

You'd already been wet for him a long tine ago, Mark just needed you especially pliant for when he could really start talking his shit, "You know how good you'd look with my baby inside you?" Mark's panting heavily, "Dude, seriously,"

Your hips would stutter upwards without you even meaning to, quickly prompting Mark to undo the drawstring of his sweatpants.

"You like that idea, yeah?"

You'd watch through hazy eyes as Mark pulls his cock just enough to line it up at your entrance. "Want me to hit it raw? Huh, Pretty Girl- fuck-" Just saying those words out loud has his cock twitching eagerly. Mark would be a heaving mess as he presses hich cock into your cunt. The sensation of your bare skin against his would give him brain fog, making him tremble as he kissed against your neck.

"Fuck, I'm gonna breed you, baby-" he'd kiss you again non stop, "Gonna breed my baby..."

# Renjun | Condom

- he can be persuaded into forgoing one but you'd need to construct an incredibly good argument (no you wont)

- the moment the idea falls from your lips, Renjun can't help the desire that runs through his stomach

- still, he'd try to be a good boyfriend. A responsible boyfriend.

"Why are you so scared to fuck me today?" You'd whisper into Renjun's ear, wholly frustrated from this make out sessions that has lasted for way too long. "We're not high schoolers, Ren, why aren't you inside me?"

He'd sigh in frustration as his threw his hand backwards on the pillows scattered around your bed. His hands naturally going to your hips.

"Condoms-" he'd sigh in frustration before peeking up from her palm of his hands

"I forgot to buy more-"

You had continued kissing up the side of his neck. Renjuin shivered when your tongue slithered out to lick a long stripe down his neck. "Thats fine."

His eyes are wide and so incredibly hungry when he swallows and asks. "Thats fine?"

"Thats fine," you'd nod. "Im on birth control-"

"Shit, why didn't you say this sooner-" he'd grumble

# Jeno | No Condom

- As soon as you're dating he'd forgo buying condoms altogether

- he actually thinks it's weird and unnatural not to have raw sex with his girl who's both tested and loyal

- this would also spur on his breeding kink

Jeno's teeth sink into your collarbone as he fucks you roughly against the wall. Like a dog in heat, the sound of your body snapping together is the only thing that fills the entire room.

"Such a pretty slut," he'd muttered through clenched teeth. "You only let me fuck you like this?" He'd have his palms locked around your neck as he watches you wrestle to stay conscious, "You only let me fuck you like this?" He'd repeat, this time with a much firmer voice.

Your lips trmeble as you say, "Only you Nono-"

"Fuck, I'm cumming-" and he would. The thought of you belonging to him being more than enough.

# Haechan | No Condom

- A menace in disguise

- For the better part of the relationship he'd entertain you and your 'we need a condom" narrative

- Boring

- He'd roll his eyes

- Until one day he just stops buying them altogether

- And then he'd throw away the condoms you kept in your house too

- And then he'd throw your birth control pills down the drain

He's whispering the most vile things into your ear as you sat on his lap, legs spread open as his fingers repeatedly stab your cunt.

His voice is low, in the way you like and your eyes are squeezed shut as you picture every filthy thing he's saying to you.

"God, Hyuck-"

"Listen to how wet you are- you want me to stick my cock inside you, huh? You wanna squeeze this tight pussy around Hyuck's cock?

"Fuck I'm, so close,' his thumb circles your clit, "I'm gonna fill you up so good, babe I promise-" you'd be done for, cumming everywhere as your body spasmed around his fingers.

"F-Fuck-"

"Great so we're on the same page then?" He'd ask,

"Huh?" You'd crane your lightheaded-head backwards, watching him with hazy eyes.

"No more condoms? We're on the same page"

"Hyuck when did i-"

"Exhibit a- he'd say, showing you his cum covered fingers glistening with your arousal.

# Jaemin | No Condom

- Jaemin considers himself a perfectly cautious guy. He is reliable and responsible, thank you very much.

- He just didn't really see much need for a condom anymore.

-He's growing tired of pulling out everytime

- He's a romantic

- He needs to feel close to you.

- When you slip up and tell him you're on birth control he's absolutely done for.

- He'd been dreaming about this since you started being intimate.

- since the thought of spurting his cum inside you had been rendering him absolutely feral

"Sorry," Jaemin said, lowering his iPad as he stared at you from across the couch, "What"d you just say?"

"I'm on birth control- hope that's okay-" your eyes would nearly fall out of your sockets as your boyfriend begins stripping right in front of you.

# Chen Le | No Condom

- He's thought about it... of course he's thought about it

- Chenle isn't too open about Sex until it's happening right in front of his eyes

- Only when the environment calls for it, would you even feel comfortable enough suggesting something so lewd

- the thing about that is, although he might not voice all his sexual interests allowed, there will be signs

"Jesus, what the fuck did you say to me?" Chenle had removed his headset, swiveling in his chair to stare at you wide eyed. From your spot on his bed you roll your eyes, as you tap away at your screen. "Oh so you're too busy gaming with your friends whenever i ask anything important. But the second I tell you I wanna feel you inside me, then you can hear me,"

Chenle's hand rushes to adjust the bulge forming in his sweatpants, lest he cums right there. He murmers in mandarin before severing the line as he rests his headsets on the table, fully gaining his attention. "Oh my god you're such a fucking slut-" he smirks as he slowly stands from his gaming chair. You swallowed thickly as he talks towards the bed. The environment being apparently perfect enough for Chenle's mouth to spew whatever it wanted.

"You wanna be my little slut huh? Just mine?"

# Jisung | No Condom

- a very shy boy

- a very perverted boy

- of course he's thought about hitting it raw before

- he's gotten off the the idea of breeding you ever since you became a couple.

- it was be the biggest thing on the forefront of his mind

"Wanna feel you- Jisungie," you were grinding yourself on his lap, prompted by his trembling hands guiding your hips on top of him. Jisung's mind was rotten with all the dirty things he'd dream about doing to you. This being at the top of his list.

"I need you inside mee-" you'd whisper in his ear, prompting him to gasp as his hips stutter upwards into yours. You could feel the size of his bulge underneath his clothes. You could feel the desperation with which he grinded his cock along your crotch, hoping for even the tiniest bit of friction.

"You wanna do me raw, Sungie?"

The second those words leave your mouth, a wet spot begins to form in his pants as he cuts accidently.

"F-Fuck-" he couldn't stop himself.

Despite this, Jisung's cock is still hard.

[zindagi-jhandwa-firbhi-ghamandwa]

In the future, we will all wear tech equipped with hyper-sophisticated AI that can always read our thoughts and moods. We won't have a choice.

These wearables will be watches, glasses, rings, necklaces, belts. And they'll project a tiny circle above your head that lets others around you know exactly how you feel. Are you angry? Spinning red ball. Happy? Slowly rotating white sphere. Lost? Purple circle with a squiggly border.

It's a nightmare at first. People can't lie anymore. The social lubricant that keeps society functioning is lost and everyone hates everyone else and is despondent because everyone else seems to hate them.

Except me because for once I can FINALLY TELL WHAT SOMEONE'S FACIAL EXPRESSIONS MEAN, FFS!