#strike out would be her thoughts

[chloesimaginationthings]

You should draw Vanny with that red lipstick more often she slays in it 😍

She only wears the red lipstick when in her suit but I agreed wholeheartedly,, queen

[cent-scratchnsniff]

just shy

[slcepily]

weow

[bitegore]

Got to dream about being Erica last night, which was cool. Specifically in like, a no-Haven AU but when I finally got to break out all of the poisons, dose literally all the food, and start smashing people's heads in with crochet mallets, my GOD that shit was satisfying.

[britneyshakespeare]

i have a very peculiar life where i've often, due to chronic illness and the resulting reclusive tendencies from said illness, just plain not associated with people of my own age on a regular basis for months or years at a time. but when i do go out, i'm, like, not an unattractive or socially unsuccessful person. well i'm not necessarily socially successful but i'm not unattractive. and i'll look back on like a certain period sometimes and realize that i had a lot of people trying to pursue me romantically, and i'm like "hey what happened to that? its been such a long while since anybody asked me out........."

"oh yeah i dont leave the house"

[mimiatmidnight]

Will you be commenting on the Taylor drama?

I love the way this was worded, like I'm one of the siblings on Succession and the press has cornered me outside my penthouse to ask if I'll be releasing a statement on my family's latest scandal. Hehehe anyways.

Sorry but I just don't understand how anyone is shocked. Truly what has that woman ever done to successfully convince people that this is out of character for her. Like I don't want to diminish anyone's pain or anything but I see all these stans on here and over on Twitter in all this distress, having their very first epiphanies like "Hold on . . . does Taylor . . . suck??" And I kinda just have to chuckle at them cause like bless your hearts babes, but omg catch UP 😭

Lol because 1) she is a severely emotionally stunted person who thinks edgy British "bad boys" are hot like she's 12 years old, 2) she has no true deeply-held moral principles outside of issues that directly affect herself, and 3) truthfully, she seems to be suffering from a serious crisis of identity after the end of the longest and most significant romantic relationship of her life, and in my opinion is pretty clearly desperate to prove something to the world/her ex/herself.

The first reason is cringe but not news to longtime viewers, the second reason is pathetic but also not news (to those who can be honest with themselves), and the third is . . . understandable in some sense, but not pitiable enough to make me willing to humor this insufferable little episode she's having. I wish her luck on this humiliating rebound journey, but she is gonna have to walk that road on her own.

Normally, I always roll my eyes when people make these kinds of jokes, but given the circumstances I feel justified in saying: I can't wait to hear the breakup song about him, sis 🤡

[apotelesmaa]

The ideal start to lmk season five is swk and MK get to Have A Conversation without the world being on the verge of ending (therapeutic) and maybe a B plot where mei trains with macaque and they end up being the reason the city has to be rebuilt for the 9000th time (also therapeutic)

[cannibalisticskittles]

hang on, i have perhaps found The Way to ensure that the idea of amity's mother is at least touched on in the fic, even if that's all that happens (bc i mean, its still going to be written from astarion's perspective, and amity is not forthcoming about this information at all, and it's not hugely likely that they would run into anything with her mother's influence in the first or even the second act, so -- small hints are all astarion gets on that subject)

i feel that there Must be a point at which amity's name is discussed in the context of like, "astarion, i named myself after the concept of genial relationships, did you Really think i would Ever be less than sincere about the possibility of forming a friendship"

to which he asks for slight clarification, and then at her confirmation, says that that's awful, to name herself that. tsk. maybe not quite as bad as shadowheart, but still, how very... noble of her. what a saccharine choice.

first of all, she says, it is incredibly common for tiefling children to pick a virtue name when they come of age, and second of all, she could have named herself temperance. or chastity. so there; could have been worse. that, at least, he agrees with.

amity is just. what she believes in most. what she cares about most. so when the time came that she felt ready to choose a name, it was an easy choice, she says. makes it clear from the get-go what she's all about, and she likes that, so now everyone calls her that.

"well," she says then, after a pause. "except for my mother." and there is another silent pause. she looks contemplative. then she shakes off whatever thought she had been dwelling on and continues. "anyway, it was my choice to call myself that, and it's my choice to continue calling myself that, and i would thank you to keep that in mind the next time you have something sour to say about it."

him, sour? never. perish the thought. everything he says is as sweet as honey.

the culmination of this (or. perhaps this is how it began) is that she points out that he called himself a friend to her first, and now she calls him a friend -- unless he is going to retract his statement? ...no? then they are friends, and, as she takes her name quite seriously, he can trust in that. and now it's settled: friends.

[addelaidesupreme]

I'm watching a video essay about a game ive been interested in playing. The creator of the video, who has crossdressed multiple times, makes a "women arent funny" joke, and i suddenly realize ive never witnessed him acknowledge a woman in an uplifting way before.

I'm on a dating app for lgbt+ people. I've stated multiple times on my profile that i would rather lose an arm than recieve nudes without consent. I will be sent five dick pics for every 2 people i talk to that night.

I'm talking with my dad, who informs me he's been trying his best to learn about trans issues. He says the same things steven crowder brings up when trying to ridicule trans people. I gently but firmly correct my father and get told that ive been fed propaganda.

I'm on instagram, under the comments of a post ridiculing someone for being a misogynyst. Someone's left a comment saying "it must be hard being a woman on the internet" and i respond "it is." I will have every aspect of my appearance scrutinized as a reminder that no matter how well i pass, it will never be enough for someone with bad intentions.

I'm back on that dating app for lgbt+ people. I'm messaged by an attractive looking person, but i can see their partner prominently displayed in all but their main photo, oftentimes striking what im sure they thought was a very intimidating pose. Their bio says "looking for a third for our anniversary." I know that even if I did feel up to it, the gruff partner wouldnt approve of me because i don't pass.

I'm at a job interview for a clothing store. I tell the gracefully-dressed woman interviewing me that ever since i began my transition, i've discovered an interest in fashion, and that this job would allow me to dip my toes into the industry in a safe way. I'm told that i've reduced womanhood to a stereotype, and i can tell by her tone that i lost any chance at the job the minute she realized i was trans.

I'm at the same hospital i got facial feminization surgery in, trying to figure out what's wrong with my bowels. When the person behind the desk gives me a wristband with my patient info on it, i notice a single, lonely, letter M. I ask a nurse in private why it would say that despite me having changed it nearly a year prior. They say they have no clue, and bring in paperwork for me to fill out and have it re-changed again.

I'm living with my mom at the time. I'm new to transitioning, and decide to try my hand at voice training. It feels a bit off, but otherwise im feeling neutral toward the whole thing. I try speaking in this new voice to my mom and she laughs. Now, when people ask if i intend to voice train, i find speaking at all difficult for minutes after.

I didnt have some sort of grand message to convey by this. I just had a thought and then that thought spiralled into whatever the hell this became. Some, okay most, might call it complaining; they are right to do so.

[pearlymel]

A dance— Capitano

Synopsis : your relationship with him grows, and he seems sweeter than ever.

Wc : 3.2k

Warnings : contains NSFW content, fem!reader, reader is mostly called 'wife', he's super sweet, soft sex, unprotected sex, breeding kink kinda, reader wears a dress and heels.

Notes : part 2 is heree! I highly recommend reading part 1 here. And part 3 is out here!

You've tried creating art, you've tried cooking (with the help of your personal maid, Marina), you've even tried planting.

Yeah, you're a plant mom now. Not only that, you're a cat mom too. Saving the poor kitty from the harsh rain one day, you couldn't leave the poor little one outside. It's mother seeming to abandon it.

All because you have become extremely bored on the days where Capitano wouldn't be here, and he forbade you to even clean your shared bedroom because he thinks it's useless when there are servants present to do the job. (He doesn't want to tire you out.)

Come to think of it, the last time you saw him, he kept avoiding you. Whenever you tried striking a conversation during dinner, he would only hum and nod. Or when you suggested to have another picnic, he flatly refused, and it felt like the hardest rejection to your face.

It's like he had his own mood swings that you had to deal with. One day he would indulge you in the activities you wanted to do, then the next he would refuse.

Like last week.

“I used to do this when i was young.” You tell him with the softest smile to yourself, your fingers working carefully with the flower petals and strings. You were determined to make this flower crown, and you were taking your sweet time just to have him by your side.

Capitano silently listened to your words, his gaze fixed on your gentle movements as you delicately fashioned a flower crown. The air between you was calm, "You have a talent for making flower crowns," he eventually responded, his deep voice breaking the tranquil silence.

"Did you learn it from someone?”

“No… just by myself.” He couldn't help but be impressed by your innate ability to create such an intricate accessory without any formal instruction. "Self-taught." He mused, "You have an unusual aptitude for discovering things on your own.”

You hum back while adding the finishing touches, and he watched your proud display of the finished flower crown.

“this is for kitty!” You smile at the thought of the little one purring with a pretty crown on it's head.

Kitty? Capitano is confused once you start talking about the cat, you seem even more excited when you described how you cuddled with it.

"You just happened to come across this crying feline in the rain, and you brought it home with you?”

“yes! Ah, well… i hope you don't mind.”

“i don't.”

And that was the last of your conversation, and it's been a week since you last saw him.

“my lady,” You recognise the voice of Marina as she knocks on the door, and you grant her the permission of her entry.

You set the sleeping kitten on the fluffed up pillow to reach for the letter she hands you.

An invitation to the grand ball… you read the contents of it, scanning every word as you pull the paper down.

“like a party?” you ask, glancing up at her, "Yes, that is correct. A grand ball is taking place tonight. It's a gathering of the higher-ranking Fatui members and a few... select guests.” she trails off, unsure of what else to add on.

“I can see that this invitation is for Capitano, not to me.”

“lord Capitano doesn't normally attend these grand balls. So my lady, you will have to go instead.” Marina explains this and you feel like you're going to have a headache.

All you wanted to do today was sleep in with the kitten. Not to trouble yourself in some party.

But… if it's for the sake of your husband's reputation, then you are willing to do it.

You hope you don't pass away too quick from your social anxiety.

“Marina, does this really suit me?” You stare at your reflection, and Marina looks at you approvingly, her eyes taking in your stunning appearance. "Sì, my lady, it suits you perfectly," she assures you, "The dress brings out your features beautifully and fits your figure perfectly.”

“and the colour?”

"Oh, yes, the color is exquisite. It complements your skin tone perfectly. You look like a princess attending a royal ball.” and you smile shyly as you take your seat, “You flatter me too much, you know?”

Marina chuckles softly, moving behind you to work on your hair with practiced ease. "It's not flattery if it's the truth. You look truly radiant today." She begins to style your hair, weaving intricate braids and pinning them in place with delicate silver pins.

Though you can't even lie to yourself, you looked absolutely gorgeous, even when you felt a little down since you would be going alone, and you barely knew anyone.

Marina pauses in her work for a moment, her expression becoming sympathetic as she sensed your nervousness. “It's natural to feel that way. But I believe you will be fine. You are strong and independent." She resumes styling your hair, her fingers moving nimbly to create elegant curls.

You smile at her, looking at her from the mirror, “thank you.”

"It is my honor to serve you.” As she finishes your hair, she steps back to admire her work, a satisfied expression on her face. "You are ready, my lady.”

You are ready.

You are not ready.

Because why was everyone's eyes piercing bullets through you as you entered the main hall?

The whispers and murmurs start almost immediately, the guests clearly intrigued by your presence. However, you manage to keep your composure, straightening your back and walking forward with confidence, just like how Marina taught you.

Stay calm they won't eat you, you tell yourself, trying to maintain your composure under the weight of their gazes.

You were here to make friends, hopefully.

You scan the room, hoping that someone would approach you to engage in conversation. Yet nobody, not a single soul, seems to have the courage to do so. The guests continue their conversations and dances, seemingly ignoring your presence.

And so, you find yourself standing alone, sipping on a glass of champagne, feeling lost and slightly out of place.

Well this is boring. You could've stayed in with Kitty and Marina, but at least you get free food. They always taste better, right?

Everyone went silent all of a sudden, but you ignored it at first and continue taking sips of your drink.

But the silence becomes uncomfortable, just what happened to the party?

You turn around, your eyes widening immediately in surprise as you see Capitano walking towards you. Your heart seems to skip a beat as you watch him approach, his presence commanding attention and authority in the room. Capitano stops in front of you, you can't make up what his face must be like right now, but you think he has a stoic expression on his face as he takes in your appearance. His eyes roaming up and down your figure, seemingly appreciating the elegance of your dress.

“husband?” You blurt out, setting your glass aside to greet him.

"Wife," he says simply, acknowledging the fact that you have finally addressed him by that term.

The tension breaks when soft, elegant music begins to play, signaling the start of partner dances in the middle of the ballroom.

Capitano seems to realize this as he glances around at the couples already making their way to the dance floor. He then turns back to you, his expression unreadable as he silently contemplates the situation.

He can see the slight tension in your shoulders, the way your hand clutched at your dress.

"I suppose we should dance, wife.”

“you want to dance?”

"Yes," he responds. "It appears it's customary for couples at these events to dance together." He extends his hand in your direction, gesturing for you to take it. You take his hand, wrapping it gently around his gloved one. His fingers close around your hand, his grip gentle yet firm as he leads you towards the dance floor.

You notice the whispers and murmurs among the guests growing louder. But you chose to ignore them.

Capitano guides you to the center of the dance floor and positions himself opposite you, his hand settling onto your waist, and your hands on his shoulders.

"Do you know how to dance?" You whisper to him, making sure no one listens, and your eyes are on him.

"I may not engage in these social events often, but even I understand the basics of dance." His hand on your waist pulls you closer to him, you follow his lead.

Interesting.

He leads the dance with of assurance and grace, his movements fluid and confident. As you follow his lead and swirl together across the dance floor, your eyes meet his, and you find yourself unable to look away. The closeness between you makes it feel as if the rest of the world has faded away, leaving only the two of you dancing together.

You notice how he seems to turn his head slightly to look at others, mimicking their movements swiftly, it makes you smile to yourself.

His hand on your waist feels warm, almost burning even through the fabric of your dress. It's a strange sensation you've never felt when touching him, despite having already kissed (once) before.

”my dress,” you whisper amidst the graceful dance, “what do you think of it?”

You figured you always needed to give him a little push when initiating things.

His attention drift down to take in the sight of your dress once again. His gaze roams over the fabric, lingering on the way it clings to your figure, and how the color contrasts against your skin.

"It's... " he pauses, you're just wearing a dres, but he finds it difficult to describe what he feels, "Very pleasing to the eye.” he manages to continue.

"You look rather well tonight, as well.”

“Thank you, wife.”

The music suddenly shifts to a slower tempo, and Capitano instinctively adjusts his hold on you, pulling you slightly closer as he continues to dance with you.

You totally ignore how your face is almost pressed up against his chest.

As interesting as the party was, the worst part of was walking back to the estate. Why? Because the carriage decided to break down, or maybe the horses were sleepy, you don't know.

You're glad your husband is with you, or else you might've been sacrificed to the dogs at night, now even ants will fear this big guy.

But what's worse? Your damn heels are killing you. The sides of your pinky toes are already aching that you are sure it will cause nasty blisters by tomorrow.

"Perhaps next time you should wear more comfortable shoes." He stated bluntly, his deep voice betraying no pity for your situation. “but they look pretty, plus i feel elegant in them.” you stop at your tracks, looking up at him with a defeated expression.

"I'm well aware." he says dryly, "But at what cost? You're practically torturing yourself with those heels.”

He's half right, your point still stands. Beauty is pain. And now you'll have to sacrifice your beauty.

Bye bye heels. You slide them off your feet, bow having your poor feet to walk on these rocky grounds. You do feel a little better after, though.

“stay still.” He utters, and you're confused, until he takes your heels in one hand before you feel a shift of your weight off your feet, finding yourself being carried into his arms.

you wrapped your arms around his neck silently, your eyes glancing up at him as he continues walking like he you weigh nothing.

The air around you is peaceful. You feel safe with him, he's not like the scary man you hear from the others. Maybe to others he was, but to you? He was soft for you.

Your head leans on his chest where his heart rested, the beats of his heart makes you sleepy, but you refuse to sleep just like this, you want to spend every single second savouring this feeling.

Capitano carried you all the way to the estate, and through the dark corridors, making his way to your shared chambers.

The soft moonlight filtering through the windows was the only source of illumination, the atmosphere around you quiet.

He gently deposited you back on your feet, you're back home safely.

“thank you.” You whisper, your hands reaching to take the pins out of your hair to let it breath from the scruffy yet beautiful hairstyle, and Capitano starts taking off the heavy layers off him as well, with the helmet out.

You don't notice how one of your dress straps seem to fall off your shoulders, but he notices, and oh did that make something in him stir.

His steps closer from behind you, his hand reaching to put the strap back in place, but instead, he glances at the other strap.

It looked rather lonely being on your shoulder, his fingers delicately sliding the strap down which makes you ultimately still in your place.

Your entire body trembled slightly as Capitano's hands caressed your skin, tracing gentle paths across your shoulders and back down to the zipper on your side. “May i.. help you out of your dress?” His low, gruff voice, asking for permission to help you out of your dress, made your heart beat faster.

You could only nod in response, your voice silenced by a mixture of anticipation and desire. Capitano's touch was meticulous, his thumb and index delicately moving down the zipper with deliberate slowness, prolonging the tension.

Capitano lets out another low hum as he watches the dress slide down to your ankles, now leaving you only in your undergarments. His hands traced the contour of your body, his touch delicate yet possessive. His own breathing became ragged, the sight of you partially undressed igniting a fire in his eyes.

“Will you allow me to touch you?”

The question makes you turn your head, of course he can.

When you don't stop him from wrapping his arms around you, his chest pressed against your back, he takes it as a green light to continue.

His hand first brushed your hair out of the way, to allow his lips to come in contact with the nape of your neck, “you're so beautiful..." he whispered, his hot breath sending jolts of electricity through your core.

“I don't…” he hesitates, wanting to move his hands away, “i don't want to do anything you don't like.”

And your expression softens at his concern, you turn around to take his face into your hands, your thumbs caressing the apples of his cheeks and he nuzzles into your touch, wrapping a hand around your wrist before pressing a kiss to your palm. You further reassure him by littering his face with your lips, giving every empty space of his skin with at least one kiss.

“Allow me to experience this with you, and i shall take care of you till i take my very last breath.” he hoists you up easily into his arms, rough hand under your thighs as you wrap your legs around his waist, he laid you down on the soft sheets, his body covering yours as he looked down at you.

“You occupy my every thought,” he starts, “that it feels sinful to even look at your way.” He leaned down, his lips capturing yours in a searing kiss as his hand continued its exploration, ripping your bra off to cup your breast, feeling your nipple harden under his touch. He rolled it between his fingers, pinching it gently as he deepened the kiss when you gasp, his tongue delving into your mouth, savouring your taste and angelic sounds.

He leaned down afterwards, his mouth latching onto your nipple, sucking it into his mouth and your hands find his ling strands instantly, tugging on them while being careful not to hurt him.

His fingers traced down to your hip, giving them a firm squeeze before ripping your panties off next, his thumb rubbing circles on your clit, feeling you writhe and tense up under him.

It felt like an unknown territory you've yet to explore.

Upon sensing your discomfort, he presses his lips to your eyelids, then to your neck, taking his time until you relaxed, until you started feeling good based off how you were bucking your hips now.

Oh how he wanted to take his time with you, but he was aching so bad that if he continues touching you he might just burst embarrassingly fast in his pants.

“Let me in, my wife.” He gently starts massaging your thighs as he parts them, making you feel more exposed than ever, but he distracts you by softly kissing you again and again while he's unbuckling his pants and pushing them down, revealing his throbbing thick, hard cock.

“Capitano—!” you try to squirm away when you feel his tip push into your tight hole, your lips parting from the way he stretched you open, but at the same time you felt relaxed with his soft whispers of ‘take your time’ and ‘you’re doing well, my wife.’

Your cunt soon takes in every inch, swallowing him whole until you were a panting mess, and you didn't even start.

Capitano then began to move, his thrusts slow and deep at first, letting you get used to his size, to how you feel, to how he feels as he makes love to you for the first time together.

You feel your heart up to your throat and ears, it felt incredible, something you've never felt before, your soft moans echoing in the air along with a few groans coming from him.

He shivered when he felt your fingertips trace the few scars littering his shoulders and back, his dick twitching almost instantly before his thrusts grew faster, more urgent.

His hand reached down, returning back to draw circles around the bundle of nerves, and he could feel your body tense, your walls clenching around his cock as he continued to rub your clit.

“come for your husband,” he breaths heavily next to your ear, and you come undone, your moans filling the room as he felt you milk his cock. He could feel his own release following after, his balls tightening before he slammed into you one last time, spilling thick ropes into your womb, until you were filled to the brim.

Your legs were shaking slightly around him, yet his warm embrace afterwards made you melt, eyelids heavy with him still being buried inside you.

—

You groggily woke up, still half in a dream-like state, the room bathed in shadows due to the closed curtains blocking out the morning sun.

As your senses slowly returned to reality, you heard a soft meow next to you, and sure enough, your little kitten had made itself comfortable in the middle of the bed. To your surprise, Capitano, who was still asleep beside you, didn't seem bothered in the slightest by the creature's presence.

“pst,” you whisper to your husband who only hummed in acknowledgment of your attention. “Can we go have a picnic this early morning? With our baby kitten of course.”

Tags: @sayastyx, @nastylilcvnt, @bigboygoose,

[rockingbytheseaside]

✦ When someone tries to imitate you or take your place 

Pierro, Capitano, Dottore, Pantalone 

(tw: general mentions of violence and intimacy, swf. Old ask suggested by the lovely @pandaquick, better late than never)

Your position in the Fatui is a much more personal and delicate matter. You are not just some high-rank advisor or soldier idling within the Zapolyarny Palace, nor can you be defined as another Fatuus. You are someone of a different echelon - a Harbinger’s beloved, safeguarded with the utmost honor conferred by Her Majesty the Tsaritsa. It is no secret your significant other would utilize a whole army to protect you, but what happens when someone, in their foolishness, forgets that?

✧ Pierro was the first to notice that someone tried to imitate you. An individual of high status endeavored to emulate your work and areas of expertise. Subsequently, this individual began to adopt aspects of your appearance, from hairstyle to clothing. However, the breaking point occurred when this foolish person attempted to purchase an identical jewelry brooch to the one you frequently wore. It was a similar piece, one gifted to you by Pierro.

Except that imitator missed one important clue - Pierro orders you custom-made silver adorned with deep-cut sapphires that would put the Tsaritsa’s crown into shame. A one of a kind piece.

This cheap attempt to imitate you and usurp your spot was what forced The Jester to abandon his silent observation. His gaze has long caught the envious glances directed towards you whenever you accompanied him on meetings, whenever he linked his arm with yours, whenever he generously kneeled beside you to put his coat over your shoulder and keep you warm from Snezhnaya’s cold - the same individual, always seething with resentment. Thus, it was time for the Director to silently act. 

He kept tabs on this person via a network of spies, gathering intel on their behavior and intentions. And with the most skilled spies raised from the House of the Hearth, it didn't take long to have a whole pile of evidence right on his desk. And with the simple snap of his fingers, he effortlessly orchestrated the apprehension and subsequent banishment of the culprit, sparing no unnecessary words. Hearsay will not be tolerated in the Fatui, but to see some lowly scum tarnish your reputation by cheap mimicry then it’ll be his responsibility to weed out. 

“Pierro, dearest, What's wrong? You seem so deep in thought.” - Your gentle murmur broke The Jester's train of thought. As he lay in bed, your head resting on his chest and his arm draped over you, he reminded himself that he was in the comfort of your love. He doesn't have to mull over the bloodied ordinances when he feels the warmth of your skin underneath the covers.

“Apologies, my divine. It seems my mind was drifting to troubling thoughts. But it no longer matters when you're here.” - Thus, he gently planted a kiss on your forehead and tucked the covers around your body which harbored marks of his devotion earlier that night.

✧ Il Capitano clutched the hilt of his sword in resolution. Something was wrong and he could see it. The Harbinger was in the middle of his morning spar with you, a regular training session where you and the Captain warm up as a routine. He stood in a defensive stance, his movements fluid yet measured as his sword received blow after blow from your weapon. You, on the other hand, moved like a silent tempest, your strikes precise yet frustratingly urgent.

It was unlike you to be so unsteady, noted Capitano to himself, especially when fighting. Despite the unspoken patience, an undercurrent of concealed despondency and anger laced your body language. 

“Alright, my dear, I can feel your unease. What troubles your heart?” 

You shook your head, panting as you almost faltered. You insisted on continuing the training session, but it was clear your brave facade was almost crumbling. 

“It would be foolish to continue. And I care about your well-being. Please, confide in me, my beloved.”

You tried, you really did. But before you know it, your lips pursed into a thin line and a flood of tears escaped the moment you shakily lowered your weapon. Now the Captain was on full alert, rushing towards you and gently supporting you before you could hide your tearful face in shame. With an arm around your trembling form and much persuasion - you relented and shared the source of your frustration. A newly enlisted soldier had undergone thorough training under the tutelage of Il Capitano, and their impressive advancement was unmistakably evident in their unwavering dedication. However, this individual began to devote more time to the Captain, delving into military intelligence and climbing the ranks. You genuinely felt joy for the new recruit, truly. Yet in timid humiliation, you had to confess you felt obsolete as if your power alone wasn’t enough for a harbinger of his caliber and ranks.

“Ah, my dear, you are far from weak. My time with the trainees is merely a duty, a part of my job as the 1st Harbinger. But when it comes to you, my dear, your might and wisdom are incomparable. You don’t deserve my ranks, you deserve my life laid before you.”

But whatever gentle words of affection were coming out of the Captain, your next words of truth made him halt at once. “... At least, that’s what the recruit told me when we spoke. That I'm weak.” 

“...What did you say?” 

The gentle armored hand on your shoulder now tightened in restrained anger, fury flaring within his chest. Capitano now understood: your tears, your sudden insecurity, your doubt, your silence… It wasn’t coincidental. This recruit who was so conveniently rising in the ranks made sure to aim not just for the Harbinger. Specifically, you; to sow self-doubt onto you and hinder your precious relationship. Someone was deliberately bullying you.

You looked up at Capitano’s dreadful silence, asking him what was wrong.

“It… seems, my dear, someone has crossed an unforgivable line. One that would cost them their life dearly. And I am to blame for not noticing when harm and doubt came your way. I must amend this transgression for your forgiveness.”

You blinked in response, not having time to comprehend the severity of his words; It’s hard to respond when your beloved suddenly kneels and bows like a knight on duty. In the end, Capitano ushered you to take a day off and let your mind rest easy.

The next day, Capitano returned home early but was eerily silent once more. He stayed with you the whole day, like a hawk overlooking his nest, his arms crossed but his touch gentle. Although he claimed nothing was wrong, you received news that certain recruits were gone, and any upcoming soldiers that would come into his care would receive even stricter training from now on. That day, you wondered why some Fatui soldiers feared talking to you. Not to mention the armor around Capitano’s knuckles seemed faintly red-tinted.

The Fatui organization was a constant battle of powers and ranks. But to climb the ladder and meddle with the life of The Captain was a personal offense, one that would result in quick and unapologetic bloodshed. Nevertheless, he made sure to remind his soldiers about that. 

✧ When one of the folks working under Il Dottore as a lab analyst approached you, you didn’t expect them to call you names so suddenly. You stood there, confused and apprehensive at the sudden barrage of insults from the stranger. But they explained:

“You don’t do anything when helping during research, you know! I don’t even know how The 2nd tolerates you when you’re this useless. I’ll tell you what, quit your special-treatment act, and don’t come back to the lab. The Doctor is better off with someone of his level of intellect.”

You didn’t fight or defend yourself, you didn’t even insult the assistant. Instead, you smiled simply  - “Very well, I won’t. Good luck.”

That day, you turned and left. The frustrated lab analyst was left in confusion but thought they succeeded in eliminating the only obstacle left to get closer to the elusive yet powerful Harbinger. After all, what the hell do you even do at his lab? You exchange a few words with Dottore, maybe sporadically point at what to do, and remain seated in the back, resting as if you were the Tsaritsa herself. The audacity. How come Il Dottore never kicked you out?

Well, it didn't take long for this person to find out.

The next day, naturally, Dottore couldn’t find you when he proceeded with work. You were neither at his study, nor at the lab, nor at your favorite corner of the library. It was barely noon, and receiving your warm greetings was his routine. And the Doctor always follows the agenda.

“Where are they?” 

His question was brief but pointed, and his subordinates knew exactly who he was referring to. They could sense the tension in his voice. The only individual privy to the reason for your absence smirked smugly and responded.

“Hmph. It seems they decided not to come, Lord Harbinger Dottore.”

That was their first mistake because The Doctor caught on to the haughty smirk coming from his new analyst.

“And you know so certainly how?” - he quickly gestured to a nearby Fatui servant with a flick of his wrist. “Send in servants to check in on my behalf. I wasn’t informed. If my darling is feeling tired or unwell, bring their preferred refreshment immediately, and ensure it is warm.”

However, this displeased the new lab assistant, as even while you were away, Dottore was still dotting on you as if it was his second nature to do so while he was busy with work. Thus, they cleared their throat and spoke up:

“They… barely accomplished anything in your presence, doctor. So I advised them to leave, to which they agreed. Pretty straightforward, s-sir.” 

“Oh? Did you, now” - A burning rage, like never before, flared up within Il Dottore. With clenched teeth and a rigid jaw, his voice oozed with venom. But any seasoned lackey working under Dottore knew that this was the calm before the storm. Because soon, an echo of shattering vials and slammed objects would ring out from the laboratory. And in your absence, nothing would prevent the doctor from showing a bit of despotism. 

Much later that evening, after everything was set and done, the servants informed him of your whereabouts. Il Dottore briskly made his way through the Zapolyarny Palace to find you. Spotting you tucked away in a secluded nook of the palace, he hastened over, anxious to ensure your well-being, fearing you might’ve withdrawn due to the influence of some blabbering lowlife. 

“Dear! There you are… No one has the right to speak to you like that ever. Are you alright? My dearest, why did you not tell me immediately?! I would’ve-”

Dottore’s frustrated rambles come to a halt when you place a finger on his lips to shush him. You didn’t look despaired, in fact, you looked calm - “Zandik? Did you have another tantrum in your lab while I was absent?”

The doctor gulped, remembering his place. Calming his senses, he placed his hands on your waist and ushered you closer to his arms.

“... Perhaps. But I had to. How could I be certain that no one had harmed you? Why did you comply with that impudent fool? You should’ve gone to me first.”

“Well, it was unpleasant to hear the insults, sure. But…" - you glanced apologetically and a knowing smile returned to your lips. "I knew you'd find out and deal with the issue very quickly." 

✧ You and Pantalone were an odd couple. You didn't hail from a rich background, nor were you well-versed in the art of business and finance. You were more proficient in adventuring, your travels taking you to all sorts of journeys and commissions, a polar opposite from your beloved Pantalone. This led to raised eyebrows among the aristocrats of Snezhnaya. How can the richest man of Teyvat, who lives and works in prestige, be associated with such a simple person as you? For some, this gave the impression that they had a better chance of winning him over.

Thus, once upon a night, Pantalone was invited to a luxurious soirée. Here he was, clad in his finest suit, silver rings complementing his equally expensive optics. But to the Regrator, the jewelry adorning him was the least of his concerns - because you were the most precious gem in this gala. You accompanied him, although reluctantly, feeling out of place amidst the grand assembly of extravagant guests and the languid orchestra.

“Pantalone, do we have to…? I know you said this is not a business party, but there are so many guests already lining up to talk to you.” 

“Oh do not fret, my sweet. Evening galas like these are where the real negotiation and connections entail. But I know the details bore you, so I promise we won't stick here for too long. Besides, I get to introduce you as my one and only!”

That's exactly what you were afraid of. As a company of some esteemed noble ladies adorning elegant gowns, you had difficulties matching Pantalone’s polite smile. Overwhelmed by the scrutinizing gazes of some guests, you politely excused yourself to the bathroom. Pantalone was concerned, thinking of following you, but that was exactly what the guests wanted. 

You spent a long while by the hallway alone, trying to stabilize your breathing. The muttering of guests enjoying drinks and strolling was faint, but you could hear some people nearby:

“How can the 9th be with someone like them…? Surely it’s a joke.”

“A charming, rich man like him, and he can have anyone he desires. Yet he wastes his time on a simpleton?”

“Someone was definitely in it for the Mora, maybe he hasn’t seen real class. Quick, let’s go talk to him while he is alone.”

You stood with your back to a wall, and for the first time, uncertainty crept in. With fists clenched by your side, you reprimanded yourself that you are not alone. You came here with your significant other - and he, above all else, knows that gossip has no place in your shared private life. Hence, gathering up your courage, you raise your head high and strode back into the gala.

Pantalone, unfortunately yet expectedly, was surrounded by the same foul-mouthed nobles who wished to impress him. They prattled on about his financial success, while ladies fanned their folding fans and stood too close for his comfort. While they humored him, The Regrator cast hurried glances around the gala in search of you. Where are you?

“Lord Harbinger, may we offer you more champagne? I am sure this expensive bottle is up to your taste.”

The 9th attempted to hide his frown at the woman's tone, his stomach unwilling to ingest any drink some excessively elaborate name. “No thank you, I’d rather decline. I am waiting for my dear. I promised her a dance later this evening.”

“Oh, please sir, I insist. The night is young and there is plenty more for-” 

Before the woman could continue, your voice cut through the air; calm, yet unmistakably firm. “He said no. Simple enough to understand.”  

A hush fell over the gathered guests, the weight of your words settling like a sudden gust. Only Pantalone beamed with a genuine smile. “Ah, dear! There you are,”. The Harbinger was about to step back towards you, when the same lady suddenly blocked his path, her back facing him while her tone edged with defiance.

“I beg your pardon, but I’m afraid the question is directed towards Lord Harbinger Pantalone. I am sure you wouldn't know the pleasure of tasting a 500,000 Mora champagne from Fontaine.”

You recognized the snark in her tone directed towards you, and you couldn’t deny the anxiety twisting in your gut as eyes narrowed in your direction. However, with a shake of your head, you reminded yourself who you truly are and simply said: “Sheesh, lady, you spend that much on a drink that tastes worse than sparkling water? To each their own, I presume”

Her smile vanished. The guests stared in stunned silence, but it was Pantalone’s genuine laughter that pierced the tension. The sound was rich and real—because only he knew how adept you were at humbling an overconfident aristocrat with a dose of blunt truth. That’s how Pantalone managed to push through the crowd and circle his arm back around your waist, leaving the astonished onlookers behind.

“Ah dear, you’re a savior. I apologize I dragged us into this unpleasant company…” - he confined to you apologetically as you two walked away. “You always knew how to be sincere in your honest way.”

“It’s not like I meant to pick up a fight…" - you sighed. "I simply couldn't bear the humiliation, Pantalone. I'm aware that some people give me strange looks when I'm with you. They regard me as if I'm some peasant standing next to a powerful Fatui harbinger. That I'm nothing. That's why I couldn’t just hide, I had to step up to defend myself.”

“Oh, darling… My sweet, precious darling.” - The two of you left the manor that hosted the soiree, the chill night breeze muting the faint sound of guests and replacing it with a symphony of cricket noise from the garden nearby. Pantalone's fingers intertwined with yours.

"You are not just 'nothing' - you're my everything. You did not come from riches, and neither did I. You of all people know that. Would I really hold respect for some rich fool who didn't know an ounce of hardship when Mora was all they had since birth? No, dear, I wouldn't."

With a tender hand, he rested his palm on your waist, gently guiding you along the cobblestone path as if leading you into a slow waltz by garden roses in the night.

"Besides, you should never be ashamed to seek out my help. Although I must admit... Your tone earlier - oh my. Use it on me more often, darling. I wouldn't mind." 

[corkinavoid]

DPxDC Recount Your Kids, Batman

[A loose continuation to this post]

Talia doesn't visit the Wayne manor. At least not regularly nor officially. All the batkids and Batman know she comes sometimes, just to check up on Damian and maybe bother Bruce from time to time, but this is the first time she has ever shown up to a dinner.

And, as they all take their seats, she gives Damian a long curios glance. Then, she looks to Bruce.

"Is that everyone?" She asks, easy and lighthearted. One might think she is simply not acquainted with the number of Wayne children or that she is teasing Bruce on the sheer amount of them. But Damian is looking down to his plate, and Tim knows for sure Talia keeps up with Wayne's head count, and Dick is fairly certain Talia would never tease Bruce, at least not so subtly.

It could have been some sort of a hint at Jason. If he was not here, that is. But he is, for once, so this is really all the family at one table.

"Yes?" Dick tries, looking around the table just to make sure. Steph and Babs are not here today, but that's definitely not what Talia could have meant. Bruce also looks just a little confused, which is a nice change of pace since he looked guarded and on edge from the very moment Talia showed up.

The woman hums, her eyes studying Damian. The youngest bat keeps his gaze down on his empty plate. No one really understands what's going on, but they all feel like there's something important and heavy hanging in the air.

Then, Talia stands up and turns to Alfred, "We will be dining later. It has come to my attention that kids are a lot more secretive than I thought," she explains cryptically and smiles at Bruce, "Beloved, will you come with me to the training grounds? I have something to show you."

Bruce doesn't move for a long moment, and Talia's smile becomes almost gentle, "It's about your son."

At least that makes the man move.

When they get down to the Cave - since Talia insisted this was not a matter that could be resolved in the manor's training room - it's not only her, Bruce, and the little bat there, of course. The whole family was way too intrigued, and some were even alarmed.

The most alarming part, though, was the fact that Damian had been uncharacteristically quiet on their way down. Yet, when Dick looked to Cass, she just shook her head slightly. The boy was not worried. To Cass, he looked almost resigned, if a bit displeased.

"Your sword, Damian," Talia commands, and the boy presses his lips into a thin line.

"This is not necessary, Mother."

"It is," the woman looks amused, but there's an underlying layer of concern to her tone.

"...Yes, Mother," Damian nods his head on what feels like surrender and takes his katana. Not the training one, the real blade. Bruce makes a soft, alarmed grunt, but Talia waves him off.

"Not to worry, Beloved. I will not harm our brethren."

She doesn't take a stance, nor does she pick out a weapon, simply lunges for Damian as soon as they are both on the mats. Two daggers seem to appear in her hands out of nothing, and, contrary to her words, her aim is towards Damian's neck. The boy blocks, jumps away, and blocks another attack.

Tim steps closer, "You can't just-"

"Step away, Drake," It's the first time Damian has spoken to them since they've sat down for dinner. His voice is tense, but not derisive. If anything, it sounds a bit tired.

Talia lunges for him again, faster, meaner. Metal clings against metal.

"You understand this can not keep going, my child," she tells the boy, startlingly gentle on the contrary to her definitely dangerous strikes.

Damian doesn't answer.

The rest of Batfam are forced to simply watch the encounter: Damian is mostly on defense as Talia goes for him, harder and harder with every hit. Until, without any warning, the woman strikes for Damian's arm, making him drop his katana, and-

A few things happen at once.

Talia lunges for Damian's throat. Bruce jumps onto the mats so fast that he almost trips. Tim yelps.

But Talia's blade doesn't strike.

A figure of another child, eerily similar to Damian and wearing the League of Assassins uniform, is standing in front of the littlest bat, two crystal clear blades in his hands, blocking the dagger.

Bruce halts midstep. The rest of the family holds their breath.

But Talia simply smiles and drops her daggers, backing away and looking at the boy between her and Damian with a fond gaze.

"Danyal," she greets, and the boy huffs, lowering his weapons. He doesn't drop them - they simply dissipate in the air, turning into tiny snowflakes.

"Mother," he greets back begrudgingly, and his voice is the exact replica of Damian's. A clone? No, because Damian reacts to him nothing like he had to the clones, simply clicking his tongue and rolling his eyes.

"You could have simply asked, Mother," he comments, taking a step forward and stading near the other boy. Danyal. When standing side by side, they look nearly identical - same facial features, same posture, same hair, even if Damian's is a little more tame.

But Danyal's eyes are just a few hues off. Still green but lighter than Damian's.

"I assumed if you have spent years living here and never bothered to mention your brother, I would need a little more than asking, my love," Talia doesn't laugh, but it sounds like she wants to. Both boys roll their eyes, perfectly in sync.

Hold the fuck up, brother?

"Huh. I thought you died," Jason mentions offhandedly, and the whole family whips their heads to him. Yet, before any of them speak, it's Danyal who answers.

"I mean, I did? Kinda?" He waves his hand in the air and shrugs, and he acts so unlike Damian while also simultaneously having his face, that it makes Tim shiver a little.

"You-" Bruce starts, seeming to finally find his voice, but the boy cuts him off.

"I'm not actually yours," he snorts at Bruce's facial expression, "Yeah, I know I look like I am. Blame the ghost sewers, Chronos, and my stupid ass for making decisions while not being fully awake."

There is so much to unpack in that sentence that no one has the barest of ideas on where to start.

Damian curves his lips down in a sneer.

"The longer you stay there staring, the colder the dinner will be when we return," he reminds them, and Danyal suddenly perks up.

"Dinner? Can I join? It's been ages since I've had anything home cooked," he smiles, like there's some kind of an inside joke in that sentence. Damian rolls his eyes.

"The food doesn't come alive in this household, Danyal."

"Bummer," the boy looks a bit disappointed, but not too much. "And it's Danny, for the thousandth time."

Talia picks up her daggers, hiding them somewhere in her clothes in an unnoticeable motion. Then, she gives Bruce a small, if a bit sly, smile.

"You can not call it 'family dinner' if not all your family is there."

[poisonf0rest]

Overc*mming Writer's Block 3

𝐩𝐚𝐫𝐭 𝐈, 𝐩𝐚𝐫𝐭 𝐈𝐈, 𝐩𝐚𝐫𝐭 𝐈𝐈𝐈, 𝐩𝐚𝐫𝐭 𝐈𝐕

♱⋅── zayne x reader

♱⋅── about: Between being in the midst of your medical residency and being an up-and-coming author, it’s safe to say your personal life has been placed on stand-still. That is, until your editor decided that your next novel needed explicit smut scenes. That is, until your mentor and boss ends up striking a deal for you to help with “inspiration” for said novel. That is, until you fuck Zayne four times and your life changes forever. Partially inspired by manga of the same name by Nae Awaji

♱⋅── word count: 10.8k holy

♱⋅── warnings: mdni, smut, bondage, oral, pussydrunk zayne, PRAISE kink, breeding kink, actual sex this time, no more blue balling, nightly rendezvous card

art credit to @/chimmyming on X

“So, you and Dr. Zayne?”

You damn near choke on your salad. Coughing, you place your fork down before turning to glare at Anvi. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

She smiles, as if that was confirmation enough. “I’ve heard a thing or two from hospital gossips—“

“Vi, you are the hospital gossip.”

“—that the cold, yet steaming hot doctor was finally seen accepting the company of someone else. Not to mention at the gala last weekend he was by your side all night long. Or so I was told.” 

Anvi leans in, smiling wide enough to burst her pretty face as you scowl down at your lunch, unable to meet her eyes. Fighting to keep your voice even, you nudge her off, stabbing a carrot. “You’re ridiculous. I’m not involved with Dr. Zayne, he’s too—“ Attentive? Intelligent? God don’t think of him eating you out right now. “He’s not my type.”

You feel your ears burn, but by the grace of some god Anvi doesn’t seem to notice. Pouting she sighs and sinks back into the cafeteria booth. “Aww man, I was really rooting for you, too.”

“Rooting for a nonexistent relationship?” 

Anvi’s about to say something, big doe eyes almost frantically darting between yours before she huffs and shakes her head, something akin to pity tightening her smile.

You raise a brow but she only shrugs, going back to picking at her lunch. “Just as well, a relationship between a resident and her boss would be quite the juicy scandal. Something straight out of a romcom, no?” 

Laughter rips from your chest, the sheer irony of both her words and your reality too much to bear. Anvi’s windshield wiper giggles join your own, and soon the two of you are wheezing under your breath as you get side-eyed by the other surgeons trying to enjoy their lunch. 

Really, whoever your author was had a fucked up sense of humor. 

But the moment is ruined by the buzz of your pager, and you barely say bye to Anvi before you’re rushed to the operating bay. 

As of today, you have two days to finish your manuscript. 

Today's shift was exhausting, but you’ve learned early into your career that writing is a discipline, and as fickle of a muse as inspiration is, a writer cannot simply wait for her to grace you with her presence. Whether you feel like it or not, this book has to get done. 

Besides, what better mindset was there to churn out unhinged shenanigans than when you’re delirious and half-asleep, tucked away in the on-call room? 

Okay, so perhaps not the best place to be, but logically if your shift finished only minutes ago and you had to page in at five AM yet again, you’re better off just staying here rather than driving back to your apartment and all the way back to the hospital again.

Opening your personal laptop, you tab onto your novel's draft, the flashing cursor taunting you as your editor’s comments blur into an overwhelming mess of red. While you’ve worked your way through just about half of her six-thousand comments, that still leaves far too many, especially on your novel’s villain slash love interest as the trope always goes. 

You’re halfway through cutting cringey dialogue on a specific scene, but your thoughts keep drifting. Your conversation with Anvi keeps playing in your mind— romcom, dating, scandal, boss. You suppress the heat rising in your chest, trying to ignore the reality you really don't want to face. 

Zayne is… too much. Too intelligent, too caring, too perfect at catching you off guard.

Shaking your head, you try re-focusing, but between sleep deprivation and the realization that you haven’t actually done anything physical with Zayne for nearly a week, you get far too distracted. 

It’s not that you haven’t seen him since the gala. Far from it, really. Nearly every night if your shifts happen to end around the same time, he offers to drive you home. And when your shifts don’t align, you always make the effort to cook something together, breakfast or dinner, at ungodly hours of the morning or evening. And if neither of those happened, you would watch a movie, at least for a few minutes till one or both of you fell asleep on your ratty couch. 

God, you’re a fool. You can’t help but want him by your side even now, loving the way he reacts to your inappropriate comments, loving the way he scoffs at your jokes, loving the way he notices even the most minute things about you. And yet there’s a distance you can’t explain, a growing space you’re both too afraid to fill.

You close your laptop with a soft sigh, rubbing your eyes as you lay back on the small cot, trying to block out the nagging ache in your chest.

Your phone buzzes from under the cot, and you glance at it absently. You nearly jump at Zayne’s icon flashing on your screen.

grumpy snowman: Under recent developments I’d like to inform you of two things. One, you are banned from the hospital all of tomorrow under strict orders by me. Two, I currently have Mr. Whiskers held hostage, and should you fail to return home by 02:59 I will be forced to perform pulmonary bypass puncture and stop his heart. 

Dumbfounded, you stare at Zayne’s text, blinking in confusion. Did your sleep deprivation just hallucinate a text? Violently shaking your head, you look back at your phone with slightly spinning vision just to confirm that no, this was very much real and Zayne has very much lost it. 

ms. author: Is this a threat?

Another text follows immediately after.

grumpy snowman: Consider it your last chance. Come back and save him, or else... this may as well be his final night. 

An image sends then, your favorite calico cat plushy all tied up with what appears to be Zayne’s tie, dangling the poor thing as though being held hostage. Your gaze lingers for longer than it should on how Zayne’s hands look in the dim lighting of the photo, so busy trailing up the veins on his lithe fingers that you nearly miss his next text. 

grumpy snowman: I’ve already called an Uber. It’s waiting outside. 

You snort into the empty room, rolling to sit up straight.He’s the last person you’d expect to pull this sort of thing. It’s nothing short of ridiculous, but truly you don’t know the last time you’ve smiled this wide, and it’s precisely the distraction you need right now, especially if he’s already gone through the trouble of organizing it all himself. But like you’d go down without a fight. 

ms. author: You’re being ridiculous, you’d never hurt Mr. Whiskers you devil. You don’t have the guts.

His reply is swift, almost immediate.

grumpy snowman: Do I now? Care to test that theory?

You can practically hear the smugness in his text, the playful challenge laced with a quiet but unmistakable sincerity. Your heart gives an unexpected flutter, the weight in your chest easing, if only slightly. Quite a villain, indeed.

You know what Zayne’s doing. He’s not just playing around; he’s pulling you out of your head, out of the self-imposed spiral you’ve yet again been retreating into. You’ve spent the better half of the week in it. 

You bite your lip, considering your options. On one hand, you could brush him off—continue working, ignore the text, but something inside of you craves this attention. Craves his uncharacteristic ridiculousness. Craves the break from your mind that he’s offering.

ms. author: If you harm a single fur on my son’s head I’ll put an end to your tyranny myself.

Zayne doesn’t waste a second, sending only a single warning: Hurry. 

You stand, grabbing your jacket and keys, and only then do you second guess this. The easy, safe choice would be to stay buried in your work, it would be to politely decline and place must-needed distance and formality back. 

But for the first time in a while there’s something you want more than work, and as you slip out of the on-call room, the image of Mr. Whiskers hanging helplessly from Zayne’s tie is enough to pull you out of the hospital.

You push your front door open, the silence of your apartment making the hairs on the back of your neck stand up. The lights are off— odd, considering you could have sworn you left a lamp on. You always do, a force of habit since you live in a slightly less safe area of Linkon. Oh, the things you do for cheaper rent. 

Pausing, your eyes scan the deceptively empty hallway and kitchen. Everything feels still, almost eerie, and your pulse quickens as you take your shoes off, right beside Zayne’s much larger dress shoes, to venture further into your apartment. 

The faintest creak of floorboards makes you freeze. Your heart stutters slightly, the scare making you grip your chest as you whirl around, cursing out your cowardice. You’ve seen worse things wheeled into the ER. Please, get a grip. 

You shake off the nerves just as your phone buzzes in your pocket, breaking the silence once more.

grumpy snowman: You’re cutting it close. Five minutes before Mr. Whiskers meets an untimely demise.

You can't help the amused snort that escapes you, the tension in your body breaking.

ms. author: You really went this far? What now, villain?

The response is almost immediate.

grumpy snowman: It’s a matter of life or death. I hope you're prepared.

Another photo attachment follows—your favorite Christmas blanket thrown over the couch cushions in disarray, the faintest corner of Mr. Whiskers peeking out beneath it. The living room. You shake your head, muttering under your breath about the audacity of smug geniuses with far too much time on their hands.

You make your way to the living room in the dark, you flick on a lamp as you approach the couch. Lifting the blanket to find… nothing but a sticky note.

It reads, in painfully pretty cursive: Nice try, but you’ll have to be quicker.

Another buzz.

grumpy snowman: You fell for that as well? I expected better. Already 02:56, time’s running out.

You scoff, unable to stop yourself from laughing despite the absurdity.

ms. author: Do you even have anything better to do?

grumpy snowman: Not lately. Someone’s been too busy to properly entertain me.

You read it once, twice, and still something in your chest squeezes painfully at that.

Folding up the note, you stare at the text a moment longer before you hear the echoing click of a door. It’s coming from upstairs. 

Another buzz.

grumpy snowman: While you’re lost in thought again, care to explain why you’ve been running yourself into the ground? 

You pause, stalling as you make your way to your stairs.

ms. author: I am writing.

grumpy snowman: Poorly, if you’re overworking. Can’t imagine the tension’s working out if it’s still stuck in your head.

ms. author: Gasp. Excuse you—

Another buzz interrupts, just as you make it to your bedroom door, old wood announcing your arrival with a groan. The culprit has to be just behind it. 

grumpy snowman: 3 minutes remaining. Mr. Whiskers won’t be around much longer.

You can practically feel Zayne’s grin through the phone, and for a brief moment, you’re glad he’s here, even if it’s all in jest. He’s right although you might never admit it; this whole absurd situation—your plushie, the stupid texts, the teasing—has done what no amount of coffee or sleepless daydreaming could.

ms. author: If you harm a single fur on my son’s head, I swear I’ll come for you.

Your hand latches onto your bedroom handle, biting your lip as you pause to type one last jab. 

ms. author: I don’t know why I’m indulging you.

grumpy snowman: Because you love it when I win.

A laugh bursts from your lips before you can stop it. Shaking your head, you push the door open.

Your bedroom is dim, the curtains drawn, but moonlight spills through the dusky purple veils, illuminating the bed.

Perched atop lies Mr. Whiskers, your darling calico plushie sitting in the center, fully unharmed even though his crystalline eyes speak of unimaginable horrors at the hands of his captor. 

Before you can grab him, movement from the corner of the room nearly startles you into jumping halfway across the room. Zayne, leaning against the wall, arms crossed, watches you with a slight upturned grin that makes your stomach twist.

“You’re a horrible villain.” You huff, all but lunging on your bed to hug Mr. Whiskers to your chest like a shield.

His lips twitch into a smile, the bastard, and you can't help but notice how handsome he looks with his hair a little mussed and his glasses slipping down his nose. He doesn’t have his coat or suit jacket on, the sleeves of his shirt rolled up, a sight you haven’t grown tired of.

God, you really have a thing for forearms. Or maybe it’s just a thing for Zayne.

“Since we’re critiquing each other, you’re not much of a hero. Hiding behind a plushie doesn’t exactly inspire confidence.” 

“Confidence isn’t my priority right now.” You clutch Mr. Whiskers tighter, narrowing your eyes. He’s not here to talk about morals and heroism, though. “I’ve been fine. Nothing more than proofreading left… that and a few problem-children scenes.”

“Then consider this me fulfilling my half of the contract,” Zayne says, effortlessly seeing past your usual bullshit. “For someone who claims they’re adequately inspired, you’ve been more distant than usual.”

“I don’t need a lecture.”

“No lecture.” He steps closer, “I just missed you.”

Again, Zayne's words catch you off guard, so blunt they make your chest ache. No empty flattery, no pretty words, simply stated as though they were facts. 

He takes another step forward, and you have to lean back on your elbows— nearly lying back on the bed— to maintain eye contact as he looms above you. 

And then, Zayne drops to his knees before you.

It’s a far more graceful movement than it has any right to be, all six foot something of him kneeling against the foot of your bed as you instinctively make room for him there. Slowly, his hands come up to your thighs, the two of you slotting together with ease.

“Admit it,” Zayne whispers, the sweet, minty heat of his breath caressing your lips as you shiver, leaning closer despite yourself. “This helped.” A wry smile, “and that I make a convincing villain.”

“What’s this, is the doctor Zayne fishing for compliments?”

“I don’t need compliments. I just want you to stop pretending in front of me– no more performances.” 

Heat rises to your face, and your stomach twists. He's too close, he's always too close, but god, why has this domesticity become so natural around him? 

Despite yourself, you look down at his hands again, taking in how easily his scarred palms cup your thighs, the pale contrast of his skin against yours. Lithe, long fingers, and the memory of how well they’ve treated you. You swear he must feel your heart pound where his thumbs brush circles against your inner thighs, your body nothing but responsive for him. 

But if he does, he spares you the embarrassment. Zayne only continues to look up into your face, and just as you begin thinking of equally inappropriate jokes or fun facts to break the silence, Zayne moves closer, his knee pressing between your thighs as the mattress dips to accommodate his weight. 

“Perhaps there is a performance you could help me with, since you’re clearly the expert here.”

You blink, one step behind Zayne’s master plan yet again. “What- help you?”

“Yes. See, I’ve been thinking about my next move as a villain, and…” Before you can even follow Zayne’s words, Mr. Whiskers is yanked from your grasp once more. One hand raises him into the air and the other lunges for your outstretched arms, pinning them to the bed as it creaks and groans under the sudden assault. “I think I’ll take Mr. Whiskers as my captive once again.”

A soft gasp leaves your lips as Zayne shifts above you, his knee grinding up just enough to have you aching between your legs. Everything spins, torn between the desire to rescue Mr. Whiskers and the overwhelming urge to give in, to pull Zayne closer, to finally, finally fuck him yourself.

But before you can decide, the hand pinning your wrists tightens, his thumb rubbing circles as he effortlessly restrains you.

“You’re ridiculous,” you curse, though the tremor in your voice betrays your excitement.

“Ridiculous?” Zayne repeats, arching a brow. “Perhaps you should start taking this seriously, my dear protagonist.” He drops his voice into something rich, dark, and deliciously villainous. The hand that pins you down holds firm, the other dangles your plushie overhead with mocking menace. 

You scoff, though it comes out shakier than intended. “I could write circles around your attempts at being evil.”

“Could you?” Unbuttoning his shirt, Zayne gets only halfway before abandoning it entirely, letting the buttons skew across his chest. He watches with a growing smile as your eyes flutter downward against your better judgment. “Then why don’t you show me.”

Zayne nods to your phone, eyes narrowed from behind his glasses. “Open the doc, show me the scene. Any attempts to rescue the captive will be met with appropriate punishment.” 

The way Zayne looks down at you, waiting—daring— to see if you would make him stop, sends a sinful flutter through your core, ricocheting up your spine. No longer trusting your voice, you nod and feel the pressure loosen ever so slightly on your wrists. 

You only have time to pull your phone out from your scrub’s back pocket before Zayne captures your wrists again, the tie once used on Mr. Whiskers now knotted efficiently right above your wrists. It should be frightening, how easy it is for him to manhandle you, but you feel nothing but painful arousal at that fact.

You’re still growling out faux protests when Zayne plucks the phone from your hands, his knee keeping your hips firmly pinned against the mattress.

“Ah,” Zayne murmurs, scrolling casually through your doc. “A scene involving betrayal, a chase, and…” He raises a brow. “Passionate accusations of treachery.”

You thrash beneath him, trying to buck off his weight as your face burns in embarrassment. “Enough! You’re supposed to help, not—”

“Not what?” He glances at you briefly, lips pursed in a halfhearted attempt to mask his amusement. “Not put your villain to the test? I’ll admit I might have ulterior motives, but you’ll have to try harder than that.”

Zayne then waves the plushie just out of reach before dangling him on the windowsill for dramatic emphasis.

“I swear to god, if you harm Mr. Whiskers!”

He cuts you off with a chuckle. “Hush. You’ll want to hear this.” 

Zayne clears his throat, the smirk on his lips unmistakable as he picks up where you left off in editing your manuscript. His voice drops into a faux-sinister drawl as he begins to narrate. “‘You can hate me all you want,’ the villain growled, his voice a low, dangerous rumble. ‘But that fire in your eyes only makes me want to break you more.’”

It's horrible, the way he reads the words, the tone and cadence he gives the prose, and worst of all, the way his unblinking gaze remains completely, utterly, fixed on you as he speaks.

“Zayne, please, don’t- this is embarrassing,” you beg to appeal to reason, still writhing against his tie, when you realize his grip against your hips has loosened.

Zayne’s attention is momentarily diverted as he scrolls through the doc, looking for another section to read, and you kick your knee up with a shout, jabbing it into his side as the two of you tumble across the bed. 

Lunging, you manage to grab Mr. Whiskers for all of two seconds before Zayne hauls you up by your bound wrists, forcing you arms above your head as you are pulled back against him. He’s rough, forcing your spine to arch against his chest as you hiss on impact, head thrown back against Zayne’s shoulder. “Ah-ah. What did I say about attempts to rescue the captive?” 

His tone is all mockery, grip iron against your waist even though you can tell he’s still holding himself back. Feeling each hot, ragged breath against the back of your neck, the smell of ambroxan and sandalwood surrounding you. You breathe in deeper, shaking despite yourself.

“Let go of me!”

‘’Close. I believe the actual line was ‘unhand me.’”

Zayne hauls you further up the mattress, hooking your bound wrists onto the post of your bedframe as this new position forces you to face the wall, all while his free hand adjusts his glasses, scanning the next few lines. “‘I’d rather die than let you win!’ she spat, her chest heaving with defiance—” He glances at you with deadpan incredulity. “Why is everyone always heaving in these scenes? Do they all have asthma?”

“You’re the worst,” you hiss, breathless from the struggle. See? Heaving, no asthma involved, just foreplay. 

“And yet…” Zayne’s voice comes closer, and you feel his bare chest once again at your back, “you’re the one who wrote it. I’m simply giving you an immersive experience.”

“Can’t be fully immersive if I have yet to believe you, villain.” Scoffing, you turn around, craning your neck just to glare him in the eyes. “You don’t have what it takes.”

Zayne chuckles, then silence. Forcing your head towards the wall again, you feel him lean down, still out of sight despite the heat radiating off his body, his nose brushing down your bare throat as he spits out the next line.

“Brat.”

You hate how immediately your body responds to that. How you shiver and lean back despite the restraints, how a part of you wants to fight, to keep the act going, because god, the idea of letting Zayne do anything he wants to you is enough to make your head spin.

Zayne’s teeth press against your neck, just below your ear, and you whine, the sound so small and deprived that you instantly bite your tongue and curse yourself for reacting like this.

So then he does it again.

A pitched gasp.

A broken moan.

Each noise he elicits from you is another cruel victory, and when you grind your ass back against Zayne’s increasingly obvious erection, he all but tears your scrubs down your thighs, the cotton of your panties not standing a chance against his desperation. 

In truth, Zayne had never been harder in his life. Did he intentionally pick the most on-the-nose dialogue just to watch you squirm? Perhaps. But he’d be lying if he said seeing you battle against primal desire beneath him, feeling your half-hearted attempts to fight him, accidentally grinding your ass against him with every squirm didn’t make him want to push you even further. 

Every breath came out heavy, chest heaving as he continued his performative reading, large palms alternating between slapping and gently squeezing your ass. 

“You’re greedy,” a kiss against your shoulder, shucking your scrubs down your knees. “Impatient,” another kiss, this time down your spine, throwing your pants across the bedroom. “And utterly disobedient.” 

You’re already stripped bare from the chest down. 

He can't deny the sight of you in such a compromising position is a sight to behold, and the urge to keep reading just to see how far he can push you is intoxicating. Panting, he pauses only to readjust his glasses, foggy and slipping down his nose. 

You, however, are too impatient.

"Zayne, please, you got your point across. You win. Just— ah, just fuck me already."

It's the first time in nearly a week that Zayne gets to hear you ask for him, beg for him, and it's all the reminder he needs for his body to fail him, shuttering against you with a moan of his own. How did he survive so long without this? Without you? 

Your voice rings against his skull, and it’s all he ever wants to hear. Moan his name, beg for him, scream it, call it out, anything. He needs you, irreversibly.

And not just for this.

So instead, Zayne looks back at your doc one last time, reading, “To think this is the city’s great hero. How I’ll enjoy breaking you.”

With a click, your phone turns off, tossed carelessly to the floor with a heavy thud that would have sent you into a panic had Zayne not chosen that exact moment to bite into the soft flesh behind your neck, thumb instantly finding your clit. 

The sensation alone is enough to make you cry, arching further up against the bindings. His hand snakes back around your hip, grounding, just barely brushing against the heat of your cunt, and the way he breathes out a low, half-delirious chuckle at the sound of you panting his name has your core fluttering for more.

"Please, Zayne, please," you whine, and the second the pleas leave your mouth, his thumb presses delicious circles into your neglected bundle of nerves. You whine, loud and needy, the second his fingers sink inside, held up only by Zayne’s arm wrapped around your waist and the tie pinning you against the bed frame. 

“Already begging? I wonder how much more obedient you’ll be after I fuck it all out of you.” And god, Zayne wanted to mock such an obscenely written line just to watch you blush all over, because what sort of villain would actually say such a thing? 

But when he sees you whimper at his words, when you arch so willingly into his punishment, when he feels your heartbeat quicken under his fingertips, he suddenly can’t say he faults any of these romance writers, for he now knows he’d do far worse than any of their cardboard villains. 

Zayne doesn’t even need to read the next line in the doc to know exactly what he’d do next. 

All but falling to the mattress, Zayne pulls your hips up, up until you’re atop his face, sinking his tongue between your folds before dragging all the way up to your clit, sucking with enough tension to make you scream. 

Your hands burn from where they chafe and fight against the tie, bucking violently against Zayne’s face, the cold kiss of his glasses frames making you jolt as he pulls your hips toward him like it’s the last thing keeping him sane.

“No,” Zayne groans between breaths, unable to part with you as he messily kisses your inner thigh before coaxing two fingers inside you with a thrust. “Don’t run. Do not run from me.”

Every scissor of his fingers forces obscene sounds from your cunt, silenced only by Zayne’s mouth and his own muffled praises. Granted, it didn’t matter how loud he was being, not with all of your delirious moans, completely unsuppressed as Zayne’s calculated ministrations took you apart thrust by thrust. 

At least you can remember being thankful that your apartment walls were sound-proofed. Breath ragged, mind spinning, only mindlessly fighting back as you babble, “Wait, you’re so- ah- fuck. Zayne!”

Quite canonically to your villain, Zayne’s hips buck into empty air in time to every thrust of his fingers, imagining it was his cock fucking deep into you instead. It’s a line he’s fantasized about crossing time and time again. 

But that’s where it stops. Fantasy. Because just the thought of it has Zayne groaning into your cunt, the taste and feel of you alone driving him insane, a point of obsession where he cannot allow himself to go any further. He can’t. He can’t, he really shouldn’t. 

He’d never recover, he’d never stop wanting— needing you. He’s addicted enough as is.

Zayne’s shirt had almost fully unbuttoned but his trousers remained, bulging as his cock wept from its prison against his thigh, fabric dark and painfully restraining. The mere friction was too little and overstimulating all at once. Even so, he can’t help but chase the phantom feeling, grinding against nothing as you fall apart above him.

When your shaking thighs finally begin to lock around his jaw, he welcomes the cage, burrowing his face deeper as the strong arch of his nose presses against your throbbing clit. Zayne’s slick fingers are delegated to merely keeping your hips still, his tongue fucking you through your orgasm as his hips follow your same rhythm.

One touch, one touch is all he needs to cum with you, but Zayne refuses to do anything but work you through your high. He swallows the taste of you, open-mouthed and needy, a moan rumbling deep in his chest as you feel it hum through you. 

Gasping, you look down, and immediately you feel your core flutter— the sight enough to have you wishing he was back in between your thighs already.

Zayne’s entire body shakes beneath you, dark hair mused and hands digging into your hips in ways you know will leave half-moon marks. But what has you trembling is the sight of his hazel eyes eclipsed to near black, completely blown out and teary as they try and fail to focus on anything other than your pussy still fluttering above him. Something you can barely see at all, not with the amount of cum that squirted across his glasses, foggy and skewed across his nose as it too glistens with your release. 

It’s an obscene picture you only get for a moment before Zayne chucks his glasses off just to place a closer, deeper set of kisses on your cunt. Practically chasing every buck of your hips, he happily lets you ride his face until your room begins to blur yet again, weightless and utterly fucked. 

You’re panting, vision still coming back in waves as you register Zayne untying your hands, all the while kissing the light bruises that remain. 

And yet you can hardly think of anything other than the fact that he still hasn’t properly fucked you.

“Zayne,” you call, and god, something in your chest squeezes at just how fast he whips his head around, already ducking to meet your eyes as he scans down your face. There’s worry etched into his features, his eyes scanning yours like he’s already bracing for whatever you’ll say next.

“I’m sorry, I knew I should have taken better precautions. If your hands hurt I can get a salve from—”

“Fuck me.”

Silence. 

Zayne blinks, his mouth parting and eyes squinting as though he misheard– or somehow misread–  you.

“What?” he manages, his voice barely above a whisper. 

You sit up on your knees, pulling off your shirt one swift movement so you’re completely naked, then lean forward until your noses nearly touch, his eyes dropping to your breasts. The boldness only shakes him further. “I’m sorry, I can’t let you run away this time. I want—” Reaching your hand out, your fingers trail down Zayne’s bare chest, hardly even pushing for him to fall backward. And for you to follow on top. “I want to do this for you. I want you.”

Zayne’s breath is deceptively steady, and if you couldn't feel the ragged rhythm of his chest, rising and falling as it burns against your palm, you wouldn’t have believed he was affected at all. 

“You don’t-wait- have to—” he starts, but his voice breaks when your fingers trace the curve of his ribs, lips following suit as you place gentle kisses down his sternum, his slender abs, dangerously close to the v-line dipping into his pants that you can’t help but lick, smiling in delight as his words finally fail him. 

“Neither did you. You’re rather stubborn, doctor,” you insist, soft but unwavering. Resting your head against his thigh, you coax his jaw down to look at you, the palm still resting against his chest finding the erratic thrum of his heartbeat beneath your touch. “Let me take care of you for once. Don’t you know good patients listen?”

Zayne huffs a quiet laugh, the sound strained as he looks down at you, right side of his lips curving into a faint smirk despite the way his body seems to ignite at your touch. “Bringing in our professional titles seems a little underhanded, don’t you think?” 

 “Ah, but it got your attention, didn’t it?” You don’t let him stall anyone— already he’s managed to keep this from you for weeks, really it’s a shame you haven’t stripped him earlier— letting your tongue trace the dip of his hip once more, humming as his muscles tense under the sudden attention. 

Greedy, your lips continue to worship every sharp edge and curve of Zayne’s abdomen, hands busy with his buckle until you manage to find a particularly sensitive spot just above his right hip bone. 

All his composure, all his calculated confidence, you want to break it apart until there’s nothing left but Zayne. Just Zayne. 

Zayne inhales sharply, eyes screwing shut as his mouth falls open in a picture of perfect debauchery you want etched into your mind forever. One hand fists into the sheets beside him, the other flying to your hair as your kisses turn to a dizzying mix of licks and nips. Hard enough to mark, you bite into skin, tongue flicking between your teeth, echoing across the room alongside the wet sounds of your mouth at work. 

“Ah, fuck.”

Cursing already? Perhaps this would be easier than you thought, but where’s the fun in that?

You pull back, watching Zayne blink in confusion as his hips twitch up toward your mouth, and you have to force back a laugh as he stares, bewildered, like he can hardly believe the sight in front of him.

His voice comes out huskier than before, low and coated with desire. "Why did you stop?"

You pull back just enough to look up at him, cheek resting on his thigh as you play with his zipper, never looking away from Zayne’s eyes even as they flutter closed in frustration, desperate for more. Tension practically radiates off of him, but you only smile, taking your time as you trail your fingers away from his zipper and bulge, teasing the sensitive edges of his hip and the skin peaking just over the edge of his trousers. 

“Don’t worry, doctor,” you murmur, your voice low and teasing. “I’ll be sure to complete your procedure just as thoroughly as you did on me.” 

Oh, and Zayne must realize how utterly fucked he is, for you won’t be letting him go not until you’ve adequately paid him back for all the times he’s deliberately edged you to the point of tears, all the times he’s reprimanded your attitude, all the sweet punishments you’ve ensured that you’re going to give back to him tenfold. 

But before he can try and sweet-talk his way into mercy, your teeth catch on his zipper, dragging it down as your free hand unlaces his belt, tossing it across the room. His boxers are soaking, the obvious bulge only emphasized by the way the damp cotton seems to stick to him, and god does the size of him make your core flutter. 

Achingly hard already, and you haven't even begun.

The fact that you know he’s this hard just from eating you out certainly doesn’t help. 

Maybe next time you’ll get him to come just by eating you out. 

Next time, though.

Without warning, your fingers wrap around his cock, freeing it from the confines of his boxers. A hiss grits out through Zayne’s teeth as his jaw clicks and a vein thrums against his neck from the pressure. 

You're so used to having Zayne above you, between your legs, teasing you senseless as his fingers or tongue bring you to the edge over and over again. And now, here he is. Spread out, and all yours to ravage.

The realization alone has you throbbing, prior orgasm all but forgotten as you feel the want burn between your thighs again.

If only he could see how wet you were already.

How could he not, with the way your hips were rocking against his still-clothed thigh, searching for the friction he wouldn’t give?

And yet, despite your impatience, your eyes never leave Zayne, watching the way his muscles flex as he resists the urge to move, ever obedient for you.

"Good boy," you purr, meaning only to tease him further, but instead of the faux glare or inscrutable comment you were expecting, Zayne tenses beneath you, his cock jumping against your palm. Your eyebrows raise, a breathless giggle betraying your intentions as you lean in closer.

"Oh? Do you like that, baby? Being told just how perfect you are for me?”

You're not sure what's more arousing, the fact that Zayne is practically coming undone at your words, or the fact that he hasn't denied a thing.

God, his body feels hot. The mere praise has a dusky blush racing down his gorgeously sculpted chest all the way to the tips of his ears, his bottom lip tucked between his teeth as he looks down between the two of you, to where you’re still teasing the weeping slit of his dick. He moans before he could even stop himself. Fuck. 

Shivering, Zayne reaches out to grasp your wrist, and for a moment you think he's going to put a stop to your little power trip. But his hand only comes up to guide yours, urging you to pump his cock a bit faster, stopping to put more pressure against the base, and you can't help but smirk knowing he must be truly desperate if he's already rushing you to jerk him off properly. 

"My, my, doctor. I suppose I’m not the only one who’s been holding back.” You click your tongue, a teasing edge to your voice. "Were you really so desperate to feel me around your cock, hmm?"

Hazel eyes narrow at the pure filth behind your words, but you see the furrow between his brows, the way Zayne’s throat bobs as he throws his head back with a choked groan. If he looks so damn pretty now, you wonder what kind of faces he’ll make when he cums. 

“You truly are horrible,” He groans, hesitating, hands clenching into the sheets before they fly up to your waist, gently bucking his hips into your awaiting palm. “Mhm- please.”

You hum, lazily sinking to your stomach so your bare chest presses against his still-clothed thighs. With each stroke you can feel his muscles twitch beneath you, see the way his jaw clenches and unclenches, the way his hand guides yours, tightening and loosening, urging you to go faster, harder.

Your mouth waters, and the urge to taste him is far too tempting to resist. 

Plus, you’ve had enough with denying yourself, and more than enough of Zayne denying himself as well. 

So right as Zayne’s head rolls back against the pillows you rock forward, licking a slow stripe up his dick, up between the gap of your fingers where they grip his base. 

Zayne chokes on his breath, hand immediately tangling in your hair, rough enough that it has you wrenched away with a breathless whine. He groans, words shaking out in breathless huffs, “You, hah- this isn’t, fuck—”

"Ah, ah, pretty boy, let me take care of you, yeah?" You fight to come back to him, smiling as Zayne’s grip immediately loosened, and you kiss his tip in thanks.

Rubbing teasing circles into his thighs, your thumbs then move up, tracing his v-line, addicted to the way his muscles tense under your nails and to the red lines that follow. It makes you want to mark him up more. So you do, with your nails again, then with your teeth and tongue. 

“Look at how- shit- how excited you are for me. So pretty.” You lean forward, pressing wet, messy kisses just below his navel and all around his already sticky thighs, heady and coated in pre-cum. 

Another bite, and you squeeze his balls with just enough pressure as you watch his eyes roll back in time. "I'm going to make this so, so good for you, baby.” 

Zayne all but sobs at that.

Every carefully restrained thought breaks completely at the praise, a raspy moan grinding through his teeth before his jaw falls open with every ragged huff of breath. 

“Mhm that’s it, you’re doing so well,” you say, smiling at the way his cock twitches, violently leaking, pre-cum pooling into your palm and dripping down your wrist. “So pretty, so perfect just for me.”

With one last kiss on Zayne’s tip, your hands steadies itself against his abdomen before you kitten-lick around the tip of his cock, and then greedily shove as much of his throbbing erection as you can down your throat.

Zayne tenses, gasping, and the sound sends a thrill down your spine. You press further, tongue flattening along the underside of his shaft, and fuck he’s so thick you nearly choke, forgetting to breathe in through your nose as the lack of oxygen gets to you embarrassingly fast. 

If only you had some more time to properly adjust, you'd force him to the hilt without a doubt. But patience has never been your virtue. 

You’re already edging yourself with every slow grind of your clit against Zayne’s thigh, and you can feel his desperation in every throb along the underside of his cock in your mouth, letting his tip hit the back of your throat, breaching as deep as you could allow.

Zayne begins to buck forward only to freeze halfway, a low hiss leaving him as his hand twitches against the sheets, knuckles turning white as he fights his own self-restraint as you urge him deeper into your hot mouth. Trying to pull you off him, Zayne’s hand laces through your hair as a warning, large enough to cup the back of your neck entirely, but the action only lets you take him further. 

Then he makes the fatal mistake of looking down at you, locking eyes with your teary gaze as you maintain eye contact before licking up his length, and then swallowing him back down, crying as mascara and drool runs down your chin. His hips stutter upwards, and then he catches the shallow bulge now pressing against the base of your throat. Up and down and back again.

The sight breaks him.

He throws his head back with a whine, and fuck, his sounds thrums against your skull, reverberating through your very being as he snaps, hips bucking wildly into your mouth, his powerful thighs trembling around your head. You’re being used as nothing more than a fucktoy now, hands scrambling for purchase against his abdomen for a semblance of control as you take it.

Fuck, maybe it’s the praise, because you make Zayne want to be greedy with the way you were gagging and choking around him.

The mere feeling of you drooling around his length, the way your moans come out muffled and wet with drool and his slick, like a messy kiss to his cock, has his hips stuttering deeper, arching up into your body until Zayne can practically feel the spark of his orgasm behind his eyes. 

But no, that won't do.

After all, you won’t be satisfied until he’s finally fucking himself inside you tonight. He can’t cum anywhere else. You won’t let him.

And right when you feel his cock go rigid, you tighten your hand around the base, and pull off. 

Heaving, you shakily prop yourself back onto your elbows, Zayne's length glistening with saliva between your bodies, twitching violently and leaking all across his abdomen and your chest from its angry red tip. 

“S’pretty, Zayne.”

Zayne moans, hips chasing after the heat of your mouth, hissing when all he feels is the cold air. He wants to protest, wants to ask for more, but you shush him with a kiss.

Your tongue laps across his skin, tracing the ridges of his abs, lapping the pre-cum and sweat that gathers there. You lick a trail, following the sharp cut of his hips.

"What, is that all you can take?" you ask, a teasing smirk on your face.

Zayne curses, a frown tugging at the corner of his lips. “Depends.” His voice is fucked rough, raw, and you never want him to stop talking. ”Was that the full treatment?” 

You hum, biting the inside of his thigh. He gasps, and it turns into a deep groan when you press an open-mouthed kiss over the forming mark.

“No,” you admit, “You’re not escaping until I get to watch you come undone.”

You smile at the shudder both your words and actions draw, the way his fingers tighten in your hair. “Ah, but not here. In me. I want you to fill me up, baby, make a mess of me. I can take it, I promise. And when you're done, I'm going to ride you until you come again. Sound good, my pretty boy?"

Zayne throws his head back with a moan, eyes squeezed painfully shut as though he can’t decide if this really is real or if a succubus was haunting his dreams to every sinful memory he has of you.

Zayne leans into your touch, following your palm as he nuzzles into you with a huff of hot breath. A little like a kitten in a man's body— a sexy body no doubt— but you wonder, not for the first time, if the reason he always holds back is simply because he was afraid. As you were. Until Zayne came to you, until he showed you what pleasure felt like.

So you take his face in your hands, forcing him to look at you, and then kiss him.

He lunges up to meet you halfway, licking into your mouth, fisting into your hair, breathing in every moan and whimper of his name as he hums it right back. Needy, so damn needy for it. 

You smile through the kiss, grinding up and down his muscular thigh alongside the desperate smashing of mouths. Tongue-heavy, teeth scraping, sucking at the corner of your lips. So fucking hungry for you that he’s practically lifting you right off the mattress with just one arm. 

His mouth distractedly chases down your throat leaving opened-mouth kisses before slotting back against your lips, hot and demanding and urgent. 

“Zayne, ah—” you’re cut off with another kiss, “Mhm, please, need you,” another, Zayne looping two arms around your thighs, hiking your knees up to his shoulders, the stretch burning. “Need you in me, now.”

He moans into your open mouth at those words, eager enough that he chases you up, nearly pinning you beneath him until you break the kiss with a gasp, shoving him back down. Zayne whines at the break of your lips, brows furrowed as his back hits the mattress, trapped under you once again, panting.

"Need you, pretty boy." You whisper against his lips, and it sounds just like a promise. "Please, let me take care of you.”

Zayne takes a shaky breath, nodding, drunk on the praise and readjusts himself against the pillows. He watches, eyes half-lidded, as you straddle his waist. Rough hands find your hips and hold them steady as you settle climbing atop him, the head of his cock rubbing between the folds of your soaked cunt. 

It isn’t lost on you how Zayne can barely stop staring at the slick that trails down your thighs, all of it coating his shaft in slick as your pussy hovers over him, connecting the two of you in wet, sticky strands.

"Like what you see, doctor?"

You lick down the milky column of his neck and Zayne groans, leaning back to grant you access. "You and your smart-ass mouth."

“You love it.”

Ya, he does. He could probably cum just from watching you like this.

Leaning forward, you line his cock up with your entrance, smirking at the way his eyes narrow, heart racing beneath your palms as you balance yourself on his pecks, shamelessly groping them.

"Do you have any idea how many times I've thought about this? How many times I've imagined riding your cock, hearing the sweet noises you make as I make a mess of you?"

Zayne opens his mouth, as if to say something, but whatever it is doesn't matter, not as you guide the swollen red tip of his cock through your folds, thick tip pushing and sliding past your entrance, unable to fit even with your combined slick. Teasing, swollen pussy lips drooling right down onto his leaky head when just a simple nudge of Zayne’s squirming hips would end this torment and have you fucked flush against him— raw.

"Please," he groans, his voice raspy and hoarse, eyes fluttering closed, glassy with lust, "I can't- I can't take this. Please,” a low moan of your name has you delirious, and god, you’d give him anything he’d ask for. “I admit it, I need you. So please.”

Were you more than happy to oblige. 

Lifting yourself all the way up on your knees, you steadily apply more pressure to your entrance, working yourself further and further until you could feel your slick drip down your thighs and his cock, each movement now accompanied by an unholy squelch. You slide his cock over your cunt—back, then forward—stimulating your clit with the head each time he fucks it through your folds, desperate as your movements become rougher and more forced.

Zayne’s cock catches against your entrance once again, and a low, breathy moan escapes his lips. He could feel your cunt finally yield to the pressure of his large, overbearing cock, could feel the way your legs trembled, threatening to give way, and he can't help but wonder if this is how you would look, how you would sound and feel, when he fucked you.

As soon as he feels the flutter of your core against his tip, he knows he’s lost, the head of Zayne’s cock sliding into you with a lewd pop as you both moan. 

"Mhm, yes," you moan, voice a high-pitched keen. "Just- ah, like that."

Zayne bites his lip, fingers digging into your hips, and fuck, after being edged not once but twice today he already feels deliciously overstimulated and close, too close.

So it certainly doesn't help when you rock yourself up onto your knees, then drop yourself all the way back down his shaft, taking him all the way in until his balls slap against your ass.

You even don't wait for either of you to adjust before doing it again, and the velvety hot squeeze of your cunt has Zayne seeing stars.

“Ah, f-fuck, oh, shit. S’good Zayne,“ you coo, "Feels so good, fuck."

You’re dripping down your thighs, gushing around him like a vice as he watches his cock disappear into your cunt with a creamy white ring already at his base. 

It’s all turning Zayne delirious with the way you continue to feed him compliment after compliment. It’s all so much, too much, and a low moan is forced out of Zayne’s chest as he begins rocking his hips up to meet yours, hardly even letting you pull out before bullying his way back into you. 

Fuck, you can feel him everywhere, his cock hitting your cervix, your walls stretched tight around him, a mixture of his and your slick pooling onto his abdomen as you chase your way up and down his length.

But god, what you feel is nothing compared to how absolutely wrecked Zayne looks.

His eyes are screwed shut, chest rising and falling rapidly, the flush from his ears having spread to his gorgeously marked-up chest, his neck, the angry red tip of his cock. His brows are drawn together, jaw clenched, the muscles in his neck and shoulders strained as he holds himself back, every part of him curling up to meet yours and press you down, closer. 

But then he turns away, eyes screwed shut as you feel his tip jerk against your cervix once more. 

No. No, no, no that won’t do.

Zayne has watched you come undone countless times. He’s been a worshiper and witness to pleasures you didn’t think you could feel, and this time, you want him to be the subject of all your adoration. To finally give him back all the love he’s taught you to feel and more. 

So you lean down, cupping Zayne’s cheek with one hand as you continue to ride him. “Look at me, baby. Y-you're so, fuck, so big, Zayne, fuck—” You gasp a sharp breath as he twitches violently inside you at the praise, slurring your words. “Mhm, love your cock so much."

But you doubted he could hear you— fuck, you wouldn’t even be able to tell if Zayne was breathing at this point if it wasn’t for the throbbing of his cock against your walls in time to his erratic heartbeat— because his eyes rolled back into his skull, jaw slack as a silent moan rips from his chest, shuddering down his spine right before his hips snap up into yours, throwing you off balance, pinpointing your g-spot with cruel accuracy as you scream.

Your sounds and babble of praises have him dizzy, eyes half-lidded and hazy as he struggles to focus on your face. It almost looks like he’s about to cry, dark lashes wet with unshed tears. You’d tease him for it, had you the capacity to think at all. But no, each thrust continues to bully into that sweet, spongy spot inside you as you moan, and Zayne’s mouth falls open with a cry of his own.

You chase into it with a kiss, clashing your teeth as you feel his tongue lap against yours, sucking hard. You feel the wrecked, blissed-out smile on your face, breaking away from him just long enough for Zayne to see how ruined and turned on he’s making you.

"Y-you're close, aren't you, my sweet boy?" You ask, the words coming out strained as Zayne fucks up into you. Pumping upwards, it’s like he wasn’t even trying every time his weeping head rams your sensitive spots. Just stuffing you full of his cock he denied you for so long, furious enough to mold you to his very shape. "C'mon, cum for me, Zayne. In me, please–ah."

You pull away even as his lips chase yours, arching your back so that your full weight grinds back on his hips. Zayne all but whimpers at the change in angle, his hands gripping the bed sheets as he tries not to starve off his orgasm. 

"Please, please," he groans, his jaw clenching.

"Look at me, Zayne."

He does, and his pupils are so blown, his eyes nearly black.

"Cum for me, baby," you beg again, grinding down against him as his hand comes up to grope your chest the same moment your palm leaves to cup his balls, and that's all it takes.

Zayne comes, a cry ripped from his throat, his cock throbbing inside of you. You can feel the sheer warmth filling you, his seed spilling out and leaking onto the sheets, and god, there’s so much of it that cum squirts out from between the two of you, splattering up his abs and your thighs. 

He’s trembling, head falling back as his hips jolt and stutter, still fucking up into you as though it can’t bear to part. You’re probably not helping with the way you still rocking on his length, your cunt milking his orgasm, and he can't take it, it's too much, too fucking good, he can't stop, never wants to.

But, fuck, one look at his face, and you already want him to cum again.

Zayne looks like sin, sweat slicking his hair to his forehead, his body writhing and straining as he gasps for breath, his skin shining in the afterglow of his release. The muscles of his neck are taut, veins pulsing and straining, his lips bitten red. He is fucking gorgeous, and the thought that he has done this for you, to you, has another wave of arousal shooting up your spine. 

“You…” Zayne’s brows pinch together, but his voice is low, dangerous. Unyielding. “You didn’t cum.”

“I already did, besides I-I ah, Zayne—!”

You’re cut off by your own pussy, lewd squelching accompanying every brutal thrust Zayne overstimulates the both of you with, bullying his own cum out of you with each rhythmless thrust back in. He plants his feet into the mattress, thrusting his hips up as you claw at his shoulders, chest, the slap of skin on skin ringing in your ears.

“No, that isn’t-” Zayne’s words slur, feverish and mindless as his gaze zero’s in to where the two of you meet, the sound of every wet, messy thrust and the slight bulge he now sees in time to his thrusts. “Not enough. With me. Please, hah, cum with me, love.”

Transfixed, one hand drifts to the bulge at your navel, and before he can stop himself, he grinds the heel of his palm against it. Immediately, overbearing pressure shoots up your spine, a broken scream leaving you as you tremble above him, arching violently forward. 

You try and speak, protests leaving as nothing more than garbled whimpers as you claw at Zayne’s wrist, trying and failing to pry his punishing grip off you. 

He doesn’t relent.

How could he, when you’ve finally given him yourself? When this was everything he’s denied himself and more? 

Fuck control, fuck discipline, fuck holding himself back. Zayne wants you. 

Vision blurry, drool dribbling down the corner of your mouth, your combined cum gushes out of your overfilled pussy and spreads in a lewd little pool beneath you. It’s all you can do to take it, Zayne overstimulating the both of you to insanity, but his hips keep the same punishing rhythm. Two slow, deep thrusts before something snaps and he hammers into you twice. Thrice. Then begins all over. 

It’s effortless, the way he bounces your body up and down with one hand, the other remaining pressed against your abdomen, massaging the outline of his dick showing through with every grind forward, rolling your clit between his forefinger and thumb. 

Large hands splay your thighs wider, closer, impossibly stretching you out until all you can feel is Zayne, Zayne, Zayne. You don’t realize you’re chanting his name out loud too. And you never felt more gloriously out of control than when he abruptly jerks his thigh upwards– driving you right along with it– hitting your cervix all at once.

There’s no rhythm. Not anymore. You’re hardly lucid, dropping your full weight down just to meet Zayne’s cock as he pulls you down prone atop of him to catch your mouth in an open kiss as he hits your g-spot again. And again. And again and again and—

“Love,” he all but moans it into your lips, low and broken and oh so addicting. “My love, please.” God, he’s still so painfully hard but the feeling of you fluttering around him, getting tighter each time he calls you love, must be a sort of heaven. “Please– hah, fuck– cum. Cum all over my cock.”

You whine, surging forward to kiss him again, and he feels it, couldn’t do or think of anything but it as you cum around his cock for the first time. 

Zayne’s eyes open even as you continue to suck and lick into his mouth, brows furrowed and vision blurring, lost in every hot pulse of your walls as they coaxed him further and further in, your release squirting against him as you struggle to drag your hips off him again, pussy sucking his cock in deeper, unwilling to let him go. 

Shaking, his hands find their way back to your hips, settling over the light bruises as he guides you up and down again, startling you as you moan into his lips. 

“Zayne,” you whine his name between kisses, strings of spit snapping between you, Zayne chasing hazily after your mouth before you cup his face in your hands. 

God, the sound of his name on your lips is enough to have him keening, pressing his forehead to yours as his entire body trembles. 

You’re coming again before you even realize it, vision spinning in and out as Zayne continues to fuck you through it. Zayne makes a noise, something between a moan and a whimper, his hips slowing despite himself. 

You're gorgeous, the sight of you atop him, still slurring out compliments, and it's too much, fuck, too fucking much, too fucking perfect, his perfect woman. 

With a final snap of his hips, Zayne comes alongside you. 

His orgasm has him gasping and his entire body bows forward, arms wrapping around your middle as he buries his face in your shoulder, kissing into the tender flesh as he just keeps cumming. 

He can't find the need to hold back this time. Not when the pleasure is so intense that his vision is turning white, not when your cunt is hot and pulsing and clenching around him, not when the praise and encouragement keep pouring out of your lips, whispering into the crook of his neck, "good job, Zayne, such a good boy for me, you did so well, my sweet boy, my love, hah, I love you."

When you finally come down from your high your body is sore and aching, the feeling of his hot cum deep inside making you whine, the sensation so much better than his fingers or toys, so much more warm and full.

Zayne’s arms are wrapped protectively across you, hugging you down atop of him even as his cock remains motionless within you, not an inch of skin untouched as his hands rub careful circles down your spine and thighs. 

You nuzzle closer, whispering more nonsensical praises into Zayne’s hair, raising a shaking arm to comb through it as he still keeps his face tucks into your shoulder, hidden and shaking softly still. 

A shift, and you feel his hot breath on your neck, a sudden drop of wetness against your skin, and you realize with a start that Zayne is crying.

He’s crying. Soft, unrestrained sobs muffle into your shoulder as he tucks you close, burrowing his face into the crook of your neck between breaths. You let him. You curl up as close as you can get onto his lap and then closer still, one hand raking through his hair in gentle reverence as you let him cry.

It is silent, save for the sound of his sobs and his labored breaths.

"I love you, Zayne," you say, as if it was the easiest thing in the world. "You really are perfect, thank you, thank you."

You kiss his forehead, then down his cheek and jaw until he finally relaxes under you. Tracing lazy patterns up and down his chest, you coax him down until he finally raises his eyes to meet yours with a flutter of tear-stained kisses to your palm. 

The first thing you notice is the way his cheeks are flushed, his eyes wavering and hazy. The second is the way his lips are swollen, the marks on his neck and chest blooming darker with each passing minute. The third is how the sweat on his skin is beginning to dry, making his hair stick up in all sorts of directions.

The fourth is the look on his face.

The look on his face is soft, tender, and unsure. Nothing like the infallible surgeon the whole city reveres, or the smart-mouthed mentor you’ve grown to admire and respect. Just Zayne. 

You brush the damp locks away from his eyes, pressing a chaste kiss to his forehead, the tip of his nose, and finally his lips, and he melts, his body falling forward onto you as he curls you into his side, tucking you down onto the bed alongside him.

“Stay with me?” He asks, his voice low, as though afraid to ask. Afraid to know.

Always. 

“You can’t get rid of me that easily.”

[heegyukeluv]

M.O.R.E. - my only ruined escape (lhs)

pairing: heeseung x afab!reader

synopsis: Trapped in a broken marriage, you felt bound by everything you had invested in it, unable to walk away despite the cracks. But when Heeseung, unexpectedly striking up a friendship with your dick husband, entered the picture, things began to shift in ways you never saw coming.

my's note: i don't condone cheating. and this fic can be triggering for many, so read the warnings with care, please!

warnings: toxic relationship/marriage, fight/arguments, mentions of blood and wounds (due to the fight lol), y/n's husband is an ass but he doesn't attacks her physically, verbal abuse, y/n is constantly degraded by her husband, angst (with happy ending!!), pet names (mostly darling), cheating (yn cheats her husband with hee), SMUT - so minors DO NOT interact!, unprotected sex (don’t do it!!!), oral (f. receiving), fingering, squirting, lowkey angry sex. lmk if i missed something!

wc: 26,6k.

NOT PROOFREAD.

taglist 💖: @yvnempire, @marigold-sunflowers, @ikeuverse, @tinycatharsis

“Fuck ass food.”

Heeseung was peacefully eating his lunch at the small company’s break room; the other two spare tables were already occupied when he first stepped in, later than his usual schedule as he always managed to choose a less crowded hour to take his break peacefully.

The situation led him to sit with a random guy that apparently just entered the room as well, since he had his lunch box closed for quite a long time, while typing on his phone, laughing.

They both exchanged a few words as in “Can I sit here?” and a comfortable “Yeah” in response; but as soon as the guy spoke again, his curious eyes followed towards his food and then, arched a brow

“What's up, man?”

Heeseung attempted a friendly approach, but the man seemed inclined to complain other than talk. And although Heeseung was the type who preferred silence over small talk during meals, especially with strangers, he felt compelled to interact, given that they were the only two at the table.

The downside of arriving late or during peak hours: having to deal with people sharing – and invading – your space.

The man took a deep, exhausted sigh, his pursed lips indicating he was mad, his clenched jaw only adding to it, and the way he tilted his head quickly to the side before starting to speak got Heeseung regretting his decision of asking about it.

“My wife. She's just too... Useless?” The man blurted out, shrugging as if the statement held universal and undeniable truth.

He gave a brief unreadable gaze to Heeseung, that definitely didn’t spark not even an ounce of interest in him – actually, he quietly prepared himself for the following words, restraining an eye-roll that was teetering to escape. 

“Can't cook, can't keep the house clean, can't do shit,” he continued, his tone dripping with gross disdain. “And the good thing she had on her, she lost through the years.”

Heeseung kept his skeptical and slightly confused expression weighing his features, eyes darting towards the said “ass” food as he took a bite of his; it looked delicious and the smell was amazing. If the guy kept on crying over it, he would definitely suggest changing plates.

“Yeah?” Heeseung replied flatly, his voice carefully measured to express his disinterest.

He didn’t buy a word of the man’s complaints but held back the urge to ask why he had married this supposedly intolerable woman in the first place.

“Yeah,” he agreed and then leaned closer, now chewing a piece of meat with an exaggerated disgust. “You know, she was a hottie back then,” he muttered, a repulsive smirk creeping onto his face. Heeseung swallowed his will to punch that idiot in the face, his jaw clenching involuntarily. He wasn’t enjoying a glimmer of that conversation.

The man’s face contorted as if he was reminiscent about his wife in the past. “Fuck, she was hot. Best pussy I've ever had. Thought I could marry her and screw my stress away, you know?” The man’s head shook in mock disappointment. “But now? She barely gives me anything. Always some excuse. Lazy as hell.”

Heeseung’s stomach churned as the man's nauseating words thickly filled the air. He tried to focus on his own food, avoiding engaging any bit on that topic, but that casual, sickening misogyny was an appetite killer.

“You get me, right?” the man said, his voice dropping to a whisper. “Your wife probably takes care of you, huh? Keeps you satisfied?”

The playful shove to Heeseung’s shoulder nearly pushed him over the edge. Holding back a retort – or worse, a punch – he forced his expression into something resembling composure.

“Oh, I’m not married,” Heeseung finally said, his voice tight, sharp and precise, a clear indicator that he didn’t want to be bothered anymore, not by that fuck ass guy.

The man laughed, shaking his head. “Well, lucky you then.”

That was Heeseung's first interaction with your husband. At the time, he couldn't have cared less about your relationship, he was indifferent, barely bothering to acknowledge it. His only genuine hope was that you would eventually escape from the grip of that asshole and find yourself with a real man who actually deserved you.

That was his stance – until the moment he saw you.

It was the company’s party reception or something similar, he didn’t care much to give a proper definition, not when you walked into the room, radiant in a sleek, black dress that hugged your figure perfectly. The way your smile lit up your face as you greeted everyone made the entire place seem to pause for a beat. Your lips, painted in a bold cherry red, glistened in the soft lighting, and your eyes – oh, your eyes – shone like stars in the night sky, captivating anyone who dared to meet your gaze.

You were beautiful in a way that left him breathless. 

And then, as if in slow motion, his gaze shifted to the man standing beside you. Your husband. The one he eventually – and unwillingly – learned the name: Brendon.

The words that escaped his lips were little more than a breathless mutter, “Are you fucking joking?”

His grip on the glass tightened, fingers curling around it with an intensity born from pure frustration and anger. This was the woman? The one your husband had described as plain, unremarkable, not even remotely sensual?

This goddess, standing there like an oasis mirage? Like something unreachable, untouchable, immaculate? 

He couldn’t understand it, no, definitely not. A woman like you dating – no, worse married to – a douchebag that didn’t give you what you needed, what you deserved.

He didn’t believe in fate, but the way things had unfolded, Heeseung was starting to wonder if the universe had conspired to bring him there, to that exact moment. After all, there was no other way he would have ever crossed paths with you.

Witnessing your existence, so alluring, so captivating, had flickered a spark in his mind, like a quiet revelation that simmered until he couldn’t ignore it any longer.

Heeseung made it his mission to make you his.

It was a dangerous game, even reckless, his friends would try to stop it even before turning the idea into real words.

By then, he had gathered just enough to know the basics – your husband was a waste of space, and you, without a doubt, deserved something far better. 

He didn’t know how you felt about the way you were treated, nor how deeply you were tied to that toxic relationship, but he knew he had to take the chance, to shoot his shot. 

With that resolve, and after draining his glass in a single gulp, his eyes never leaving yours, Heeseung moved towards you both with quiet confidence, every step sure and deliberate.

“Hey, Brendon!”

Heeseung noticed the way your beautiful eyes gently settled on his, briefly wandering over his body before returning to meet his gaze once again. Your cheeks flushed – at least, he noticed a faint blush that didn’t seem to be the result of your flawless makeup.

He smiled warmly, shaking Brendon’s hand, who made sure to release his own from yours to greet Heeseung properly, pulling him into a half hug.

The first thing Heeseung would change in this dynamic: he would never let you go for something as a brief touch, left alone to greet some random acquaintance. And if he did, he would be quick to pull you back into his arms and show you off.

“Heeseung! Good to see you, man.”

The pat on the back felt a little too friendly, a little too close for Heeseung’s liking, but if he had to go through hell just to get closer to you, the goddess, he would endure it.

“This party’s kind of weird. So far, I’ve only seen strange people, but it’s nice to have some familiar faces.”

Heeseung forced a laugh as they pulled away, trying not to let the intensity of his gaze linger on you too much – he couldn’t be too obvious.

“Yeah…” He replied, trying to keep the conversation going, but honestly, he had no interest in Brendon – not that he could admit it out loud, especially since Brendon was probably the biggest obstacle in trying to do anything directly with you.

But when you responded to your husband with a shy smile, linking your arm with his, Heeseung couldn’t hide the wave of relief that washed over him. And your voice... It was beautiful.

“Stop it, babe. They weren’t weird, they were just being nice.”

“Yeah. For you, it’s always just kindness,” he rolled his eyes, not even bothering to reciprocate the affection by properly linking his arm with yours as he took a sip from his drink. “See, Heeseung? Women and their sensitivities. Be careful when you get married, man. Choose wisely, don’t pick the sensitive ones.”

The wave of nausea that hit Heeseung was enough for him to not even try to hide his discomfort. Brendon spilled all that nonsense like it was easy to say such atrocious things, ending it with a sleazy laugh that only added to the ridiculous image he was creating of himself.

Heeseung couldn’t deny that it was impressive how quickly Brendon could spew so much garbage, as if his mind was actively working to spread blind hatred towards anyone who didn’t fit into his corrupted morality.

“And this is...?”

Before any awkward silence began to settle in, and after Heeseung noticed that Brendon hadn’t made even the slightest effort to acknowledge the stunning wife standing by his side, he took the cue and swiftly redirected the conversation towards his primary target: you.

“Ah, Y/N. Apologies for not introducing myself earlier.”

You smiled warmly, extending your hand for a handshake, but the touch was brief, fleeting – only for Brendon to possessively wrap his arm around your waist and pull you closer to him.

Heeseung barely restrained the urge to roll his eyes – so this was the type of man who treated his wife like trash, yet couldn’t stand anyone giving her attention?

“You always forget your manners at home, don’t you, honey?” Brendon tried to make a joke, one that only he seemed to find amusing as he laughed solitarily.

“Pleasure to meet you, Y/N.”

Heeseung didn’t bother mentioning that the few times he and Brendon had ever spoken, you had been one of the main topics – yet none of those discussions had been about praising or cherishing you as you deserved. Instead, it was always something demeaning, as if your worth were only worth degrading. 

Heeseung noticed that you seemed like you wanted to say something, almost as if you were about to murmur a “me too,” but all that came out was a forced, distant smile – almost sad, withdrawn. Your once radiant and seemingly communicative aura slowly and painfully faded away. You swallowed the words that dared to leave your mouth, and it left a bitter taste in Heeseung’s mouth to see that, but he swallowed it as well, choosing to remain polite – at least for now.

And you, indeed, were holding yourself back. Brendon didn’t like it when you greeted other people, especially men. He used to tell you that they were all filthy, that they would seduce you and take you to their rooms to fuck you, and you, as the good slut you were, would give in to their charms.

Part of you wished that were true, because if you at least had good sex with your husband, it could serve as a reason to stay firmly and resistant to his attempts – and success – of being an ass, but even that he couldn’t give you.

“I’m going to the bathroom,” you murmured, more to avoid a potential fight in the future than to actually inform anyone. You could feel the tears threatening to fall, burning like fire in your eyes.

There were moments when you questioned what was still keeping you there. You had read countless reports and books – hidden, because Brendon didn’t like you becoming too informed – about women in relationships that you later recognized as abusive. They were designed to destroy a woman's self-esteem and take out the light of happiness that once burned so brightly.

You saw yourself in each of those stories in different ways, because Brendon had never dared to physically harm you. His game was personal, psychological, like controlling the finances and part of your daily routines.

He even went as far as threatening to install cameras around your apartment to make sure you weren’t cheating on him or breaking any of his ridiculous rules when he was out of the house.

Thankfully, you managed to hold on to your decision to keep working, something you cherished deeply. The flower shop that took up most of your time was a sanctuary, a place where you could momentarily forget that you had a husband of questionable character.

It was undeniable that the thought of divorce had crossed your mind countless times. Building a routine of minimal care for him, based on his absurd demands, also fed the feeling of permanence. You had to stay because you had to take care of him. Who would make his lunch boxes or wash his underwear?

It was a trivial thing, and maybe you used it to cover up your true desire – to run away, to escape from a relationship that, at one point, in a distant and fantastical past, had been full of promises that sounded genuine, of eternal love and affectionate care.

Everything was perfect during the first six months, until he realized that the sex he had once craved every day had lost its appeal, even though you kept trying to innovate, to please him. Brendon was never satisfied with you, judged every little part of your life as though that became his greatest pleasure.

Sharing a home with you was more of an obligation than a choice, and for a long time, you felt guilty.

He attempted to make it up with you, to buy you gifts and lead you to cute dates. It worked in the first year. And the second as well – the transient hopeless feeling of fixing him, of growing over it, of getting used to it… You tried everything.

To exhaust yourself in order to take every effort in the books to save your marriage from failure was in vain, your husband himself was making sure that your deep, sincere love turned into hate.

Heeseung was torn between feeling relieved that you had walked away and utterly frustrated that you had to.

He didn’t truly know you yet –  not enough to form solid judgments about whether your character was as vile as your husband’s. However, the brief moments he shared with you were more than enough to convince him that you didn’t deserve even a fraction of the treatment Brendon gave you.

But if he wanted his plan to succeed, he needed to win Brendon’s trust first.

“So, man, how’s it going?” Heeseung forced himself to sound as friendly and approachable as possible, his expression carefully crafted to radiate genuine interest in how Brendon’s life had been lately.

“Oh, you know. Tons of work, annoying clients, a couple of coworkers who... I don’t know, just seem like they couldn’t care less about their jobs. The usual.”

The internal battle Heeseung was fighting was so intense he had to physically restrain himself from throwing the punch he had been saving for Brendon since day one. The man hadn’t said anything outrageous – yet –, but the way he carried himself, the way he spoke, was enough to taunt Heeseung the wrong way.

Still, he forced himself to stay in character.

“Ah, that sounds rough. Sorry to hear you’ve been under so much stress.”

With a subtle pat on Brendon’s shoulder and words laced with faux sympathy, Heeseung could tell he had earned another fragment of his trust.

“Thanks for understanding, man. When I try to talk about this stuff with my wife, she just goes insane, you know? Says all I do is complain, and that nothing’s ever good enough…”

Heeseung nodded, carefully calibrating his expression so nothing but fake empathy would slip through. Inwardly, he wholeheartedly agreed with you – so much that he had to work hard to keep composure, leaving to Brendon the mission of filling up the awkward silence. 

“And how am I supposed to not complain when she can’t do anything right?” Brendon huffed, shrugging dramatically and exhaling like a childish tantrum.

Heeseung’s self-control was tested to its limits. He wanted to roll his eyes so badly but instead kept his mouth shut, grabbing a drink from a passing waiter to occupy his hands, not uttering a word.

“No one at work does anything right, but then I think, well, at least I can go home and unwind with my hot wife. And then I get home, and it’s all wrong there, too.”

This time, Heeseung couldn’t stop himself. The words slipped out before he could think better of them, sipping on his drink right after, eyes locked onto Brendon’s angry expression.

“Have you ever thought about getting a divorce?”

Brendon turned to him, wide-eyed, as if Heeseung had just suggested something unthinkable, as if he was a lunatic.

“What? Divorce? Are you out of your mind, man?!” And then he laughed, a hollow, grating sound. “She’s the love of my life.”

“Oh, right. Sorry,” Heeseung forced a small chuckle, drifting his eyes to his drink as he sipped once more. Yeah, definitely a lot of alcohol to help him go through this job of hell. “You two look like a lovely couple, my bad for suggesting that shit,” Heeseung nearly choked out that horrible sentence, cringing hard before the idea of complimenting anything in that piece of thrash.

“Nah. You’re good.”

Little by little, Heeseung managed to earn Brendon's trust. He started conversations about their few shared interests, sometimes even pretending to know more about topics he wasn’t particularly invested in, all to build a solid foundation for their blossoming “friendship”.

Heeseung had one clear goal: to keep you out of their conversations. He knew Brendon would likely take the opportunity to list every supposed flaw you had.

The more time Heeseung spent with Brendon, the more he realized he was a spoiled man who expected the world to revolve around his desires. It was almost comical and pathetic to hear him brag about his so-called glory days in college, where he claimed to have broken countless hearts as if it were some sort of accomplishment.

Through these interactions, Heeseung learned more about you – or at least about how you and Brendon had met and fallen in love.

Back then, you were calm, the kind of girl few would approach because they thought you were plain, boring, bland – Brendon's words. Apparently it was forbidden to use flattering ones even while describing how he fell in love with you. He decided to ask you out because, despite everything, you were pretty. And hot.

Of course, Brendon’s interest in you started with your looks and the supposedly mind-blowing sex you offered – almost as if you were some kind of goddess in bed – those were Brendon’s words again.

As Heeseung listened to Brendon recount this “love story,” he had to fight the urge to let his thoughts slip into words that would be anything but kind. He also worked hard to keep his expression neutral, not wanting to reveal his growing disdain.

The “love of Brendon’s life” wasn’t someone he cherished – it was a possession, a fantasy. He married you to maintain his hold on you, to keep other men away, because the thought of someone else touching you drove him insane.

The absurdity of it all nearly made Heeseung sick. Brendon couldn’t speak about you without a complaint to follow, without reducing your beauty to objectification, or without expressing his so-called “love” through a thinly veiled frustration rooted in his own insecurities.

But amidst the storm of Brendon’s toxic words, like a single ray of sunlight on a cloudy day, Heeseung now had reasons to visit your home regularly.

You were rarely home when he came by. On weekends, you worked at the flower shop, with your days off falling on Mondays and Tuesdays instead of Saturdays and Sundays. Brendon didn’t seem to care, often commenting that at least your “annoying voice” wouldn’t disturb his peace.

Yet, Heeseung found himself wishing he could see you more often. After enduring so much time and effort to break through Brendon’s defenses, earning a significant amount of his trust, it was disheartening to not see the person who made it all worthwhile.

“Y/N should be home early from work today. Let’s enjoy the peace while we can,” Brendon said offhandedly.

Heeseung’s ears perked up at the news.

It was the fourth weekend in a row that Heeseung had ditched plans with his friends to hang out with Brendon. Their gaming sessions weren’t the worst – most of the conversation revolved around the games themselves, sparing Heeseung from Brendon’s typical misogyny. But still, spending time with someone so consumed by complaints and negativity was exhausting.

The thought of finally seeing you again, however, was enough to rekindle his energy. Heeseung glanced at the time on his wristwatch, silently hoping your shift at the flower shop would end sooner rather than later; his heart was already racing at the thought of finally seeing you.

He cared little if you looked like a tired, married woman after a long day of work. You would still be beautiful, as always, with your charming smile that would likely grace your lips, your radiant gaze – maybe even surprised to find him there, sprawled on the couch playing video games with your husband. 

Heeseung just hoped you wouldn't misunderstand, that you wouldn't think he was anything like your husband. The fleeting idea of being seen under thar judgment was enough to make him slightly desperate to prove he was different.

When the door swung open, revealing a female figure entering, greeted by the dim light of the living room, Heeseung froze. Like, literally, his fingers froze on the controller, and his eyes locked on you.

You were wearing the most adorable light denim overalls, with embroidered mushrooms on the front. The black shirt contrasted perfectly with the light tone of your overalls and matched your black Converse sneakers perfectly. You looked beautiful.

“Yo, we're gonna lose, man!” Brendon shoved his shoulder into Heeseung’s to snap his focus back to the game.

“Sorry,” Heeseung murmured quietly, turning his gaze back to the light of the TV screen, though occasionally taking a moment to admire you as you slipped off your shoes and hung your purse by the door. “Need help?” He asked you directly, almost standing up from the couch when he finally noticed the two heavy bags of groceries you were carrying.

Brendon rolled his eyes and shoved Heeseung back onto the couch, not even giving you the chance to accept or decline the offer.

“Ignore her, focus here.”

Heeseung shot Brendon a skeptical look, which luckily he didn’t catch as his eyes were glued to the screen again. Heeseung gave you one more glance, a silent apology in which you gently shook your head and smiled warmly, whispering. 

“Don’t worry about it.”

Heeseung could see the frustration in your tired eyes, although you attempted to keep as nonchalant as possible, as if you were used to your husband's futility. He watched how you vanished into the back of the house, most probably the kitchen to organize the items you had bought. 

Somehow, Heeseung wasn’t interested in gaming anymore, not when you were just a few steps away and he could properly greet you. He stalled a little, just not to be too obvious with his intentions, before getting up and saying.

“I’m gonna grab something in the kitchen.”

And of course, the spoiled asshole would ask for something as well.

“Yeah, yeah. Grab me a beer.”

“Alright.”

Heeseung didn’t deny it; he had learned a few areas of the house already. After all, on the few occasions when Brendon didn’t say a single word about whether you were home or not, he’d claim he was going to the bathroom, when in reality, he was sneaking around, hoping naively he might catch a glimpse of you somewhere, gracing his eyes with your gorgeous presence.

The kitchen was the most obvious place his feet knew the way to by heart. It was the spot where guests were welcomed, where Brendon would offer drinks like whiskey and cold beer – which, apart from you and the PS5, were the only decent things that house had to offer.

So Heeseung made his way there slowly, feigning casualness, though internally preparing himself for a direct interaction with you. Since the very first day, he hadn’t had a single chance to speak to you alone, so he had to make the most of every second to begin showing you that he was a good man, and that if you wanted, and allowed him to, he could show you just how good he could be – in every sense of the word.

He heard a faint hum and the soft sound of things shifting around, indicating that you were still busy organizing the kitchen as he approached the room. He lowered his voice as much as possible to announce his presence, not wanting to startle you.

“Are you sure you don’t need help?”

Even so, you jumped slightly and turned towards him, flashing wide eyes that expressed your surprise.

You didn’t expect no one to come into the kitchen, let alone your husband or his friend, but you couldn’t deny that you were a bit happy that he did so.

Despite befriending your husband, Heeseung seemed to be a nice guy. You had little to no information about him, since Brendon barely told you about his day or his overall routine during the brief moments you two were together; he would rather choose to mistreat you and complain about your mistakes instead of sharing the perks of his work day.

“Yeah! I’m sure,” you managed to answer back in a breath, ignoring Heeseung’s presence for a bit as you reached for some of the groceries packages scattered all over the counter, to place them perfectly into the cabinets. 

Heeseung’s eyes followed the motion of your skilled body handling everything a bit too well, as if you were used to chores overwork.

Heeseung felt a tingling urge to help, to be useful, to ease your stress. It was something he would do effortlessly, if he was the one married to you. In fact, if it were up to him, you would just sit there being beautiful while he took care of everything, because you deserved to be treated like a queen.

Brendon had complained countless times about all the things you did – for him, obviously, in the form of grumbling.

How you were “cringe” for making little love notes and putting them in his lunch box, how you made the bed so he could sleep, but never chose the most comfortable duvet, how you “tried” to cook his favorite meal but never got the seasoning right.

Heeseung once casually suggested swapping lunches, and when he finally had the chance to try your cooking, the urge to punch Brendon grew immensely, because it was all so good.

Brendon didn’t appreciate the little things you did. He saw them as annoyances, predictably bad, and yet they were the exact actions that made Heeseung realize just how special you were.

He was struck by how deeply you cared for someone who didn’t seem to understand, or even acknowledge, your efforts. It only made Heeseung more determined.

“So… You work at a flower shop, right?” 

Once again, you startled with Heeseung’s gentle voice suddenly echoing in the kitchen, pulling you out of your concentration state. You were crouched while organizing the groceries, and he was standing up, drinking ridiculously slowly a glass of water.

“Yes, I do.” You answered politely, but not quite giving Heeseung any recognizable attention.

“Do you like it?”

His question caught you off guard. First, because you weren’t used to people asking about your interests, especially when it came to your “boring” work. Secondly, because there was a sincerity in his voice, a curiosity that felt different from the usual respectful small talk.

You paused for a moment before straightening your legs, calmly turning on your heels to completely face Heeseung with a slight flabbergasted expression. 

The moment your eyes laid on his tall figure casually leaning on the wall, your breath got caught in your throat – was he watching you this whole time?

His bright and lightly inquisitive eyes were grazed on you, busying his lips with small sips of water and a hint of a tender smile, waiting for your reply. Your heart skipped a beat, a soft, thrilling tremor that vibrated through your body without leaving you to have any control over it as your hands started to tremble. 

“I do, yeah.” You pondered for a while, searching for the words that would match your genuine opinion over your job; unconsciously a sincere smile began to form on the corner of your lips and Heeseung took a close, quiet note to it. “It’s… It’s calm and peaceful. Fulfilling in a way, even when it’s exhausting. I feel I can be myself easily and… Avoid some– other stress. For a bit, at least.”

Heeseung’s chest warmed with the way you spoke, a delicate radiance of soothing heat sweeping as your softly and lovingly voice talked about something you liked. He wished to see more of this persona, more of this part of you; the apparently authentic, happy version that expressed affection through your every pore.

However, he couldn’t help the sting that came along, knowing what “other stress” you were talking about. He also hoped to help you escape out of that. 

“That’s good to know,” he nodded tenderly, keeping his tone layered with honesty and kindness. Your eyelids blinked slowly as you watched Heeseung approach, silently placing the glass on the countertop that separated you both. “I’m glad to see you being passionate about what you do and enjoying your life, Y/N. At least… Part of it.”

He had carefully constructed his sentence before speaking, wanting to ease you into the conversation with the most comforting approach he could offer. At the same time, he dared to let slip a part of his disguise, hoping you would pick up on the subtle hint about him being aware of the difficult reality of your marriage, particularly your situation.

Your eyes showed that you were slightly taken aback by his words. You were shrewd enough to catch the underlying message of what he had said, even though it was somewhat confusing to understand his exact intentions. 

Still, you gave him a shy but pleasant smile, touched by his gentle and thoughtful words.

“Thank you,” you would’ve ended there, but something unknown prompted you to add more, a sudden need to speak your truth. “I do what I can with what I have.”

It sounded too sad, too realistic. Your eyes fell to your hands resting on the cold countertop as you spoke, nonetheless, it was your reality, after all: making do with what you had. You had learned the hardest way to survive on the scraps life gave you, to accept the little, or sometimes, nothing at all. It had become routine, normal – your life for the last three years.

Heeseung caught the opening you had unwittingly – or perhaps purposefully – left for him and gently took the lead on the topic, offering his personal opinion as he noticed your guard had lowered at least a little.

“It shouldn’t be like this, Y/N.”

A part of him feared he had crossed a line, violated your boundaries, or even frightened you. If any of that had happened, he couldn’t think of a way to backpedal and ease into a gentler, slower approach. But he was surprised when you, equally startled by your own reaction, replied.

“But it’s been this way.”

The sigh that followed expressed your exhaustion – an exhaustion you usually tried to ignore, otherwise it would send you down a path you didn’t feel capable of walking alone. “This is how he makes it to be.”

The indirect mention of Brendon shocked Heeseung even further, though it also brought a strange sense of relief. He hadn’t expected you to open up so quickly, still he wouldn’t take it for granted and chose to continue to walk carefully.

It was as if the plan he had set in motion had been laid out by divine hands, providing him with every tool necessary to reach his ultimate goal.

“It doesn’t have to be… You know that, right?”

You were taken aback when Heeseung’s warm, gentle hand covered one of yours, making you flinch slightly but didn’t pull away. The touch was soft, innocent, and comforting. It offered you just enough weightlessness to let your words flow with more ease, your heart feeling lighter within each passing second.

You wished for that moment to last a bit more. 

“Maybe I know, but… it’s so hard.”

Heeseung nodded softly, his gentle eyes tracing the lines of your face contorted with an expression of sadness and frustration, still avoiding his gaze. It was clear that you no longer wanted to live in this marriage, to be stuck with a jerk like Brendon. But something was holding you back. Or perhaps, you just hadn’t found anything – or anyone – that could truly pull you out of it.

Heeseung gently removed his hand from atop yours, sliding it beneath to hold it with care. “How can I help you?”

But before either of you could react, the sound of Brendon entering the kitchen shattered the tender moment that had been unfolding between you. His presence filled the room with that grotesque energy only he could bring.

“Why are you taking so long, man?”

Brendon’s voice cut sharply through the air, breaking the fragile moment. Your immediate jolt of surprise made you stumble backward, accidentally knocking over the sugar packet on the edge of the countertop with your elbow as you pulled your hand away from Heeseung’s, sending the white grains scattering across the floor. Brendon’s exasperated voice filled the air instantly.

“Messing everything up as always. Jesus Christ,” Brendon snapped, tone dripping with disdain. The sharpness of it seemed to pierce through the quiet warmth you had shared, and the shift in the atmosphere was palpable.

Heeseung stiffened where he stood, his jaw clenched, knowing it wasn’t the right time or place to confront Brendon, but a part of him wanted to.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to–” You began, your voice tinged with guilt. 

“You never mean to do anything,” he interrupted and rolled his eyes exaggeratedly. “Go grab something to clean this up. And while you’re at it, buy another packet. Use your money this time since you’re the one who made the fucking mess.”

Heeseung stood on the corner, static, feet rooted to the ground, because if he slipped the built self-control out, he would be the one making fucking messes. His eyes darted from Brendon’s to you a brief second, acknowledging that you seemed to be blaming yourself for such a normal accident.

For a fleeting moment, when your eyes met Heeseung’s, what you saw wasn’t pity, it was fury. Not at you, but for you.

His gaze burned holes into Brendon’s side profile, the muscle in his jaw flexing visibly. If Brendon pushed just a little harder, it was clear that Heeseung’s restraint might shatter entirely. His fists curled tighter at his sides, as though physically grounding himself in order to maintain the calmness. 

He wouldn’t admit out loud, not now, but the thought of you being involved in a possible fight was the primary thing holding him back. He didn’t want you to witness how bad and intensely he would make your husband taste his own blood – alongside that, the fantasy of making Brendon clean the floor with his own tongue was tempting and so hard not to give it a listen.

“And why the hell are you taking so long?” Brendon now turned to Heeseung, still holding an arrogant demeanor. “Bet this bitch didn’t leave cold beer for us, and she was probably making up some excuse for it, right?”

The venom in his words made Heeseung’s stomach twist, as well as his hands that clenched harder. His brows knitted together as he tried to process the sheer audacity of Brendon’s determination to make you feel worse. It was as if his entire worldview was built on finding fault in you, as though your very existence was an inconvenience to him.

“Actually, I–” Heeseung started, his tone low and dangerously even.

“Yeah, that’s right.” You quickly interrupted, your shaky voice expressing how affected and fearful you were. You moved to the fridge and grabbed two cans of beer to offer Heeseung. “I’m sorry. Here.”

Heeseung froze, his gaze softening as he took in your unreadable face. He was confused by your reaction and decision, the realization you were trying to defuse the situation, even at your own expense, made his body heat to increase in pure, raw anger towards Brendon.

The kitchen felt suffocatingly small as Heeseung reached out to take the cans from your trembling hands. His fingers brushed against yours ever so slightly, a light, evanescent touch, that still created a visceral jolt that seemed to resonate between you both.

“Thanks,” he murmured softly, his voice barely audible.

Your hands fell back to your sides awkwardly, but the faint lingering warmth of his touch sent a wave of unfamiliar sensation through your body. You shivered slightly; it had been so long since you’d felt this – a connection, something near to a meaningful acknowledgment of your presence as more than just an object of blame.

Brendon’s loud sigh and mutters about something random shattered whatever serenity the moment would unfold deeper. Heeseung’s grip on the beer cans tightened as he fought the growing urge to speak – or worse, act.

For now, he let the silence swallow his frustration, though his eyes remained locked on you, silently promising that this wasn’t the end.

Heeseung felt like he needed to offer you a kind of safe space, an environment where you would feel comfortable enough to begin opening up completely. 

The encounter in the kitchen was successful, until Brendon stepped in and broke the possibilities away. Ever since, he tried to change his plans of meeting Brendon during moments where you could be with him as well.

Heeseung’s whole plan was... Peculiar. He didn’t just aim to get you out of that toxic relationship, offering you the necessary support to help you leave. He primarily wanted to show you just how deserving you were of wonderful things, and that he wanted to be the one to provide some of that happiness.

It was a decision that might have been premature, with a high chance of leading to a dangerous and frustrating path. Even though Heeseung would use all of his tricks, you could still choose to stay. But he couldn’t control the erratic beating of his heart at the mere thought of having you for himself, nor could he ignore the ache in his chest of you opting not to let go, which demonstrated the intertwining of his emotions with this entire situation.

Heeseung was now seated at the dining table with you and your husband, chewing on the carefully prepared meal he had prepared for that “dinner among friends.”

You looked breathtaking, as always. And Brendon? Spewing casual misogyny and ignorance, as always.

The dinner had been Heeseung’s idea, under the pretense of repaying the countless times he had dropped by your house, consuming snacks and drinks without contributing. It was, on the surface, a friendly gesture. But the real reason behind it was far less innocent, and Heeseung knew you were perceptive enough to catch on.

It was so glaringly obvious what Heeseung’s true intentions were that he tried his best not to make them even more apparent with every glance exchanged between you and him. Fortunately, or perhaps out of sheer ignorance, Brendon was far too naive to notice the way you subtly reacted to Heeseung’s laughter – some of it genuine, some of it forced – as you leaned ever so slightly forward, drawn to his presence.

Heeseung was acutely aware, though. He noticed everything about you – every glance, every small smile.

Ever since Heeseung had started showing up during times when you were also home, the kitchen had become your unspoken sanctuary for a sweet connection. He didn’t force or coax you to speak your soul, rather he would give you a cozy place where you got to share fragments of your personal life amid discussions about nothing in particular – Heeseung treasured them all.

He etched those details into his memory as if they were sacred scriptures, intending to one day prove to you just how deeply he cared – and would keep caring, if you said yes. 

Now, as Brendon lounged lazily at the dining table, and you, standing at the sink, rinsed your plate and Brendon’s, you tried to ignore the flush on your cheeks when Heeseung moved to casually stand beside you while keeping the talk with your husband about soccer or something you didn’t care about.

Heeseung leaned casually against the sink counter, the glass of whiskey in his hand catching the warm light of his kitchen as he took a slow sip. You could feel the weight of his presence, far, but still close, somehow calming and charged with unspoken intention.

“Hey, man,” Brendon broke the rhythm of the conversation suddenly, standing up. “Where’s the bathroom?”

Heeseung didn’t miss a beat, suppressing a grin because he had planned that all along – to give enough non-alcoholic drinks to Brendon in order to make him leave for a few in the bathroom, getting at least some minutes alone with you.

With an easy, unaffected demeanor, he answered. “End of the hallway,” and raised his glass slightly to point. “First door on the left.”

Brendon nodded, his movements sluggish, and then casted a half-hearted glance your way.

“Don’t break anything while I’m gone,” he muttered, his tone an awkward attempt at humor.

You felt the corner of your mouth twitch into an usual forced smirk, the one you struggled to maintain as a way to faux express your contentment with his terrible jokes.

Brendon disappeared down the hallway, oblivious to Heeseung’s piercing gaze following as he did so. 

The silence left behind was thick, buzzing with the tension of your now uninterrupted proximity with Heeseung, causing a sensation that got your body wincing without anything happening yet. 

“So,” Heeseung began, his voice low and unhurried. He set his glass down on the counter, the faint clink of it meeting the surface echoing in the quiet room. His eyes found yours quickly, holding a weight that made your breath hitch slightly; he took a sweet notice of your blushing cheeks. 

“So,” you echoed softly, your heart raced in anticipation of whatever was about to unfold, dodging the pull of Heeseung’s intense, yet soft, stare to concentrate back on doing the dishes. 

“How was the dinner?”

Your shy smile grew before the tender question as you finished cleaning, silently asking for a hand drying cloth. Heeseung extended you one immediately, dreamy glistening eyes trailing carefully your every move with quiet devotion. He had his attention precisely torn in between the sound of Brendon coming back and you, the prettiest, kindest and most wonderful woman he ever saw.

“It was amazing,” you complimented with sincerity, resting the back of your hips on the edge of the counter top, glancing up through your eyelashes to meet Heeseung’s affectionate, smoldering gaze. “You did amazing.”

Heeseung chuckled softly, the sound low and subtle, like a sweet melody meant only for your ears. He shifted his weight forward, his movements deliberate as he positioned himself directly in front of you. His hands rested casually on either side of your body, palms flat against the countertop, effectively caging you in a way that was both daring and exhilarating.

“Can’t compare to yours, but yeah, I tried my best.”

His voice was velvety, laced with a casual teasing warmth that sent a shiver down your spine, as if you were close friends.

Your breath hitched, shallow and uneven, betraying the steady facade you tried to maintain. The rapid rhythm of your heartbeat echoed in your ears, a dissonant tum-tum that matched the electricity crackling in the small space between you.

The proximity between you two felt suffocating in the most thrilling way; his attractive face was so close that you could see the flecks of lust in his deep, big brown eyes. He gazed at you with a tenderness that made your heart stutter, his head tilting slightly as if studying your every micro-expression.

Without realizing it, your hands moved of their own accord, awkwardly, yet hesitantly, until they found a place on Heeseung’s broad shoulders. The texture of his shirt beneath your fingertips grounded you, though the hesitant touch exposed your inner turmoil. Still, the simple gesture was enough to make Heeseung’s composure falter.

He hadn’t expected you to respond so involuntarily open.

“He’ll be back soon...” You whispered, the words barely audible as your lashes fluttered shut for a moment. The nearness of Heeseung, the intoxicating scent of his cologne mingling with his natural warmth, made it impossible to focus on anything else. When, exactly, had Heeseung become your greatest temptation?

You weren’t blind to how he treated you. The way his gaze lingered, a mix of genuine affection and burning desire that ignited something dormant within you. It was undeniable the way he affected you, the way your thoughts would drift to him during the quiet, lonely hours of your life.

You fought against those thoughts with every fiber of your being, reminding yourself of the vows you once made. Yet, Heeseung’s constant presence made that fight infinitely harder, as if he hoped for you to drop everything you once promised, as though he taunted your self-control to its limits in order to make you discover fresh and tempting possibilities alongside him.

He was willing to make you wander a path you never quite give a thought to venture yourself into. 

Heeseung leaned in, his voice dropping an octave, soft and husky, almost a caress against your fuzzed soul.

“I know how much he stresses you out, darling...” The endearment slipped from his lips effortlessly, and you clutched his shirt as though it were the only thing keeping you sane. “Let me take that stress away.”

His hooded eyes wandered over your face, not hurriedly but with a reverence that felt almost sacred, as if he were memorizing every line, every curve. The intensity of his gaze sent your heart racing again, his careful inspection leaving no part of you unseen.

Heeseung deeply saw you, and you started to treasure that. 

The dryness in your throat was swallowed with difficulties, as if the saliva production had purposefully decreased only to make you wet your lips, an action that served to draw Heeseung’s attention to that area.

His gaze, dropping to something darker, held longer than he hoped for, but damn, you were so attractive, with your perfectly kissable lips inches from his, with your pretty eyes deliberately expressing your surrender to his charms.

He had to dig self-control in order not to kiss you right there, his own body wavering knowing he wouldn’t stop on just a brief make out moment; he yearned the urge of taking you as a whole, pleasuring you, worshipping you, giving you what you deserved. 

“He’s a good husband,” you forced out, the words tasting weird, unconvincing as they left your mouth; it was a failed coping mechanism not to break in light of the awareness of how disastrous your marriage had become, one you got used to repeating to yourself over the years.

Heeseung tilted his head slightly, his expression softening as he absorbed your words. Your lazy eyes caught the small smirk dancing on his lips, a dry chuckle following just before he murmured with devastating precision.

“Does he fuck you good?”

Heeseung’s previous advances had slowly chipped away at your defenses, now the question landed like a wrecking ball in a crumbling wall – strong, direct, and final, the checkmate that shattered everything your morals once held. 

Your body responded before your mind could, a pulsing ache coiling in your core, leaving you clenching around nothing in a crescent despair that burned your skin. The audacity of his words stunned you, but the way they ignited something deep within left you reeling, dizzy.

Your husband had never aroused you with such ease, and with one simple question, Heeseung had rendered you breathless, nearly falling on your knees.

You met his gaze, your lips parted, however not a single word had strength enough to follow the deep breath you let out. The room seemed to shrink as you took in the intensity of Heeseung’s eyes, the world narrowing to just the two of you.

His boldness hung in the thick air, while your principles dangerously split between clinging to the lie you told yourself every day and surrendering to the temptation Heeseung presented so beautifully.

“He provides the house–”

“But does he make you feel good, Y/N?”

He ignored your second attempt of forcing a narrative that both of you knew was just a facade, his inquisitive inspection and daring eyes never leaving yours, pushing you through the edge to fall onto his trap. 

The more he pressed you, the more you felt tempted to give in, almost like an addiction to something you had never experienced before, a painful yearning for the thrilling rush that coursed through your veins in delicious anguish with the thought of... trying.  

You feared that you might enjoy it too much if you gave in to whatever Heeseung was willing to offer.  

“He does, he makes me feel happy…”

“No, he doesn’t, Y/N. We both know that.” He cut you off again, though his voice remained calm and low.  

Heeseung was completely guided by the unconscious voice of his instincts that took control of his actions. He still remembered to respect you, to maintain a safe space, not to cross your boundaries, and, most importantly, not to push you beyond what you could handle. But it was so hard not to give in entirely to your complicit charms.  

You didn’t seem to notice, but your hands were pulling his body closer, your eyes triangulating between his brown irises and his cherry-colored lips, almost like a silent invitation to kiss him. You also had tilted your head slightly to the side, relieving your bare neck in a subtle request for Heeseung to explore that sensitive area.

You presented yourself in such a surrendered way, so open, so... reckless for someone who was working so hard to maintain unnecessary morality. 

Cheating wasn’t beautiful; neither of you believed in that. But why was cheating on your husband with Heeseung so ridiculously tempting?

“He doesn’t deserve you, darling…” Heeseung replied, unaware that this was your biggest inner doubt, daring to approach the prickled flesh of your neck.

The tip of his nose brushed slowly, painfully close, without giving you what you secretly craved, while his hot breath caressed your tingling skin like a deliberate, gentle whisper of a quiet promise. You fluttered your eyes close, the grip on Heeseung’s shirt tightening as he continued. 

“I can help you with that... Just give me the word.”

“Heeseung–”

Your desperate, breathy moan was interrupted by the sound of footsteps approaching. No, you didn’t hear them, but Heeseung was more than aware of Brendon’s return, taking on the job of carefully paying attention to it from the very beginning. 

“Think about it, darling. I can relieve your stress.”

It was the last thing he whispered in your ear before pressing a soft kiss to your cheek, pulling away to instantly resume his casual, friendly demeanor.  

“Did I take too long?”

Brendon’s voice wasn’t enough to break your trance. You felt your body weak and incredibly light, your flustered face showing a slight confusion and disbelief, with a subtle mix of wanting. 

Heeseung glanced at you with a mild smile for a brief moment before wrapping an arm around Brendon’s shoulders to guide him into the living room, murmuring a hollow response, followed by some lame excuse about showing him something, in order to give you time to recompose yourself. 

After a few minutes in a daze, you found yourself heading to the bathroom, because the interaction with Heeseung hadn’t just left a mark on your chest. No. Your panties were ruined, and you prayed you could hide it from Brendon for the rest of the night.

You had to hide your chaotic emotions for the rest of the following weeks, not just that night.

Brendon was completely unaware of the vast storm of thoughts racing through your mind as you did your household chores, which made it easier to ignore his misogynistic taunts and repulsive complaints throughout the day.

The memory of Heeseung’s soft lips brushing against your neck left an undeniable mark, and from time to time, you found yourself absentmindedly tracing the spot with your fingertips, almost as if you could still feel the warmth of his touch melting into your skin.

It was confusing to be in the position you were in, married on the paper to a jerk with the possibility of going after someone who apparently cared about you.

Sharing the same space with Heeseung had become increasingly difficult. You even started shifting your work schedule, taking days off when you knew he wouldn’t be able to come to your house, even though his visits had become less frequent.

You couldn’t quite figure out what had happened, but it seemed that Brendon and Heeseung had an argument after clashing over something trivial. It was as if Heeseung was finally showing his true colors, shedding the persona he had carefully crafted to get closer to your husband and eventually you, now that he had made his move in the invisible game of chess the two of you had been playing.

Besides your work, Brendon couldn’t control your friendships as well and luckily you had a supportful network that held you with warmth when the stress became overwhelming.

Countless times, your friends tried to show you that Brendon didn’t deserve even a fraction of the incredible woman you were, but as always, you had a well-rehearsed response that failed to mask the disrespect you had to endure with him.

Over time, your friends stopped trying to force you to see what you already knew was true, and in response, you made sure not to bring home issues into your work.

But that time, however, it was impossible to stay silent. Your face clearly showed discomfort and anxiety, but there was also a special sparkle in your eyes that piqued Yunjin’s curiosity.

“What’s got you so deep in thought on such a beautiful day, my lovely Y/N?”

You snuggled into the back hug she gave you, chuckling softly at the way she addressed you, a clear sign that she wouldn’t let up until you answered.

Yunjin was your closest friend, the one who always made sure to check on you and your relationship, occasionally threatening to drag you out of your house by force – but you always shot back, claiming it would probably make things worse.

She also knew about your recent sudden desire to escape, to distance yourself from everything that reminded you of Brendon – something completely new in your shared world, based on past experiences. You always found some lame excuse to cover up such thoughts, rarely letting them slip, and suddenly things had changed; in recent days, you had left numerous hints that something completely different and new was unfolding.

A sigh escaped your lips, followed by your quiet reply. “If I tell you, you might not believe it.”

Yunjin adorably rested her chin on your shoulder, trying to look you in the eyes.

“Humor me, then.”

You bit your lower lip, moving your head to the opposite side so you could hide how your cheeks flushed before you muttered.

“I want to cheat on my husband.”

The small stockroom fell into a deafening silence as the words left your lips, words that had been corroding your mind for days, perhaps even weeks. Saying it out loud felt like giving your desire a tangible form, pulling it from the realm of unreachable fantasy into the tempting, possible reality.

It was a simple statement, yet it unleashed a storm of emotions in your chest and stomach, as if all the anxiety you had been harboring, trying to gather the courage to reach this conclusion, came crashing back in a wave that hit you like a brick wall.

Yunjin’s lack of immediate reaction only made the air feel heavier, stealing the very breath from your lungs. You could sense the tension in her body behind you, but your mind, too clouded by the fear of judgment, twisted it into something entirely different from what she truly felt.

“Don’t judge me, plea–” “Who with?”

Your head snapped to the side, stunned, as you searched your friend’s face. What you found wasn’t judgment or disgust but a spark of curiosity and, oddly enough, pride glimmering in her eyes, as though she had been waiting her whole life for you to say something this bold.

“What?”

Yunjin loosened her back hug only to turn you around to face her, taking both of your hands in hers, which had been awkwardly dangling at your sides.

“Alright, so you’re going to cheat on your husband.” She gave your fingers a reassuring squeeze. “With who?”

Her enthusiasm was impossible to miss, and it stirred something strangely exhilarating in you, like a mischievous excitement, as if you were about to hatch a secret plan doomed to fail, yet thrilling precisely because of the forbidden nature of it all.

At the same time, you couldn’t fully process her reaction. Tilting your head slightly, you frowned, skepticism evident on your face.

“What do you mean you're not calling me crazy or immoral? Shouldn’t you be scolding me, telling me I should divorce him instead of choosing to cheat?”

Yunjin let out a soft sigh, a subtle and kind exhale, as a small smile danced on her lightly pink-tinted lips.

“Y/N, my princess... After everything you’ve been through, seeing you reach a point where you’re ready to break free from that awful man, even if it’s not in the ‘right’ way, makes me happy and proud. So, I don’t care if you start this journey with an affair or a murder–”

“I'm not murdering anyone!” You quickly cut her off, widened eyes shooting a warning glance. 

“Whatever,” she rolled her eyes playfully, the corner of her lips twitching within a smirk. “Either way, I’ll support and help you, because I know that getting rid of that piece of trash will bring you as much peace and joy as it will bring me.”

She wasn’t entirely wrong, but there was one critical detail she didn’t know yet, one that sent a thrill through you just imagining saying it aloud. For the first time, you realized you could actually put yourself first.

“I’m not cheating on Brendon to get revenge,” you said, a smile tugging at the corners of your lips. “I’m cheating on Brendon because Heeseung is hot, and I deserve better.”

Your trembling fingers fidgeted with the hem of your shirt, each pounding beat of your heart showing how nervous you were as you stood in front of that door.

It had been a few days since your talk with Yunjin – days made even more painful and exhausting by your husband’s behavior. He had been nothing but a spoiled, petulant child as usual, a true pain in the ass with his petty, insufferable attitude. It felt as though he was deliberately testing your limits, pushing you closer and closer to the edge, waiting for the moment you would snap.

It was always the same game. He would provoke you until you reached your breaking point, only to paint himself as the victim once you finally exploded. He had done it before, twisting the narrative to label you as the irrational, overly sensitive one, incapable of handling even the smallest criticism. Of course, his idea of “small criticism” was laughably detached from the reality of his hurtful words and actions.

The truth was undeniable: your relationship had long since turned cold, deprived of warmth in every sense of the word. The affection that once tied you together had dissolved after the first year of marriage, slipping away like water into a vast, unyielding ocean of discontent and sorrow.

Over time, you grew used to the scraps, and eventually, to nothing at all. You convinced yourself to accept whatever he offered, clinging to the hollow promise you had made – to love each other no matter the circumstances. But deep down, you knew that love had died a long time ago. You just hadn’t found the courage to bury it.

“Fuck you, Brendon. Go to hell!”

Those were your penultimate words before storming out of the house you once shared, grabbing only the essentials – your keys, your phone, and your bag. The last thing you said when he demanded to know where you were going was a truth laced with a hidden lie, where, in fact, you answered him correctly, only omitting the true intention behind your trip.

“Somewhere far away from you.”

That’s how you ended up here, standing in front of a plain white door that now served as the only barrier between you and the reckless choice you were about to make.

Summoning a fleeting jolt of courage, you raised your hand and pressed the doorbell. The moment the sound echoed, your stomach dropped and the weight of what you were doing crashed down on you like a wave. There was no turning back now.

The sound of a key turning in the lock made your breath hitch. Each passing millisecond felt like an eternity, your uneven breathing exposing the anxiety surging through your body.

You had rehearsed a dozen speeches on your way here – carefully thought-out words that would explain everything, rationalize your decision, maybe even give it some dignity. But the second the door opened and his familiar face came into view, every carefully crafted sentence vanished.

All that remained were the raw, desperate words that spilled out of your mouth before you could stop them.

“I wanna relieve my stress, Heeseung.”

Without noticing, your eyes fluttered closed when you blurted out, as if you couldn’t bear to see Heeseung’s reaction to it, extremely embarrassed of how you voiced your inner desire. However, his silence was more than enough to make you hesitantly reopen then, expecting anything but the scenery that blessed your sight, making your throat close and the simple action of breathing extremely hard. 

Heeseung stood there, freshly out of the shower after arriving from a very exhausting day at work. Clearly not expecting company, he had thrown on only a comfortable pair of sweatpants that hung low on his waist, the waistband of his underwear peeking out teasingly. 

His exposed torso was graced with droplets of water that danced slowly through its extension, his mild tanned and flustered skin serving as a beautiful background canvas, giving you a private show you hadn’t requested, yet you were beyond thrilled to witness.

At first, Heeseung was very confused with furrowed brows and lost soft doe eyes scanning you as if trying to resolve a riddle. But then, realization hit in an instant when he pieced the puzzle: you, stress relief, clearly nervous at his door…

“Oh?”

The single word failed to snap you out of your shameless admiration. 

Heeseung had an attractive physique, you already knew it. Tall figure, broad shoulders, waist slightly thinner than his hips, effortlessly strong arms; covered in his usual casual suit he was normally the culprit behind your small, careless mistakes, like burning your finger or miscutting a vegetable because your mind wandered a bit too far.

Now it felt like having access to forbidden footage, something you weren’t supposed to see, although you wanted to. Your gaze had been trailing every inch of his exposed form as if you were reading your favorite book, lingering longer on the defined V-line near to where he was covered, almost like daring you to look lower. 

You almost didn’t notice how he shifted on his feet, body language switching instantly to match your dark eyes devouring his flesh deliberately.

Heeseung took a step closer and leaned on the door frame, his head dropping forward just to try to search for your hungry eyes, the fragrance of his shampoo permeating your senses like a flood.

“So you want my help?”

The question came quiet, yet sultry as ever, and acted as a stronger trigger to pull you out of your daze bubble completely, only now noticing how close he was.

Your cheeks exposed your mortification at being caught, though you didn’t actually want to hide your need and desire – it was more like a moral shame, knowing that as soon as you allowed Heeseung to cross a specific line, there was no turning back.

With your fingers clutching your purse's handle firmly, you bravely nodded, tracking your eyes up and seeing the movement of Heeseung cocking his head to the side, as well as the curve of his lips turning into a smirk.

“Yes, I–I want your help.”

Hearing your consent replaced Heeseung’s mild doubt by an urge to take action, as if your words ignited something darker, deeper, that reflected each nuance of it on his drooping eyes. Something you hadn't seen in years, because the only gaze your husband managed to flash you was the usual disgusted, angry, disappointed one; something tempting, and unafraid, you took the bait.

“Come in, darling.”

Your trembling legs somehow managed to follow Heeseung's lead. He had made the subtle decision to brush his hand lightly against your waist as he guided you to his bedroom, your gaze unfocused barely paying attention to the decor of his apartment.

The only things your mind could fully grasp were the warmth of his fleeting touch on your lower back, the soft, dim light that bathed the cozy interior of his space, and that the outcome that interaction would lead to was implicitly obvious.

It felt oddly familiar, like when you lost your virginity – the weight of the forbidden, the eagerness to start and explore mingled with the fear of disappointment and regret, the realization that there was no turning back and things would change afterward.

It was a confusing, insecure mixture of emotions that left you dizzy, especially since you had always followed the vows of your marriage, promising to cherish, respect, and remain loyal to your partner.

But it was hard to hold onto that promise when you were the only one making an effort. It felt like an empty promise, broken, shattered, where only your side remained intact.

“What happened?”

Your thoughts were so intense and overwhelming that you didn't even realize Heeseung had ushered you to sit at the edge of his soft bed, while he pulled the chair from the pair in the corner of the room and brought it closer to you, sitting directly in front of you.

You raised your sad, lost gaze to Heeseung, finding in his eyes an offer of care and attention. There was an underlying lust simmering beneath the surface, threatening to take over, but he was determined to stay composed, ensuring your consent came first.

Heeseung communicated with you without words, a connection so deep it made your heart race, as if the two of you could read each other effortlessly. A small, shaky sigh escaped your parted lips as your fingers fidgeted with your bag, seeking grounding in something tangible, something solid amidst the chaos in your mind.

You were about to cheat. Not just your husband but the promise you had made, once sacred. It felt like madness.

“You know I’m here, right?” Heeseung’s reassuring voice pulled you out of the whirlwind of your thoughts, anchoring you to the present. And with that, you nodded and began.

“He's been... strange.”

Your eyes avoided Heeseung’s curious gaze as he leaned forward at first, close enough to rest his elbows on his knees while enveloping your hands in his warm, comforting grasp. He gave you a gentle squeeze, encouraging you to continue. You shivered and gathered strength to keep going.

“We’ve been fighting a lot lately, and it feels like… If I was already not enough before, now I’m even worse.”

"You were never ‘not enough,’ Y/N,” Heeseung interjected gently but firmly. You darted your eyes briefly towards him and he was frowning a bit. 

“I know, it’s just…” You swallowed the lump in your throat, holding back tears you didn’t want your husband to deserve. “He’s always put me in this place, and I think I started going there on my own. Like, I’m the incapable one, the one who screws everything up, the one who lost her sex appeal and can’t please him anymore...”

Heeseung listened intently, his thumb softly brushing over the back of your hand like a silent reassurance that he was there for you. It was a comfort unlike anything you had felt in a long time.

“And lately... I think he’s–” You hesitated, your gaze unfocused as it landed on a random spot on the chair behind Heeseung. “He’s been coming home late from work, and honestly, I’m relieved to some extent...” A humorless laugh escaped you. “But with the things he’s been saying, like how he could find something better elsewhere, how I’m dispensable… It’s hard not to think he’s...” You took a trembling breath, the tears you had been holding back falling slowly. “...That he’s cheating on me.”

You weren’t crying in full sobs or breaking down entirely. They were quiet tears of realization, a painful acceptance that everything you had worked to keep standing had already crumbled long ago, now waiting to be buried by you; tears of relief, knowing, somehow, you tried your very best. 

Heeseung waited a few moments before raising your hands, still enveloped by his, to place a soft kiss on them. The following words sounded harsh and weighted contrastingly heavy with how tender his lips brushed your skin as he did so.

“He is.”

You froze, feeling your heart skip a beat and your stomach dropping. Your slightly widened eyes snapped to Heeseung’s, searching for any sign of dishonesty or teasing, but all you found was an expression of empathy, compassion that seemed to hurt him almost as much as it hurt you.

“W-What do you mean?”

Even though your voice came reluctantly and your eyes kept drifting to every inch of Heeseung’s expression, as if you expected for it to be a massive lie he was telling you, that new piece of information had your entire being reacting weirdly, awakening – or intensifying – a stronger desire to maintain your previous plan, morality being thrown out the window. 

Heeseung’s jaw tightened at your expectant, griefing eyes, and for a moment he looked away as though struggling to find the right words, the ones not to hurt you even more. When he finally spoke, his voice was soft but steady, and made you wince with a bittersweet feeling.

“He’s been spending a lot of time with someone in finance these past few weeks,” a sudden pang in your heart made your breath hitch. “And… from what I’ve seen, it’s not just friendly. His hand is always on her waist, and the smiles they exchange...” He trailed off, not wanting to add to your pain, especially by how your lips pursed together into a small sad pout. “I caught them kissing the other day. I didn’t confront them– I didn’t even know how to tell you. I didn’t know where you worked, and the only chance I had to see you was at your house.” He gave a small, almost remorseful smile, avoiding your gaze. “And honestly, I knew I wouldn’t be able to control myself if I saw him.”

His tone was apologetic and sincere, giving you enough to ignite a growing anger in your chest. 

If you had doubts before, this was more than a confirmation. Not only about your marriage obviously going down in shambles, but mostly to know you weren’t wrong for searching for Heeseung in the first place.

Your mind was caught in a tug-of-war, split into two opposing forces. One side replayed the vows you had once written for your husband, while the other mercilessly pointed out the everyday moments that made it clear he no longer deserved a single word of those promises.

That latter part desperately sought justification, crafting reasons to convince yourself this wasn’t wrong. He did it first, it whispered. He cheated on you. You have every right to even the score.

But this wasn’t just about revenge. It was something deeper – a mix of fractured morality and raw, unfiltered longing for the man standing before you. A man who had just confessed that he feared losing control if he ever faced your husband.

His words stirred something primal within you, replacing the sting of betrayal with a flicker of desire you couldn’t ignore.

Heeseung, in far less time than your husband had, had proven you were worth it. He showed you that you were someone worth fighting for, someone who deserved more.

The intensity in Heeseung's gaze was palpable, his eyes burning with a heat that made your breath hitch. When your own heavy, searching eyes met his, the air between you thickened, electric and tense. The room felt like it was holding its breath, waiting for one of you to make the next move.

Yet, as undeniable as the chemistry was, you were still hurt. The anger bubbling within you was impossible to suppress. Every fiber of your body screamed frustration, the weight of betrayal pounding against your chest like a drumbeat.

There was a fire inside you – a burning rage that demanded release. You wanted to scream, to lash out, to make someone – your husband – feel the same devastation that was ripping through you. It felt like an overwhelming need to break something, to pour all your fury into a physical outlet.

And it was then that you realized you needed to take it out on something. 

Before you could act on the reckless thought of leaning forward to claim Heeseung's kissable lips, he rose from his seat with a quiet confidence, still holding your hands. Gently, he tugged you to stand, leaving you momentarily dazed. Your bag slipped from your shoulder onto the chair he was sitting as he guided your body to turn away from him, positioning your back to his chest.

You shivered when his warm breath fanned over your ear, your composure threatening to crumble entirely. Your legs gave a slight, involuntary tremble, as if warning you that, depending on his next actions, you might find yourself falling face-first on the bed in front of you.

“Can I touch you?”

His voice was soft, almost reverent, and the question sparked a mix of confusion and curiosity spiraling through you. You nodded silently, unable to form a coherent response, and his hands moved to your shoulders, his warm touch both soothing and electrifying.

“I know this is all fucked up," he murmured. "But I can’t let you carry all this tension.”

You let out a small chuckle, your shoulders wiggling slightly as you did, allowing your head to tilt to the side. The gesture opened a new, vulnerable space for him to explore, and the silent invitation didn’t go unnoticed.

“I’m tired…” you whispered, your voice fragile. “Frustrated also. But so, so tired of being with him. And now that I know he cheated on me,” your voice wavered, thick with suppressed anger and sorrow, “I–I think– I know I deserve better, but… I don’t even know what better looks like.”

Heeseung’s thumbs pressed into the tense muscles of your upper back right after you spoke. You swore you could feel the ghost of a smirk on his lips as he leaned closer, his breath grazing your ear sweetly, yet sultrily.

“I can show you what better looks like, darling,” he said lowering an octave, his tone both tempting and genuine, but mostly, filthy.

A low, involuntary hum escaped you, uncertain whether it was from the pleasure of his skilled touch kneading away your tension or the raw temptation dripping from his words, words that lingered in the air like a seductive promise, enticing you towards a darker path, leading to a gate of ruins – the kind born of broken vows and desires forbidden.

“Can you?” you shot back, your voice soft but tinged with challenge and curiosity, enough to elicit a low chuckle from Heeseung.

“Yeah. If you let me…” His lips brushed against the sensitive skin of your neck and a shiver coursed through you, your body instinctively relaxing under his touch. “I can show you. Just say the word, sweetheart.”

You closed your eyes for a brief moment, and the now painful, agonizing memories of your dead relationship clouded the course of your next decisions. Not that if you were thinking entirely rationally you would avoid the temptation offered by Heeseung, nor would you shy away from the clear want to have him in a more intimate, more physical way.

Nonetheless, the rising anger towards Brendon, that had dismissed slightly but it hadn’t vanished, was slowly, yet completely taking over your being, controlling your senses and boosting the craving for making a move – a wrong move.

There was an excruciating necessity for feeling the revenge melting deliciously on your tongue, to payback, to be in charge of the trajectory of your life back again.

The morality was long gone.

“Please, Hee.”

You tilted your head back, resting against Heeseung’s shoulder. The chant in your brain yelled for you to stop, to resolve things correctly, how they should be, however your hands had already covered Heeseung’s and deliberately pulled them up, his palms now groping your covered breasts with you inciting it.

“Show me.”

Your voice was barely above a whisper, your thoughts failing to keep you away from succumbing to your raw desires – Fuck Brendon, you said to yourself. He is the one to blame.

“Show me what I deserve.”

You were blinded by a mix of desire, lust and anger when Heeseung pulled you closer and began to massage your breasts vigorously, his soft lips kissing the length of your neck, jaw and then, the corner of your mouth, while his fingers varied between pinching your nipples and playing with them.

Your desire to have him was overwhelming and indescribable, your body melted under his slow and gentle touch. But that wasn't what you wanted, no. You wanted more; more intense, more fervent, hotter.

You needed to vent your growing rage, you needed to feel your frustration and pain fading away before you exploded.

“I'm angry, Hee,” you murmured through gritted teeth, your eyes narrowing only so you could turn towards Heeseung and grab him by the neck, the hands that once explored your chest now on your waist. “Don't treat me with care. Not now. Not today.”

And in a frantic movement, you attached your lips to his as if it were the last thing you were doing in your life, not even paying attention to how Heeseung's eyes were darkened and clouded by pure lust.

Heeseung felt struck by lightning when he finally kissed the lips he had dreamed of feeling for so long, but he didn't have time to appreciate a single second of their softness because you soon sought to deepen the touch, exploring his mouth with your tongue, searching for his so you could embark on a messy and needy kiss.

Your hands tugged at his hair lightly, occasionally trailing down to his bare, warm shoulder, shivering under your touch. Your heads moved in an unsynchronized rhythm – there was no time to cherish, to appreciate the intimate connection. You just wanted to feel him closer, to feel him deep in you.

When Heeseung's large hands grabbed your ass, you murmured something that sounded like “more”, quickly indicating with your own hand for him to squeeze harder.

The request was swiftly met, your bodies pressing together hungrily to the point where you noticed the erection that was growing under the few cloths that covered Heeseung. You moaned when you felt him hard against you, your breathing hitching.

When you least expected it your back was laid out on Heeseung's bed, with him on top of you, still kissing your lips, your breaths heavy and interrupted, however not enough to break the connection.

But you still wanted more.

“More, Hee. More.” You exhaled at one point, when for a brief moment, your lips parted.

Heeseung had already thrown his sanity out the window. He had intended to treat you with care, affection, and show you how worthy you were, but his plans seemed to differ from yours; you seemed to need an intense and passionate sex, one that he knew he could offer you.

Without much hesitation, he dared to detach his lips from yours just so he could move them down your still covered torso, grazing the fabric of your shirt and stopping at the edge of the waistband of your slacks.

Heeseung guided his gaze upwards, only to find you slightly disheveled, panting, and with swollen lips. The skin around your mouth was reddened from the intensity of the kiss you shared, and he was sure he wasn’t much different himself.

“Please, don’t stop…” You whined and squirmed a little when you realized he was taking too much time to appreciate your expression of desperation instead of using it to make you feel good.

You felt your panties uncomfortably soaked with your arousal and your whole body boiled with lust and need for more.

More, more, more, it was what the chant in your head was screaming now, completely lost in the lustful haze that overwhelmed you agonizingly, mixed with the anger of having been betrayed, been cheated on.

Your hand fit perfectly on top of Heeseung's head when he finally removed your bottoms along with your panties in one go; his beautiful eyes, previously full of attention and affection, now showed pure need for having you naked and exposed.

“Shit, darling…” Heeseung groaned, seeing your wet folds and pulsing hole. “You’re so fucking perfect, so fucking wet,” he kissed your inner thigh and you winced, throwing your head back on the pillow and trying to relax your breathing. “Release your fucking anger on my hair while I make you fucking cum with my mouth, yeah?”

Although you didn’t see, he flashed you a last mischievous glance and a smirk before darting back to stare at your inviting pussy, his own respiration hitching as his mouth watered. 

Wasting no time, Heeseung dipped his flattened tongue all along your extension, sucking at the very end straight on your clit, just to get a preliminary taste but stirring quite a loud moan from you. Your hips waved forward to search for more immediate contact when he briefly leaned away to close his eyes, a phantom of a smile lingering on his lips as he appreciated your flavor melting in his palate.

Your hands pushed his head back down, forcing his face to dive deep into you and he couldn't be happier, even letting out a small giggle with your unashamed eagerness.

It felt amazing to receive an oral that skilled, that warm mouth working perfectly to suck your arousal enthusiastically, big nose nudging in an expert dance against your sensitive bud of nerves and, damn, that tongue assaulting your pulsing hole by entering in and eventually stroking through the other parts, passionately exploring your cunt.

Heeseung was giving you full attention.

Somehow it triggered an urge to cry in between your moans, because you were associating practically everything with your husband – the heated kisses you never really got to receive, the deprivation of sexual interactions where you felt desired, the words that lifted your self esteem.

Brendon had never treated you this way, the right way. He barely even gave you a fraction of the care and attention that Heeseung was now showering upon you, his desire to bring you pleasure evidently being treated as if it was his own, as though having you shaking and pleading for more with your drenching cunt on his mouth riled him up.

Your eyes stung and tears dared to roll down your temples onto the pillow beneath your head, the lump on your throat and a strange feeling filling your chest that only fueled your pain and anger.

Instinctively, your fingers tightened their grip on Heeseung's soft hair, strong enough to make him groan in pain, but not enough to make him complain or ask you to stop. You also forced him down once again, using his face, mouth, tongue, nose, everything to get yourself off and drift the sorrow away.

“F–Fuck–” A whimper escaped your lips when Heeseung entertained your idea instead of backing off, intensifying how he was eating you out deliciously, his own breath growing stronger, ragged within each passing minute he deepened his head between your legs, nearly suffocating himself.

You could feel the foreign knot on your stomach tightening along with the pang in your chest and Heeseung’s grip on your thighs; his hands moved to under them to position on his broad shoulders, skin on skin making you notice how hot both of your bodies were, and, at the same time, serving as a not-so-gentle lucidity reminder of the intimacy you were sharing.

Although the temptation of achieving your release just with Heeseung’s mouth tickled your core, you couldn’t help the sane part of your brain prompting that, perhaps, the ongoing scenario wouldn’t happen even again and you had to live it up the best.

Everything was so confusing. You just had a reckless, frustrated and anger driven decision that led you to have Heeseung buried deep in your pussy, nonetheless you were still married – at least on paper. 

You had a husband. 

The hand that held Heeseung in place was curiously your left one, as if the whole world wanted to remember you were being a cheater; your pretty ring sparkled amidst his dark locks in a beautiful, nearly artistic mess.

A roll of eyes brought you back to the overwhelming sensation of Heeseung’s warmth involving your sensitiveness, snapped you back into the haze of unawareness of your sad reality. He cherished your climax as much as you, and was willingly determined to make you cum just by his mouth. You, on the other hand, had different plans.

“Hee…” You called in a moan and tried to pull him away, your closed eyes making the unleashed tears flow easily. He shook his head and pushed himself down again, oblivious to the turmoil blending with your pleasure. 

He only halted his movements when you added. “Mhm, stop, please–”

A soft kiss within a plop sound was planted on your clit when he stopped, stirring a small shake in your body and a quiet whine. Heeseung lifted his gaze and caught your furrowed brows and bitten-swollen lips, and also noticed your tears.

“What’s wrong, darling?”

His voice carried a hint of concern, unsure if your tears were from pleasure or sadness, especially since you had just asked him to stop, leaving him dealing with mixed signals.

“Nothing's wrong,” you shook your head and smiled, because the man in front of you not only respected your request immediately but also prioritized your well-being over the sex. A rarity in your life.

Even so, Heeseung maneuvered your legs to place them back on the soft mattress and moved to hover comfortably over you, his eyes searching for your still closed ones. You felt a gentle stroke on your cheek, followed by his warm breath fanning your nose and lips, signaling he was closer to you than you had realized.

Your free hand blindly traced the path of his arms to his neck, while the other, still tangled in his hair, pulled him into a kiss with one singular, simple purpose: to drown out all the overthinking that had started to flood your mind.

The tears intensified as your lips moved in sync, and when Heeseung tried to pull back, likely to ask what was wrong, you tugged him down again and silenced the possibility by deepening the kiss.

A terrible feeling began to rise, fighting against the one that had filled the room minutes ago – lust.

You wanted Heeseung as a man. You wanted him to keep touching you as he did moments ago, to give you the pleasure you deserved and wanted, not only because he offered that chance but mainly because you desired it and allowed it.

Yet, it was so messy and confusing. The weight of guilt pressed heavily on your chest, the self-awareness and the realization of cheating beginning to restrict your actions.

And then came the anger.

He betrayed you first. He didn’t treat you right. He didn’t respect you. Maybe, he didn’t even love you.

That marriage had been dead for so long. The façade you had desperately tried to keep intact by scattering beautiful flowers along the path was already thrown in the trash. You deserved better – you deserved a confident, strong, incredible and undeniably attractive gentleman like Heeseung.

Heeseung.

Heeseung, who was right in front of you, so close, kissing you with a slow, addictive heat. Heeseung, who had respected you from the very beginning. Heeseung, who risked parts of his morality, his life, and his values just to get closer to you. Heeseung, who occupied every corner of your mind.

Why was it so hard to accept that you might actually deserve him?

A shaky sigh broke the intoxicating kiss as Heeseung propped himself up on one arm to look into your glossy, reddened eyes. Before any questioning words could escape his swollen lips, you allowed your raw desire to be spoken aloud.

“Fuck me with your fingers,” you demanded, your voice soft, yet firm and serious as your eyes roamed Heeseung’s features. 

His forehead was starting to damp some hairs in sweat, his nostrils moved along his intense breathing and his lips, parted, showed your work of art on them, glistening with your saliva and earlier arousal.

Your hand covered the one that still lingered tenderly on your cheek, grabbing it to drive slowly down to your pussy.

“I want to feel you in every way possible, Hee.”

Heeseung couldn’t deny the confusion of your actions, the sudden cry, the smallest hesitation he caught in between the kiss, and now this. He was in no place to deny such a filthy request though, a request that got his neglected, aching dick throbbing in his boxers, nearly screaming for some relief or space to breathe.

Still, an incomprehensive sensation lingered on the back of his head as he tracked your every face motion.

“Are you sure?” The question itself was just a confirmation you were alright, you were still thinking somehow straight and taking decisions you really wanted to live up with.

Cheating wasn’t Heeseung’s game either. He hated the idea of being or having an affair as much as you; infidelity never sounded right to his ears. Nonetheless the situation was so uniquely specific. His true concern was when you would dump that jackass you called a husband, the one who wouldn’t lift a finger to make you happy, the one who, quite the opposite, would be more than thrilled to make you feel worse every passing day.

Selfish as it may be, it was genuine to his intentions. Heeseung had been fully aware of his plan from the start, knowing it wasn’t entirely right to do so, but sounded like the most possible option – to show what you deserve, and how he would willingly give it to you.

Now, he wished he could have stayed loyal to the original intent of this entire thing, where he promised himself to help you out of a toxic relationship without getting personally attached.

But it was you. You, with your charming smile. You, with your pretty expressive eyes. You, with your loving personality. You, with your sincere care for those you loved.

You, taking over his thoughts within every shade of mundanity and profanity, from the most casual to the most profound and intimate area.

Tasting your lips was the first stumble. Venturing in your intimacy was where he fell. 

“Yes, Hee,” you nodded, softened eyes showing your need along with a press of his fingertips into your hole, teasing an intrusion. He moaned with you. “I’m sure.” 

“Fuck,” a curse slipped from his mouth like a grunt, and his lips pressed against yours to kiss you again, because in no world he would miss the opportunity of having you this close, to drink from your whimpers as he circled his finger on your clenching pussy.

Heeseung was skilled in many nuances, you came to realize. But kissing was definitely his most noticeable talent. He knew where and when to move to match your energy, how to use his tongue to grace yours in a deliberate dance that twisted your feelings, leaving you lightheaded and dizzy, craving for more.

You might have taken his supposition of you deserving more a bit too far, because you also noticed Heeseung was apparently tailor-made to provoke your instincts of wanting, of more – it never felt enough.

So when he finally inserted his middle finger, you jolted and gasped mid kiss, without being able to prevent your hips reflexively wiggling to get additional contact, nor your hands tightening around his silky strands, trembling just enough to make your desire noticeable.

“More,” you whispered in a shaky breath, lips brushing against each other before Heeseung’s ones trailed lazily along your cheek, lowering to your neck. You moaned. “Add more, Heeseung–” 

Your spongy interior hugged his following finger in a warm, tempting hug and he didn’t hold back his shameless humping against your leg that matched the pump into you, his cock twitching in despair for release, for freedom. It felt tight; both your pussy and the fabric around his length.

Heeseung panted in between the sloppy kisses he delivered along the extension of your goosebumped skin, loving how needy you sounded and acted by clutching his hair stronger and waving your body forward. 

His fingers worked wonders inside you, palm brushing lightly against your clit and providing a teasing amount of friction, but didn't give enough fulfillment to leave you satisfied. Both of you grew impatient before the silent shared-thought of Heeseung’s cock filling your pussy, replacing his two fingers, so he could feel all of you and hit your every spot.

A displeased whine followed by a quiet surprised gasp jumped out of your mouth when Heeseung removed his hand from you, lewdly licking his fingers clean with an arousing smirk before quickly sneaking it under your penult clothing piece to unclasp your bra.

You helped by arching your back just to give some space, and didn’t hide your shock by how easily he did it with just one hand; the tight tension that held boobs in place soothed as he removed your shirt altogether, making you sigh and wince a little as the room air fanned your, now, completely naked skin.

“Need to fuck you, darling,” he muttered, voice low, velvety and desperate. “Need it so bad.”

Your eyes followed closely how dilated Heeseung’s pupils were, blown with unfiltered, bare hunger dedicated to you. He unashamedly showed his craving by licking his swollen lips at the sight of your perked nipples aching for some attention, and for brief seconds he cupped your breasts with each of his hands and kneaded softly, just to feel the smoothness of them.

Your lazy smirk and hooded eyes demonstrated your enjoyment with the devotion Heeseung was giving you willingly, without asking anything in return as you were used to; your husband always sharply requested something back if you said you wanted him to play with your body and give you something instead of using it for his own pleasure. 

“You’re so fucking hot, darling,” Heeseung complimented with a quiet grin, worshipping your gorgeous body exposed for his eyes, eyes that showered you with want, with genuine interest on what they were seeing.

Such a foreign experience for you.

He grazed his fingertips downwards the fat of your waist and hips as he, himself, lowered all the way on the bed before standing up on his feet. 

“You think so?” You asked shyly, barely audible as you propped yourself in one arm to watch the small show Heeseung was giving you by removing his sweatpants; you couldn’t help your salivation or the pulses in your cunt seeing the shape of his cock, drawn along the fabric, and the big dampened portion indicating his leaking tip that teased the subsequent vision.

When Heeseung finally exposed his length completely, you couldn’t hold back the sigh, the wide-eyed stare, or the dry swallow that slid down your throat.

He was big. Long and flushed, angrily aching, begging for relief. And he was about to be inside you.

“Fuck…” 

Heeseung’s grin stretched with your adorable, yet sultry reaction – the whisper of your curse traveling straight into his ear, flattering his ego; your legs closing and your thighs clenching involuntarily in order to find some satisfaction stirring a throb on his hardened cock. 

“I’m totally sure of it, doll,” the endearment got your needy hole clenching more, and Heeseung seductively hovering on top of you with his piercing eyes locked onto yours didn’t help much. Your breath hitched, eyes gleaming with expectation, but your cheeks warmed after he added. “You’re like a goddess.”

Maybe it wasn’t exactly his words, but how he sustained eye contact while he voiced them. Heeseung had an attitude that got your core bubbling in a rush of excitement, both sexual and… affectionate. 

Effortlessly and shamelessly, he had expressed just how deeply you affected him, simply by being in your presence. The way his body responded to yours with such ease, by nothing more than fleeting touches and exchanged words, with your consent, felt surreal. It was so far from the reality you were used to, so unexpected.

“You make me go insane…” He continued, kissing your neck while positioning himself in between your legs.

Your hands grabbed the sheets beneath you as he pressed the tip on your pussy, his free hand caressing your cheek as the other held his support beside your face.

“Dreamed about you from the very first day…”

The confession sounded raw, voice slowly pronouncing each word with care, but hoarse enough to show the sincerity of it, as if he had let down his guard completely and was letting his deepest thoughts escape without filters. It caused an unfamiliar wave within you, something that both eased your nerves and sparked your curiosity, something that got you clutching the sheets harder and your eyes fluttering close.

“When I found out you were married to that pathetic excuse of a man,” Heeseung maintained his tone low and deliberate, matching the rhythm he started to enter you, face still buried in your neck. “I was so, so pissed.”

Your breath hitched, overwhelmed by the feeling of the weight of his length and how deliciously he was stretching your hole.

On top of that, Heeseung’s unfiltered words didn’t leave an open space for you to add anything else, too flustered, aroused, lost in your pleasure and bafflement under the bare feeling of intimacy, leaving the job of talking entirely for him.

So he kept going, taking your silence and how your brows furrowed into a contorted expression of pleasure as a positive reaction. 

“I saw him talking shit about you every day,” he murmured, already more than halfway inside you, taking his time, savoring the way you clenched around him. Soft and breathy grunts escaped amidst the speech he chose to vent to you. “And I couldn’t do anything, not back then. I had to get closer to him to get closer to you.”

That piece of information was new, though you could easily deduce it by sorting out the fragments you already had. You wished you could fully comprehend it, respond as you wanted, maybe even thank him or whatever, but the way Heeseung deepened his movements, his body pressing against yours, his pelvis in contact with your skin, was clouding your mind.

“I wanted to destroy your marriage, love. I’m not even ashamed to admit it,” he whispered against your ear like telling you a secret, then raised his head to search your gaze. “So, so, so beautiful…” 

You fluttered your lashes, weakly trying to meet his eyes. Your hands, once gripping the sheets, trembled as they found their way to Heeseung's shoulders. He noticed how your eyelids struggled to stay open, feeling the weight of his body on top of yours, knowing that every sensation was pulling you deeper into a space where he believed you truly belonged – completely immersed in raw pleasure.

Your cheeks flushed, and although Heeseung believed it was from the lustful warmth, it was mostly because of his genuine words, the way he told his side of the story, which left you disoriented yet absorbing every sentence.

“You’re gorgeous, darling,” he said once again, as though expecting you to absorb the compliments. Knowing how unwanted your relationship made you feel, he had a mission to make you understand you were wonderful and he was deeply affected by you. “The prettiest woman I ever laid my eyes on.”

You whimpered quietly when he dared to move an inch away, pulling out his cock a little just to pump into you again. With your body already limp, you gave up on keeping watching his handsome face up-close, the glimpse of a tender smile being your last view before closing your eyes.

Heeseung took your decision as a silent invite for a kiss, hand sneaking in between your hair towards you nape, attaching his mouth on yours in a slow and sensual touch that got you melting even more. He muffled his own grunts as he drank in your beautiful moans.

You couldn’t come up with a proper description about the fluttering in your chest and stomach with such a gentle contact, nor the way his hips moved deliberately, allowing you to not only adjust, but feel his deep thrusts everywhere. 

Somehow, you really felt Heeseung everywhere. 

His tongue twisting softly with yours, sucking your lips with a slow passion that took your breath away. The words, lingering on the back of your head and mixing with the amount of pleasure he was giving you, had your heart beating louder and stronger against your ribcage. 

“You deserve more,” he carried on with his mission of making you feel worthy, stopping the kiss to press his lips on the corner of your mouth. “So much more, darling.”

And although you wanted to enjoy the slow sex he was providing you, the words of devotion he was offering with so much ease and genuineness, your messy thoughts and feelings suppressed it.

It felt like Heeseung’s adoration triggered even harder those reminiscences of your broken marriage. You remembered the times you sacrificed yourself, damaging your mental health for someone that threw everything away to cheat you, to have an affair. 

Regret was an euphemism to begin with what was going through your head. You felt so ridiculous for letting things get to that point. It was an unpleasant blend of blaming your husband and blaming yourself because, even if you tried to see it from the perspective that he never deserved even a fraction of your care and love, there was still the part where you chose to stay.

And why?

You had always brushed aside the possibility of divorce. At times, questioning why you stayed meant entering a limbo without an exit – or one you didn’t want to find. So, you avoided thinking too much about it. You accepted what he gave you.

But why? 

Why did you accept so little?

Your friends had asked you that a few times, but your anger grew at the mere thought of considering the question. Eventually, they stopped asking too.

It was a silent answer you didn’t want to give – acknowledging that the man who had promised you eternal love didn’t love you anymore hurt your ego, hurt your sense of integrity. Instead of leaving, you chose to stay and try to fix it, to make yourself wanted and loved again. But how could you change something immutable?

Anger.

It flared again, thundering in your chest and making you tight your hands into fists. The fingers tangled in Heeseung’s hair gripped a tuft tightly, pulling unconsciously as a way to release your rising rage. He hissed right after, furrowing his brows trying to understand what was happening with you.

Heeseung felt like perceiving your actions and moods with surprising ease after spending quite some time along with you, observing your demeanor and how you changed expressions due to something in particular, either for good or bad. 

However, right at that moment, when he was fucking you nice and slow, kissing you with care and giving you the amount of fondness he felt you deserved, he sensed confusing signals about what you really wanted. Or maybe he was interpreting your needs through his own perspective, assuming you sought love and affection when, in fact, you craved for something tougher.

Heeseung pressed your lips together once more, but now with less delicacy than before as testing the waters. You gave an immediate reaction, gradually loosening your grip on his locks to something teetering the bearable and actually pulling him closer, deepening whatever you could deep while kissing him.

The frustration in your chest dissipated as your tongues clashed aggressively against one another, suppressing your growing moans as he started to thrust faster. Within seconds, Heeseung started to hit a certain spot that got you shivering and letting out a particular loud moan under his strong hold on your body.

He quickly noticed the change in your body language and adapted himself to it. One last tug on your lower lip between his teeth, strong enough to almost leave bloody marks and elicit a groan from your throat, was what told you he was about to change positions.

Heeseung slightly raised his upper body to position himself on his knees and looked at you with a certain fierceness, with hunger, and you, now with your eyes mildly open, saw the bareness of his lust stirring the most profound heated desire carved in your soul, bringing back to life something you didn’t notice you had lost.

“So this is what you wanted, huh?” Heeseung flashed you a devilish grin, his voice low and notably teasing, finding support on your open thighs. 

His pelvis, once slow, began to move with more urgency, gradually increasing the pace together with the smirk that graced the corner of his reddened lips. You winced, feeling dizzy with the sound of his low moans and the slapping skin-on-skin.

Rolling your eyes with a content smile and a quiet nod was your failed attempt to give a proper response, because you felt too lost embracing the sudden switch that got your core throbbing in excitement, at the same time that released your tensed nerves.

“S’good,” you whimpered and arched your back slightly, head being thrown back as you did so. 

Heeseung cooed at the view of your boobs bouncing with each of his deep pounds into you, together with how your hands desperately struggled to find a grounding physical piece as you grabbed everything around you – the sheets, his arms, the pillow.

He had picked up a rhythm that kept you swaying on the edge of your growing release, so extremely close to snapping you into a bliss of pleasure, yet far enough to drive you insane.

He was playing with you like a toy – his favorite. Denying you the climax of your desire – so freaking amazing. 

“Y’could have told me earlier, darling,” he clicked his tongue with faux disappointment, breathing heavy in between his sharp words. “Would be fucking you like this from the very begining.”

You even tried to murmur a soft apology, but it got lost amidst your messy whimpers, your hazed mind, foggy with need making it hard to think of anything other than Heeseung’s cock, Heeseung’s voice, Heeseung’s name. Heeseung.

And you wanted more. Always. Fucking. More.

So with your lips falling open, you were able to only plead.

“More… Please, Hee, more…”

Heeseung was going crazy as much as you. He felt his body becoming exhausted with each passing thrust, however, he had no intention of stopping too soon, not without feeling the amazing clench of your pussy hugging his dick so fucking good as you cummed all over his shaft, not without letting his release fullfill you in a way that you would never forget who fucked you dumb so good like that. 

It felt like a magic spell, drifting him back and forth into reality and insanity, because of how good your cunt were making him feel, allowing his length to go fast, deep and strong into your pulsing hole; spongy interior pressing his hardened cock that ached for an orgasm. 

“Fucking pussy– Fucking tight pussy, makes me insane– Shit–” He panted in between breathy moans, voice coming out low, yet strained as his body faltered forward.

You lost count on how many times your eyes had rolled, not that you were actually trying to number it; the ecstasy Heeseung was providing you was wild, lunatic even. You only noticed his closeness again when his lips brushed your neck, not kissing or anything. He was just… there, as lost in his pleasure as you, muttering a row of curses and your name within gorgeous moans. 

You wanted to cum so, so bad, and somehow you couldn’t let go of it fully, the pressing knot on your lower stomach refusing to unfold into your orgasm. 

“Hee– Mhm–”

Heeseung was in love with how distant and broken you sounded, babbling nonsense as he pounded deeper. In love with how hot and sweaty your skin was in contact with his equal one, showing how intimate you two were. In love with your beautiful noises, that made his balls tight with his near climax. 

“Fuck– You like cheating on your jerk husband with me, don't you?” The breathy question murmured against your earlobe had no purpose of getting an answer, yet you gave one, echoing ‘yes’ like a prayer, hand in fist hitting lightly Heeseung’s broad shoulder as a way to find an anchor. You were so close. “It's okay, darling. It’s okay, yeah?” 

Heeseung kissed your neck, then your lips. 

“You deserve better.”

Heeseung led his fingers to rub your clit, eyes locked on your contorted face. So close.

“I can give you better.”

Heeseung’s body trembled nearly at the same time as yours started to shake uncontrollably. The wave of pleasure that coursed through your body was too much to handle, so you simply let go, relaxing your entire being and allowing it to take control of your movements without thinking deep into it.

You saw the world turning into white for a few seconds, your ears ringing with an annoying, far noise that clouded your mind and numbed your limbs. Heeseung's name escaped your lips, the ones stained due to the long, passionate kisses and delicious bites, like a sob that was both painful and sweet.

You barely heard anything Heeseung cursed through his heavy breath and addictive moans, nor your name being called as he filled you with thick ropes of his warm cum, let alone the kiss he placed on your chin right after or the chuckle he let out when noticing your drool.

The burning sensation in your stomach traveled its path until it reached your cunt, releasing in a squirt as you cried and squirmed. 

You cried, tears dancing on your face as you, slowly yet impactful, went through every possible sensation, but not really feeling all of them. It was weirdly good, an unprecedented experience you didn’t know you needed to have until right at that moment.

You wanted to make it last forever.

After what you decided to define as minutes passed, remotely distant, like a muffed blur, fighting with the dense fog inside your head, you started to hear Heeseung’s voice trying to bring you back to him.

“Hey, darling,” he kissed your cheek softly, brushing his thumb on your lower lip, a contact that contrasted absurdly with the fact that he was still buried deep within you. “I’ve got you, mhm?” 

And he followed to shower you with affectionate sweet words, asking if you were alright, for you to open your eyes, to say some words just to know you were fine. At some random moment you lazily blinked, hardly actually seeing Heeseung due to your tear-drenched eyes. 

“You made me squirt,” you whispered weakly, the lingering touch of Heeseung’s lips on yours still feeling like a ghostly caress, though you felt his body trembling as well as his smile when he chuckled.

“Hell yeah, I did.”

Heeseung slowly searched for air to his exhausted lungs, his body relaxing but making sure not to press your exhausted one. He was worried about your integrity after such a long and hard orgasm. 

“You good, baby?” 

The pet name felt natural, as if for Heeseung, calling you with endearing nicknames was as common as drinking water on a daily basis.

The warmth of his touch – he had let his hand, which had once gently caressed your face and brushed away sweat-drenched strands of hair, travel to your waist – was loving, making you yearn for more while feeling valued.

His gaze, full of care, radiated an aura of calm, like a magical magnet pulling you closer; there was no other explanation for your desperate desire to kiss him, as a way to reciprocate what he offered you freely.

Heeseung made you feel wanted, cherished, and respected in ways you hadn't known in far too long. It was all so new, though not entirely; it was confusing and messy and chaotic, but so, so good.

You gave a small nod in response and pulled him into another kiss, this time slow and gentle. You felt him pull his softened length from you, a small hiss and a frown coming from your side due to your sensitiveness. 

“Sorry,” Heeseung whispered in a genuine apologetic tone before diving back again to keep his tongue brushing deliberately on yours.

He was kissing you with so much feeling, yet in a sensual motion that got your breath caught in your throat, the beats of your heart matching the pace of the subtle pressure of his swollen lips against yours.

You could feel a phantom of a smile coming from Heeseung in between the kiss, as if he was thrilled about what just happened with you two – and to be honest, so were you. He had given you not only an unreal, breathtaking sexual experience that led your body to feel limp and extremely relaxed, but he mostly showed you the possibility beyond your current life.

Heeseung unveiled, somehow, your freedom to quit the confines you were trapped in, a way out of the prison that held you in place, restricting your needs, your wants and, mainly, your love and affection.

He had shown you an escape. Maybe a ruined one, but still an escape. 

Nonetheless, as quickly the sweet moment started, it stopped, when a sudden wave of realization hit Heeseung. The once hazy mind that drove you both into an intense path, leading towards a more serene one, was now reactive and alert.

“Oh, fuck…” Heeseung’s voice was dripping with exasperated concern when he broke the kiss by leaning back from you with widened eyes. 

The moment you saw his expression, you couldn’t help but frown, a confused pout forming on your lips. He started scanning the bed frantically, his gaze darting around as if searching for something if it was used, would be on his… “Shit.” He glanced down to see the obvious. No condom.

His mouth opened and closed, as if the words were stuck somewhere between his brain and his tongue. He exhaled deeply, searching for comfort in your gaze, but, obviously, you wouldn’t be offering a quarter of it to him. Actually, your curious-dumbfounded eyes increased his nervousness.

“We didn’t use protection,” he finally blurted, his voice heavy with anxiety.

Your heart skipped a beat at his words, the whole soothing atmosphere suddenly fading in a snap as the room seemed to shift, the air growing thick. You felt a shiver running down your spine and instinctively you lifted your body, propping yourself up on your elbows, your eyes widening with a surge of fear. 

“Holy shit,” you whispered, your voice trembling. You glanced back at him, your eyes wide with alarm, completely unaware of how Heeseung’s Adam’s apple bobbed when he swallowed dryly. 

His usual calm demeanor faltered before your reaction, and the fear was clear in his current state, with his body tense, pupils blown and dilated, as well as his short bursts of breath that grazed your face, blending with your equally rapid one.

The following question got your chest tightening even stronger, the weight on the room now teetering unbearable. 

“B–But you take your pills… Right..?” His voice wavered, his eyes desperately searched for reassurance in yours, his hand once gently holding you, now gripping quite fiercely on your hips.

Your immediate silence was more than enough of an answer, still you shook your head, denying. A cold spread through your chest when you realized you had made a huge mistake, your body falling back on the bed as you said, voice barely above a whisper as you did so, filled with terror. 

“I stopped taking it when my sex life stopped existing.”

Reading the situation, more specifically when he noticed your eyes brimming with fresh tears before you closed them, Heeseung quickly rushed to change his behavior, and instead of causing you even more pain and suffering, he sought to calm you.

“Hey, hey. Calm down, alright?” He positioned himself on his knees, gently taking your hands to pull you to sit as well. “We always have the option of the plan B pill, right?”

Fluttering your lids open, you sobbed, the view of Heeseung’s disheveled hair blurring due to your watered eyes. 

“But if he finds out–”

“He won’t,” Heeseung immediately interrupted, cupping your face tenderly.

He opted to ignore the pain in his chest because your instant line of thought somehow fueled a wave of realization that, despite his attempt to pull you away from that broken relationship, you might still go back to your husband as if nothing happened.

“I’ll buy it before you leave, okay?”

You let your gaze travel over Heeseung’s caring form as he gently caressed your face and placed random kisses on your lips. Your heart warmed, relief and genuine happiness flowing through every part of your body as you relaxed back, regulating your breathing. He nodded along with you, flashing a small smile that got your heartbeats thumping faster. 

“But just know that if– No. Forget it.” Heeseung started, but then cut himself off with a quiet, mysterious laugh and a shake of head.

You raised an eyebrow, looking at him inquisitively with your head cocking to the side.

“Now you have to tell me.”

A sigh escaped his lips when he realized you were unwavering in your demand and decided to speak, avoiding your stare.

“I was going to say that...” He cleared his throat, feeling his cheeks heat up. “That I wouldn’t mind you carrying a child of ours.”

If it weren’t for the quietness of his room, you probably wouldn’t be able to hear a word of what he had said. Unfortunately – or not –, you heard each single part of it and your reaction was to freeze.

Heeseung immediately noticed how you tensed, the grip on his hand tightening since he hadn’t let go of one of your hands. He blushed in a deep shade of crimson, feeling mortified for saying something so outrageous, but… He freaked out. He wanted to make you feel comfortable and secure, offering you a safe place with options for any possible outcome due to both of your irresponsibility. However, he made it worse.

“Sorry. I– We don’t know each other well enough for me to say that, but... You’re special, amazing, beautiful, smart... A child of yours would be a blessing, that’s what I meant.”

He tried to explain himself and he couldn’t pinpoint if it made the situation worse. The words caught in your throat because you hadn’t prepared for such a raw declaration after such intense and wonderful sex.

Heeseung was proving to you, once again, that you deserved more and better, even in between stumbled sentences of a rambled speech.

“In any case...” He continued, gulping. “I wouldn’t want a child of ours– Yours. Mine?” He giggled, embarrassed. “To be conceived in… Y’know…”

Your stomach dropped with the realization of what you just did. Yeah. A cheating sex. You cheated on your husband. Yes, you had a husband to start with.

How had you forgotten?

Once again, you found yourself torn in between your chaotic feelings, unable to make proper decisions due to your sensitive mind. You just had an amazing moment with Heeseung and would be willing to extend for some more encounters. On the other hand, there was still so much you needed to work through – both internally and externally – and it involved another person as well. 

The one who was supposed to be the love of your life, just as the promises of youth had once told you.

But those promises now felt like distant echoes, fading against the weight of reality. The life you imagined with Brendon had been clouded by too many unanswered questions, too many unsaid things throughout plenty of years. It crashed down now, like a tide that dragged you towards the deep, profound ocean of uncertainty. 

The connection that was supposed to bring comfort now seemed like a distant and extremely painful memory, because, afterall, he betrayed you first.

Lost in your reminiscences and confusing mind, you didn’t notice when Heeseung laid you back down on the mattress, cleaning you gently while leaving you to your thoughts. He was aware of the necessity of you having to think. He couldn’t even imagine what was going on in your mind and, honestly, he didn’t know if you wanted to share with him.

Especially with him.

Heeseung was not only an acquaintance of your husband anymore. He was the man that helped you to cheat. He was your affair, the wrong side of your life, the lack of morality, of honesty, of loyalty. He would be associated with that for the rest of your days, and strangely enough, he had no regrets.

Heeseung was aware that despite all the wrong decisions made that night, in the end, you got what you deserved: affection and the feeling of being cared for.

That was what you deserved, forever; to be desired, to be adored, to be placed on a pedestal as the incredibly wonderful goddess that you were.

Brendon didn’t deserve the heart-shaped sandwiches or the love notes you worked so hard to make every day, nor the meticulous care you put into the home he lived in, even though you worked as much as he did.

He didn’t deserve the way you looked at him with fondness, although most of the time it was a pretense, hiding the real layer of what you had felt for so long and refused to accept.

He didn’t deserve to hear your beautiful voice excitedly talking about a new flower arrangement you made or the new recipe you learned and nailed on the first try. He didn’t deserve to hear your laughter while watching comedy films or when something went wrong and you giggled, embarrassed.

Heeseung didn’t know if he, himself, deserved any of that, but he wanted to make you realize that you were so much more than just a facade of a wife.

You were so much more… To him.

“How do I go back to my house now?” You asked quietly after a while, your voice breaking the silence of the room like an anvil falling into a glass-floor. 

The question, however, wasn’t exactly directed to anyone in particular, you didn’t even notice you said aloud.

Heeseung’s response caught you off guard. 

“Do you want me to take you?”

You sighed, looking at him. As said before, you had laid back on the bed and he was right by your side, caressing you while you spent your last minutes thinking about your life and your future decisions. 

Heeseung driving you back to your house would make things worse, though you wanted to see how Brendon would react to that.

Brendon. Why does his reaction still mattered to you? He literally chose the same path you did tonight, but way before you and keeping his cool, as if he wasn’t throwing his whole marriage into the thrash for some random chick at his work.

“No.” You answered after a brief, yet close inspection. “I need some time alone.”

And Heeseung’s chest tightened in pain. You could still choose to stay with your husband after everything, it has always been one of the options when everything first started.

He swallowed the urge to try to convince you of his… Love? He couldn’t even name it yet, but something was definitely blooming into his heart and you, with your beautiful presence, was the big picture in that scenario. 

“Okay,” he whispered, agreeing with you.

And although you, yourself, weren’t sure of much, Heeseung was of one thing. 

It was more than worth it. 

When you got back home, the silence and the darkness of your house greeted you, embracing your confused and broken self with something bittersweet – your home was supposed to be your comfort spot, however it felt wrong. 

Everything felt misplaced, even though nothing had moved out of position. 

You scanned every corner of the living room, and yet, despite its familiarity, it felt foreign, like you didn’t belong there anymore. Perhaps you never did.

The walls were adorned with photos of you and Brendon, frozen moments from a life that now felt distant. The blanket draped over the couch was in your favorite color, a choice you had made once. On the coffee table sat an empty beer bottle, a quiet marker of your husband’s absence.

There were traces of you both scattered throughout the room, but more of you – too much of you, as if you had been trying to compensate for something. It felt forced, a desperate attempt to fit into a space that no longer welcomed you, if it ever had.

The realization clawed at your chest, leaving a dull ache behind. How had you gone so long without seeing it? Was it Heeseung – his touch, his words – that finally broke through the carefully constructed denial? Had he been the catalyst for you noticing just how distant you had become, not only from your marriage but from yourself?

You felt like an afterthought, an appendage to someone else’s story, shaped and reshaped to fit a mold that was never meant for you. When had you started losing yourself? How had it come to this?

Those questions lingered as you retreated to the guest bedroom that night, claiming it as your sanctuary. For the first time in years, you felt the stirrings of autonomy, fragile but liberating. The divorce was inevitable now, and though the thought of it was daunting, it also carried a bittersweet promise of freedom.

Years of effort and devotion would be discarded, left behind like relics of a life you no longer wanted. But there was still so much ahead of you – a chance to rediscover who you were, to seek experiences that might lead you closer to the version of yourself you once dreamed of becoming.

Heeseung had shown you that in such a short time.

And there he was again, invading your mind without warning, his presence haunting you in ways you couldn’t shake. You still feared that you might not be able to untangle your motives, whether they were born from the rage of betrayal and the years wasted on Brendon or from the fleeting warmth Heeseung had offered you with such tenderness and sincerity.

It felt good to be wanted, cherished even, but a painful truth gnawed at the edges of your resolve: you couldn’t just leap from one branch to another. It was your life, not Brendon’s, not Heeseung’s. Yours.

In the bittersweet goodbye that had left a knot in your throat and tears threatening to spill, Heeseung had told you he would wait, that there was something he felt for you that went beyond how your relationship had begun, tangled in raw desire and masked in the shadow of infidelity.

But no matter how grateful you were for him, you knew there was a path you had to walk alone first.

It was with that conviction, and Yunjin’s steady hand gripping yours, that you signed the divorce papers the following week after an argument tinged with sorrow, regret and truths being yelled out.

None of the words Brendon said to you would be forgotten. The contempt, the look of disgust, the bitterness as he harshly verbalized that you were never good enough for him. Yet, you would keep them in a special box, as a poignant reminder that you went through the worst, that you overcame the heaviest moment of your life.

You wouldn’t forget the hatred he made you feel for yourself, because it was through it that you allowed yourself to start loving you again.

Your chest tightened, anxiety and anticipation intertwining as you faced the blank slate of what came next. You had no idea where this journey would take you – but for the first time in years, it was entirely yours.

A first date.

You vaguely remembered the last time your body felt this nervous at the thought of meeting someone. It definitely hadn’t been with your now ex-husband, but it had been long enough to leave you sweating under your arms.

After a few encouraging words with Yunjin through your phone and a “good luck” text from your mom – who had been thrilled to hear about your divorce and provided immense physical and emotional support during those first few weeks – you stepped outside your apartment.

You had saved enough money to maintain yourself, still working at the flower shop on weekends as a hobby, after landing a job at a photography studio specializing in model shoots.

It was a passion that had been crushed when your ex made you believe your work was inferior and lame, forcing you to shrink yourself to fit into his impossible standards by leaving your best sides outside.

Now, freedom was your closest companion. You went out for coffee by yourself, enjoyed lunches at pleasant restaurants in your own company, and never felt sad or shaken by being alone – because you were alone, but you didn’t feel lonely.

The autonomy surrounding you was intoxicating, filling you with radiance to push forward with your days, even in the face of difficulties.

A quick greeting with the doorman snapped you back to reality as you headed to the restaurant that would be graced by your presence tonight. The difference this time was that you wouldn’t be dining alone.

The soft door noise indicated your entrance at the place, and instinctively your fierce eyes swerved through the small crowd looking out for someone. The way your heart raced made it feel like it might burst out of your chest the moment you saw his broad, unforgettable shoulders.

“Hee?”

He was standing, his tall figure casually leaning on the countertop chatting with someone at the little open bar in the corner of the restaurant. When he heard your angelic voice calling him, it took him seconds to turn and face you.

“Y/N.”

Your name left his kissable lips like a relieved sigh. And truly, he was relieved. Not that he thought you would stand him up, but after receiving an anonymous message – followed by the revelation that it was from you, a year after everything that had happened between you two –, asking for a meeting, it was hard for him to think positively about anything.

The walk as you approached felt as if the world had blurred into nothingness. The background music softened until it became a distant echo, your eyes fixed on Heeseung like he was the main subject through the lens of your camera, with everything else fading into obscurity.

Even in your daze, you caught the hesitant twitch of his hand, as though he wanted to reach for you but feared you might vanish the moment he did. The thought of him yearning for you as much as you desired him made your heart pound harder, stronger, and the flutter in your stomach increased.

In the past year, your mind often wandered back to how he made you feel in every nuance, from both physically and emotionally. It was undeniable that the heated night you shared replayed in your head like an irresistible, delicious film, tempting your urge to give up completely on your healing plan and run towards him.

But you couldn’t let yourself act in such a way, not when you promised you would be sure of your decisions from now on, and Heeseung was still a fragile subject back then. 

His height difference was striking enough to make you tilt your head up to meet his gaze, a movement that made you feel shyly adorable, and before Heeseung could help himself, a compliment slipped from his lips.

“You look beautiful.”

Your cheeks burned with fluster, unprepared for such an open and genuine remark. But it was Heeseung – effortlessly charming, naturally disarming. “Thank you,” you muttered, glancing down briefly before meeting his eyes again. “You look amazing, as always.”

Your compliment wasn’t just polite – he truly did look gorgeous. He looked delectable, dressed in casual all-black attire. His button-up shirt was left slightly undone, teasing you with a glimpse of his sun-kissed chest adorned with a golden chain that only added to his allure.

And then there was his brand new haircut. Heeseung had gone for an undercut, a style that veered away from his usual office persona but perfectly captured his seductive, magnetic charm. At least to you, it worked far too well.

On the other hand, Heeseung had to actively remind himself of how to keep air in and out of his lungs, otherwise he would pass out before your alluring, enticing, beautiful, provocative, goddess-like, unreal figure.

You had changed a lot, for better; not that you were anything other than stunning and attractive before, but you now carried your presence with confidence, you had a special glow that shone brighter than any chandelier in that fancy dinner place, enough to make Heeseung struggle to keep his cool, relaxed demeanor.

He could feel his self-control faltering, slipping through his fingers like sand, utterly unable to think straight as you quietly, yet intensely analyzed his features with your pretty eyes. 

“I reserved a table for us,” he managed to voice out, although it sounded slightly hushed. 

You giggled with his unexpected nervous behavior, clutching your bag strap as you nodded. “Bet you did.”

And with that, Heeseung guided you towards the mentioned table, placed far enough from the general crowd to grant you both a bit of privacy, with his hand touching your lower back. The area heated enough to leave you tense, yet thrilled with the fact that the atmosphere was slowly loosening. 

The conversation that followed felt awkward at first – unsurprisingly, considering your last encounter had been chaotic, brimmed with lust, guilt, and anger over circumstances neither of you could fully control. And, of course, it had all unfolded under the veil of cheating.

But as the initial tension began to dissipate, you found the exchange becoming more fluid. Heeseung’s responses gradually eased your nerves, just as your candidness gave him obvious clues about your intentions.

He admitted he wasn’t seeing anyone. In fact, since your last encounter, he had gone on a handful of dates, none of which, he confessed with a shy chuckle, had left him remotely satisfied. This revelation only came after he relaxed enough to let it slip, his words hesitant yet genuine.

If you had to describe him in one word, it would be anxious. And he was, in fact, very anxious about the outcome of the night, about the new details of your life, about what might unfold beyond this dinner.

There was a distinct tension lingering in the air between you, a silent but undeniable pull. It was as if the thought of your lips attaching together was a shared, unspoken desire – loud enough to keep ringing in your minds, connected by the lustful want of being each other’s.

It made its way subtly through the playful banter, through your soft laughter over his silly jokes, and mostly, through the fleeting touches on your shoulders and thighs.

“Y’know, after the whole thing we did, I was afraid I might back out with the divorce,” you blurted suddenly, after relaxing on the small couch they used as seats for that table.

Heeseung was sitting on your side, after you asked him to do so, instead of taking the seat in front of you. The minimal seconds with him were enough to make you crave more – Heeseung’s natural effect on you –, and you were glad he embarked on your request, even placing his arm on the back of your headset. 

This was the first time you mentioned the occurrence, though.

Heeseung wasn’t sure about it, but throughout the night he eventually figured out there was no way you would be acting this happy and sincere, beaming with your achievements and living an apparent good life, if you were still with that jerk.

Either way, hearing you speak brought the weight of reality – the weight that you were finally away from that shitty man, and even if it sparked a small flame of hope that maybe you might let him care for you the way he had wanted, his relief was already established by knowing you were no longer trapped in a burden relationship that aimed to destroy your beautiful soul.

He sipped on his drink before muttering, eyes never once glancing away from yours. You felt seen. 

“And what made you keep with it?” 

For a moment, a brief feeling of embarrassment flushed through you, although you didn’t let it take over your following response, sounding firm and, somehow, determined. 

“You.”

After you answered with such a soft tone, you tracked the movement of Heeseung’s Adam’s apple moving as he gulped, but he didn’t show any signal of hesitation when he smirked and leaned slightly forward as his brightened gaze wandered through your face, deliberately taking in your beautiful, serene expression.

He was offering you such a breathtaking visage, his demeanor finally at ease, yet magnetically pulling you to react to an unspokenly demand.

His lips were covered with a layer of his drink from the last sip, gleaming under the dim light that hovered you both, taunting your need of having them pressed on yours. His iris slightly dilated as they followed the movements of your eyelashes fluttering open and close in a slow dance, just to drift back to your lipstick colored lips, as if silently asking you for a kiss.

As if automatically, your faces began to slowly lean closer, breaths blending together with a mix of alcohol from your side and a strawberry flavor from Heesegun’s. 

But just as quickly as the atmosphere shifted into something more charged, it disappeared, as a waiter suddenly appeared to serve the dessert you had ordered. Embarrassed, you both pulled back briefly, sharing a subtle laugh and looked up to acknowledge the waiter, but Heeseung immediately cut in.

“Thank–”

“That can’t be real.”

A sharp pang in your stomach, your heart racing, and your throat immediately drying out. These were the initial reactions, before your hands began to tremble and a rush of heat spread through your body, making you feel utterly reactive.

“Brendon?” You whispered, disbelief making your voice shake as you processed that, after a year, you were seeing him during a sweet evening with Heeseung.

You had done everything to avoid him, taking every precaution to keep him out of your life,  even deleting your social media, afraid of what he might do. There had never been a physical threat, but after the breakup, you feared he might become volatile, wanting to take his anger out on you.

Thankfully, none of your friends had ever known about him, and you had never bothered to find out about him either.

But now, here he was, standing right in front of you two, his expression in complete disdain, his eyes seething with fury.

“You piece of shit,” was the first thing he spat out, as he saw the situation unfold – his ex-wife, now with what he considered his former friend. Betrayal.

You didn’t even notice how tightly he gripped the metal tray at his side. You also didn’t realize that Heeseung, who had been sitting at the edge of the couch, had already risen to his feet, his hands clenched into fists, his jaw clenched, and his eyes burning with rage.

He was ready to strike.

“So, it was for him that you left me, you whore?”

He barely managed to finish the slur because Heeseung moved too quickly. The collective gasp from the surrounding people was what made you realize exactly what had just happened.

You saw Heeseung throw a powerful punch, landing accurately on Brendon's face. Brendon staggered back, dropping the metal tray before quickly retaliating with a weak jab to Heeseung’s cheek.

Heeseung’s expression hardened after a stunned moment in place, processing the impact that got the area tingling, but the subsequent pain was far from being his main concern.

He smirked dryly and then grabbed Brendon by the shoulders to shove him back with force, sending him crashing into a nearby chair. Brendon struggled to regain his footing, but Heeseung advanced, his eyes burning with rage, and with a swift move, he knocked Brendon to the ground with another punch, leaving him unable to fight back.

The men around you quickly rushed in, trying to break up the fight. But you didn’t care about them, you shoved anyone who tried to intervene, the ones attempting to cling to Heeseung, trying to drag him back, or at least seeking comfort in the chaos that was unraveling within you.

“Hee–”

Your weak, tearful voice was cut off. Heeseung instinctively wrapped his arms around you in a protective embrace, not even realizing what he was doing as he pointed a finger at Brendon, who had managed to get back on his feet with help from the others.

“Shut the fuck up before you say a word about Y/N, you piece of shit,” he growled, his vision distorted by the boiling rage in his chest. He had been waiting for this moment from the very beginning, the moment to unleash all his frustration, all the hatred he had toward that man. “You’re useless. A worthless bastard who couldn’t recognize the fucking queen you had in your life.”

Heeseung’s large hands tightened around your waist, almost unconsciously, his chest rising and falling rapidly against your face as it pressed into him. Tears slowly started to coat your cheeks, your trembling body finding support in Heeseung’s tensed one.

“I hope you fucking burn in hell and get torn apart in the worst way. You don’t deserve a single ounce of the love Y/N gave you, and you had the fucking audacity to cheat on her.”

Brendon spat out blood, his lip split from Heeseung’s earlier punch. He smirked sarcastically, looking around the crowd that watched the scene.

“She cheated on me too,” he muttered, his voice weak but laced with venom.

Heeseung scoffed, almost rolling his eyes and nearly advancing on Brendon again; you felt the sudden attempt that immediately stopped when you whispered a quiet, hurtful “No…” 

You looked up, your eyes glossy with tears, finding Heeseung’s now worried ones. He softened before your pouty, scared expression.

He caressed your face tenderly, holding you closer as a way to keep you under his protection, although he knew Brendon wouldn’t have the guts to try anything else. After, he drove his attention back to the asshole standing weakly in front of him. 

“You didn’t even have the decency to give her the bare minimum, you worthless cunt,” he spat, words full of rage. “Let alone decent fucking sex. Of course she would cheat on you.”

That triggered a jolt from Brendon to charge at Heeseung, but it was quickly stopped by those holding him back, his ego riled up by the insult.

Heeseung let out a humorless laugh. “She searched out for someone who could give her what she truly deserves,” he said, his gaze shifting to you. His expression softened into a gentle smile, one that was genuine but sharp in contrast to the situation. “And if she'll allow me, I’ll keep being that man for her.”

Your eyes widened at his abrupt and sincere confession. Heeseung didn’t expect a response, honestly, so he turned his attention back to Brendon, his warning clear in every word.

“Get near her again, and I’ll make sure there’s no one around to stop you from getting your ass kicked, you little shit.”

He began pulling you towards the exit of the restaurant, but as he passed Brendon, he leaned in close to murmur just loud enough for him to hear.

“Just so you know, she cheated on you long after you did… And, oh, I’m sure you don’t know that, but she looks fucking gorgeous when she's squirting.”

Until you settled into the passenger seat of Heeseung’s car, everything felt like a blur, robbing you of the awareness to even notice he had paid for dinner before driving off. His voice had broken through just once, a soft “Are you okay?” before he retreated into an oppressive silence.

At first, you welcomed the break from words, needing time to process the storm of emotions swirling inside you. There was anger, because Brendon had crashed your date. Sadness, for having to relive that chapter of your life all over again. Gratitude, since Heeseung had defended you without hesitation. And then... there was desire, because he had looked absurdly damn good while doing it.

God dammit, you cursed silently in your head, shrinking into your seat and glancing away from Heeseung. You felt like a teenager stealing glances at a crush and pretending you weren’t staring when caught.

Worse, you felt like a dog in heat, your thoughts obsessing over how ridiculously attractive he was. His clenched jaw, hands tightening and relaxing on the steering wheel in an effort to calm himself, the slight cut on his lip, and the faint bruise forming on his cheek – likely from a ring Brendon had been wearing – all combined to give him an effortlessly rugged, devastating appeal.

The wound wasn’t deep, nothing to be overly concerned about, but it added an edge to his already striking features. You knew you would take care of it the moment you got to his apartment, but until then, you had to deal with the mixture of lust and a bunch of other things bubbling in your core.

Heeseung, however, was a bit different from you.

Seeing you so broken and tearful had hit him like a bullet to the chest. He never wanted the night to end like this, but there was no regret in the brutal way he had taken out his frustration on Brendon.

Heeseung’s mind raced, tangled with worry and anticipation over how you would react once the adrenaline wore off and you were in a comfortable space to properly talk things through.

He couldn’t get a read on you – not only because his eyes were mostly fixed on the road, but because you kept stealing glances at him and quickly looking away whenever he dared to glance back. Your behavior gave him no clear hint of what was truly going through your mind.

A flicker of anxiety sparked within him. Maybe you were nervous – possibly even considering ditching him altogether and ending whatever it was between you before it could truly begin. The mere thought gnawed at him, amplifying his own anxiety.

The fact that you had suggested going to his apartment instead of your own had caught him off guard. It was enough to confuse him even more, given the contrast with your otherwise unreadable demeanor.

Still, he opted to keep the quietness over the air, since he needed a time to think deeply about his actions. 

He acted out of impulse, for sure, but he wanted to make sure you understood he had absolutely no regrets and he would do it again, and again, and again.

To protect your integrity, he would settle a war if necessary. 

The moment you two reached the place you had visited once before, a sense of an odd nostalgia crept up your spine. Without even realizing it, you were both walking towards the elevator directed to Heeseung’s apartment’s floor. 

Your eyes were glued on your feet as a way to hide your fluster, struggling to fight the urge of jumping into that handsome man standing on your side. Your head was spinning with the most lascivious, filthy thoughts about how you would kneel right at that moment and give Heeseung the head of his life in order to pay back his earlier demeanor.

So. Fucking. Hot.

And contrastingly enough, there was Heeseung, frustrated with himself for making you witness such violent acts. 

He leaned his back and head against the cold metal walls of the elevator, eyes closing as a shaky breath escaped his lips. After a long moment, he finally spoke, carrying off a guilt you didn’t understand at first.

“I'm sorry you had to go through that,” he said, his voice gentle, yet filled with regret. You turned to face him, catching the movement of his beautiful neck exposed for you. You gulped. “I’m sorry you had to witness all of that. And I’m sorry for being a bit of a dick at the end... I got carried away.” He then opened his eyes to look at you, his expression almost vulnerable, his cheeks with a faint blush exposing his embarrassment. “I didn’t mean to objectify y–”

Before he could finish, you cut him off, practically throwing yourself into his body to attach your mouths together. Your lips collided with his bruised ones in a kiss that tasted of longing, and something metallic, like blood, and your fingers crawled their way towards his nape. 

Heeseung let out a pained groan, but didn’t stop you at all. Actually, he held you by the waist to press your chest on his torso. 

However, you immediately pulled back, your eyes wide with worry as your hands held his face delicately. 

“Oh my God. I’m so sorry, Hee…” you gasped, looking at him in alarm.

He chuckled, the sound deep, sensual, and made your heart flutter despite your current state of concern.

“You're good,” he said, shaking his head slightly with a teasing grin adorning his features. He didn’t care about any pain if that meant having your tongue swirling with his in that addictive motion he once got to try. 

With a tilt of head, he murmured. “Come here, mhm?”

“But your lip–” you tried to counter his words, but Heeseung’s hands seemed unwilling to let you go so easily.

“Shh,” he shushed softly, pressing a tender kiss against your lips. “I heard kisses heal wounds.”

A giggle escaped you, light and fleeting, before it melted into the moment, swept away by the kiss that happened subsequently. It began slowly, unhurried, as if both of you were savoring every second together.

His lips moved against yours with a sensual, deliberate rhythm, one that carried not just desire but something deeper – affection, yearning, a tenderness that spoke volumes.

It was as if Heeseung feared breaking you with his touch, or perhaps losing you altogether. You could feel it in the way his hands cradled your face, in the way his thumbs brushed softly against your skin. And you, in return, clung to him like he was your lifeline, your own quiet fear mirrored in the way your fingers twisted in his hair, anchoring yourself to him.

The metallic tang of blood on his lips barely registered; it was overshadowed by the warmth and electricity of the moment. His tongue traced the shape of your lips, a gentle request you didn’t hesitate to grant, allowing him to deepen the kiss.

His tongue caressed yours with a languid, intoxicating ease, exploring, coaxing, as if he wanted to memorize the taste of you.

Your breath hitched, heart racing in a chaotic rhythm that matched the way his hand slid down your side, fingers possessively holding your waist, as the air grew heavier within each passing second. You wondered for a moment when would the elevator stop, barely noticing the opened door. 

Heeseung broke the kiss briefly and realized the open door, his forehead resting against yours, his breath warm and shallow as it mingled with your own.

“Inside,” he rasped simply, tone dropping an octave, thick with desire that dripped from his beautiful swollen lips. 

You nodded, unaware of what exactly he meant, leaving the mission of being guided completely at his hands as you pulled him back into another kiss, this time urgent and rushed. 

Heeseung frowned and moaned against your mouth, the collision of his bruised area stirring his thristness, awakening his most profound hunger for you; elicited an immediate reaction that got him stumbling with his own legs as you pushed him into his apartment.

A fleeting moment of clarity pierced through the haze in your mind as Heeseung groaned in pain once again, this time caused by your teeth accidentally grazing his injured lip in the heat of the moment.

“Hee–” you murmured, trying to pull back from the kiss, but he didn’t let you go easily. Only when you gently pushed against his chest did he finally retract, his dark eyes clouded with lust as they bore into yours.

“Let me take care of this first, please?” You whispered, your voice tinged with a teasing whine, paired with the kind of faux-innocent eyes that made him melt on the spot.

His firm resolve faltered instantly, and his temptation only seemed to deepen because of that very expression.

With a faint smirk, Heeseung pressed one last lingering kiss to your lips before stepping away. He disappeared into the bathroom to grab a first-aid kit, leaving you standing alone in the middle of the living room with your heart still hammering.

He wasn’t gone for long, but by the time he returned, you had already settled yourself on the sofa. Without a word, he joined you, sitting close by as you carefully tended to his wound.

A sharp hiss escaped his lips as the antiseptic made contact, and you couldn’t help but smile faintly, murmuring a soft apology.

His gaze never wavered from you, watching with an almost disarming tenderness, his large hand resting casually on your thigh as if to ground himself.

And when you finished, you lingered, your eyes tracing his features. Damn it, how did this man manage to look impossibly hotter even when roughed up?

“Stop looking at me with those eyes,” Heeseung broke the silence, his voice dropping to a low, teasing drawl.

Your gaze, which had shamelessly held contact on his lips – not because of the injury, but because you craved them – snapped up to meet him properly.

“What eyes?” you challenged softly, your voice laced with subtle mischief that matched nothing with your small pout and frown. 

Heeseung’s hand shifted from your thigh to your jaw, his touch firm and gentle as he tilted your face closer to his.

“Like you want me to fuck you,” he murmured, his words hitting like a jolt of euphoria. 

A sly smile crept onto your lips, your eyelids growing heavier as the air between you thickened with tension. “You know that I do,” you replied, biting your bottom lip as your fingers traced a slow, invisible pattern over his chest.

A thought crossed your mind, bold and unbidden, and you let it spill.

“Y’know, last time I came to your apartment…”

“Yeah?” Heeseung prompted, his voice soft but loaded, his hands effortlessly guiding you to settle in his lap. You obliged with a grace that didn’t break the magnetic pull of your eyes locked on his, though they flickered occasionally to his kiss-bruised lips.

“I couldn’t stop thinking about you, Hee.”

His lips curved into a soft smile, relief flickering across his features as your words unintentionally reassured him in ways you couldn’t have known he needed. His hands traced a comforting path along your hips, keeping you steady in his lap.

“I’m glad to hear that, darling.”

The term of endearment may have been simple to anyone else, but to you, it meant so much more. It sent your heart stumbling over its rhythm, your body instinctively leaning closer to his warmth. It made your breath hitch, especially when he leaned in as well, his words brushing against your lips like a gentle breeze.

“Let me remind you what you deserve,” his tone was intoxicatingly soft yet laced with a darker edge that tempted you to fall head-first into it. “How does that sound?”

Your lips quirked into a smirk as you cupped his face with deliberate tenderness, careful to avoid hurting him further.

“I know what I deserve, Hee,” you shot back, your voice daring as you teased his lips with a featherlight graze of your own. “And I also know what I want.”

Heeseung’s jaw clenched as he teetered on the edge of self-control, your provocations pushing him closer to the brink. But he played along, matching your game, because he loved your game.

“And what do you want, darling?” He asked back, a question that was dripping with anticipation.

Your eyes softened briefly with a mix of affection and unrelenting desire before you let the fire in your gaze take over.

“More.”

[gojoest]

from pregnancy freak to postpartum freak — satoru finds himself in a tough spot while your body is recovering from giving birth to his child. he tries to be patient but motherhood looks so beautiful on you… and unfortunately, after you’re ready to have him again, there seems to be another little issue — one that likes to cry and disrupt the moment satoru has been longing for

MDNI, established relationship, f!reader (she/her), pregnancy and postpartum, you have a beautiful baby daughter, mentions of breastfeeding and satoru being really really weird about it, mentions of male masturbation, somno if you squint really hard (just to be safe), pet names (baby, beautiful, sweetheart), nothing too explicit going on here tbf, but there’s a sweet little hint of a potential breeding sesh at the end, not proofread, wc: 1.8k+

your husband (gojo satoru) and you have always had a marvelous sex life, one that would naturally induce a sense of envy in anyone who came to know of it, accidentally or not — the walls were thin, but sometimes it was the mouth of your husband that was too big.

but in all honesty, there has never been a day in which you didn’t desire each other carnally, even after so many years.

you thought, maybe, this might change after he knocked you up with a baby — you had read a handful of articles on the topic and how some men become more distant during that sensitive timeframe — but as it turns out, you could not have been more wrong. either those magazines sucked or your husband was some sort of mutation. maybe, it was both.

your pregnancy could be, in fact, easily considered the peak of your sex life — that round belly of yours really did a number on him, as well as on you. well, with you it was the hormonal changes your body was going through that made you so borderline sexually insatiable, and the mood to bounce on him would strike you more often than ever. at some point, your sex drive went off the roof — you’d ask him to fuck you multiple times a day and satoru couldn’t be more fortunate — he’d drop everything and oblige in an instant, like that was all he had been waiting for, which was not so far from the truth. it was safe to say that you enabled the freak in him, and he was grateful.

“thank god… i don’t know how else i could survive those 9 months with you glowing like this, becoming more and more beautiful with each passing day”, he’d say to you every time you pressed and rubbed your ass against his cock in the middle of the night, not so innocently waking him up because you had a craving.

you had a lot of sex, but he was always careful with your aches and pains, no quirky positions until the baby was born — your physique didn’t allow it as the pregnancy progressed anyway. but the passion was always there, undeniably so, growing along with you.

but things changed after you went into labor and your daughter was born. the perfect little angel, his and his baby’s baby. satoru has never been happier.

to be honest, he didn’t think about sex at all in the beginning. he was on cloud nine, overjoyed. every second of his day was spent exploring this new light in his life and taking care of the both of you.

after you got discharged from the hospital, he took it upon himself to look after the house and deal with the chores — he handled the cooking, he washed the dishes, cleaned, did the laundry and everything else that needed to be done — while you were healing and navigating through motherhood. he helped you nurse your daughter, there wasn’t a single night where he didn’t wake up along with you whenever the baby needed feeding or randomly started crying.

but soon enough, after he adapted to this new pace, his sex drive started showing signs of its return. it came back strong — in fact, stronger than ever, and once again it was none other than you to blame for it.

…because, being a mother looked so good on you.

you have been his wife for years. but now, you are the mother of his child, and that is a title that somehow makes you his even more than ever. it is so permanent. because, even if you leave him one day — which you never would since he would simply never allow it — being the mother of his child will always tie you to him, he will always have a place in your life. that’s it, you just made it impossible for yourself to run away from him. like it or not, you will be his eternally and irrevocably.

he liked watching you be a mother and couldn’t help but get bricked up each time you held your daughter close to your chest, revealing your breast and holding it to her mouth in order to feed her.

was this normal? to get this hard? now of all times? — he didn’t know, and honestly, he didn’t bother finding out. because, when was he ever normal about you to begin with?

all he wanted to do in those moments was pin you down and fuck himself into you. you could see it in his eyes and in his bulge that he was trying to readjust.

“don’t try anything funny in front of the baby”

“i would never — i am simply watching and engraving this scene into my mind, for later”

‘for later’ obviously meant when he was jerking off.

the doctor said “no sexual intercourse for six weeks”

your body needed time to heal after giving birth, and that was only natural. and it was okay.

but it didn’t mean it wasn’t arduous for him. he had to watch you day and night without being able to touch you in ways he wanted to.

and now it’s been two months. two whole months without him laying a finger on you. his urges were back with full force, but yours? not really.

sure, you cuddled plenty while the baby was sleeping, which made it even harder for him. but you never got sexually intimate after you gave birth. he was well aware that you needed more time, that your body was still not ready, that you were exhausted physically and mentally because, once again, you were going through all these changes — because of him.

he understood that. but still, he missed you so much.

he’d jerk off whenever he got the chance, more than once a day, in fact. religiously so in the shower, it was a must — or else he would find it more difficult to manage himself around you.

sometimes he’d watch you breastfeed the baby and secretly sneak into the bathroom midway through it to rub one out, because if he didn’t — he’d bust right then and there. but can you blame him? you looked so maternal, so ungodly and unapologetically beautiful. the way you hissed whenever the baby sucked too hard on your nipple made him wish it was him dragging those sounds out of you…

fuck. he was becoming a freak again.

there were nights when he would wake up, as hard as a rock, and watch you sleep while fisting himself in the spot next to you in bed. he would be careful not to wake you when pushing the cleavage of your gown down, just enough to take your breasts out. he’d peck you softly on the nipples and that would inevitably and always lead to him uncontrollably unloading himself inside his palm. sometimes he would make a mess of the bedsheets, other times — of your nightgown.

“shit— if simply touching your skin does this to me, then i don’t want to think what will happen to me the second i slide it in”, he’d curse under his nose while washing off in the bathroom. “fuck. i miss you, baby”, he’d brush a hand over his face. “look what you made of me…”, and he would get hard all over again, just because for a split second he thought of being inside you.

luckily, you soon started dropping subtle hints of desiring him — initiating longer morning kisses, biting your lower lip and giving him the look whenever he walked out of the shower, saying his name in that same sweet voice with an undertone of fake innocence you would use in the past every time you wanted him to do things to you, rubbing his chest as you cuddled in bed or on the couch, sometimes your hand would slide a bit lower down his abdomen… but, that was it.

satoru never saw past the pearly gates, because his sweet angel of a baby would always start crying in the most inappropriate of times, as if on purpose.

“you go — i don’t want to face my daughter with a boner”, he’d whine, and you’d chuckle.

he loved his daughter more than anything, but he was genuinely bummed out and he had to do something about it.

one afternoon, after you fed the baby and left her in the care of your husband to go and take a shower, satoru put his daughter in the crib and leaned over with a serious expression of a parent about to lecture their misbehaving kid.

“listen, little miss, because we have a problem”

the baby chuckles in response.

“…and apparently, you know it”, satoru snorts. “but listen here, i know you love mama and you want her all to yourself. but what about papa?”, he pouts. “papa loves her too and wants her all to himself, at least once a day, but you’re not giving him a chance here. it’s not like i am asking for an entire day, just stay put for 15 minutes — 15 minutes is all i am asking for. deal?”

his daughter lets out another sweet chuckle.

“i’ll take that as a yes”, he caresses her cheek before leaving the room with the baby monitor in hand to join you in the shower.

finally. it was happening.

he stripped out of his clothes and walked into the bathroom, placing the baby monitor on the sink countertop before stepping into the shower cabin, letting the hot stream wash down his body as he reached for you.

“hello, beautiful”

“oh—“, you jolt. “you’re here? but what about the ba—"

“shh—“, he puts a finger on your lips, his free hand snaking around your waist to pull you close. “don’t worry, she’s fine. if something happens, we’ll know it from the baby monitor — so just relax”

you smile against his fingertip and softly peck it before sucking it in between your lips. his cock, already hard and squished between your naked bodies, throbs with a powerful twitch. a low growl rolls out of his mouth.

“god… i’ve missed you so much”, his hips involuntarily push against you, a desperate attempt to seek more friction by humping himself on your stomach. with how starved he was for you, he could probably finish just from this. but he wanted to take it slow and savor every second.

“it’s been so long, isn’t it?”

he nods. “i thought i was going to die”

you laugh. “you’re exaggerating”

“i am not… i never thought our tiny little angel could be such a huge devilish cockblock”

“you shouldn’t speak like that about our kid”, you snort.

“but it’s true. she’s a sly one, and obviously she’s obsessed with you”, he pouts.

“i wonder who she took it from…”

“she’s going to cause me a lot of trouble, isn’t she? but maybe, if we gave her a friend, she wouldn’t feel as lonely. maybe then, we’d get to have more alone time — like this. what do you think?”

“she’s too young for a pet, satoru. you know that”

he laughs. “i didn’t mean a pet, sweetheart. but we can get that too at some point”

[wtfforged]

my campaign hiatus has gone on for too long so to cope ive combined my interests at their maximum potency and had some dnd-strawhats thoughts

thoughts in depth under read more... :)!

this is SO self indulgent. their designs literally did not change. but i am a firm believer that dnd doesnt have to be european high fantasy. and also one piece literally IS fantasy. no changes are necessary to fit into dnd. ive already imagined plenty of campaign/oneshot ideas inspired by one piece. so this was basically just an exercise of trying to replicate their canon abilities in dnd 5e as much as possible without totally homebrewing everything. well. aside from luffy. you just cant take away or change his stretching.

LUFFY: (human monk. drunken master subclass. outlander)

the only plain human of the crew to balance out with the fact that he still has rubber powers. obviously a monk. but drunken master subclass specifically because i think the flavor(not the fact that its about being a drunkard) and abilities both fit him really well. this line in the subclass' flavortext especially fits him: "A drunken master often enjoys playing the fool to bring gladness to the despondent or to demonstrate humility to the arrogant, but when battle is joined, the drunken master can be a maddening, masterful foe."

ZORO: (tiefling fighter. samurai subclass. bounty hunter)

a fighter with the samurai subclass is so very incredibly obvious... but i actually had a lot of fun geeking out while comparing the abilities to what he can do in canon; Fighting Spirit, Rapid Strike, and Strength Before Death especially! tiefling is also pretty on the nose for his demon pirate hunter shtick and asura form, but i thought he'd be really human-passing for a tiefling and theorized about his tail getting cut off at some point or another before joining the strawhats. initially wasnt gonna give him a feat, but i gave sanji a feat so i thought itd be unfair to not give him one as well, so sentinel fits the bill pretty well i think!

NAMI: (tabaxi rogue. arcane trickster subclass. criminal)

cat burglar -> full grown literal humanoid cat. this one is INCREDIBLY self indulgent... i love... cats... theres nothing deeper to this and no other reasoning. i took cat burglar and ran with it. can you tell that i love izutsumi dungeon meshi? rogue for the aforementioned burglar-ing as well, and the arcane trickster subclass for when she picks up climatact! the mage hand will be very useful for her pickpocketing. in the future as she levels up with timeskip, i can totally see her multiclassing into wizard as well! weather wizard!

USOPP: (lightfoot halfling artificer. artillerist subclass. urchin)

I HAD SO MUCH FUN THINKING ABOUT HIS CHARACTER SHEET. halfling's Naturally Stealthy ability lets him hide behind his crewmates since theyre (almost) all bigger than him, so its perfect for hiding behind zoro or sanji all the time. Lucky is also perfect for him, and I think Brave fits pretty well too when he puts on the sogeking mask. artillerist artificer is also very fun! tinkering and making magic items for his crew, and i think Eldritch Canon or Arcane Firearm could both be easily reflavored as kabuto or any of his inventions. for emphasizing his sniper-ness, the spell sniper feat was also necessary. i think hes my favorite of all the concepts. big ears and long nose combo is so cute to me.

SANJI: (half-elf monk. drunken master subclass. guild artisan (cook!))

race was mostly based on vibes i wont lie. squints. and that vinsmoke balogna or whatever too ig. but mostly vibes. along with the idea that i think a dwarf zeff raising him would be really funny and cute. monk is also obvious, and same subclass as luffy for mostly the same reasons. though the flavor fits him much less, i think the abilities still fit him perfectly, and this blurb specifically; "Your martial arts technique mixes combat training with the precision of a dancer." i really wanted to give him a different subclass from luffy, but i dislike all the other monk subclasses a lot and i found none of them fit him as well anyways, so to try and give them SOME differences, i gave him the crusher feat.

CHOPPER: (awakened deer(shifter statblock) cleric. life subclass. hermit)

this ones definitely a mouthful im sorry. awakened deer for obvious reasons, but due to magic instead of devil fruit stuff. when i was struggling with his race, i looked a lot at shifter because of his forms, but it occurred to me that itd be super cool if he could shift between all of the different shifter options instead of being stuck with just one to replicate his rumble balls. something like heavy point/guard point=beasthide, horn point/arm point(?maybe?)=longtooth, walk point/jumping point=swiftstride, and brain point=wildhunt. hed definitely need some kind of nerf though to balance out that homebrew... and cleric for class. duh.

ROBIN: (high elf wizard. order of scribes subclass. criminal)

robin is definitely the one i struggled the most with just because of her class. elf came pretty easily- shes very elegant and i think shed look cute with super long ears- and i landed on high elf instead of wood elf for the int-based abilities. i was really on the fence between sorcerer and wizard for her because i knew shed be a full spellcaster, but i didnt feel that any of the subclasses really fit her. i ended up going with wizard for order of the scribes since it focuses on texts and knowing everything. but also because robin with a flying talking sentient book would be crazy cool. it could also be similar to how she spawns mouths and eyes places to talk to or watch people. my "fuck it, why not. this would be rad. its my house" mindset kicked in with her i will admit. also the One with the Word ability made me cackle out loud when i read it. thats the funniest ability ever. anyways, i cant really think of a way to replicate her powers, but maybe we could just reflavor a bunch of spells to be her limbs or clutch; hold person, maximillian's earthen grasp, or evard's black tentacles. thatd probably work okay, and theres a handful of spells to replicate her ability to spawn eyes or mouths. unrelated, but i imagine nico olvia to be a drow. why? her hair is white. i am a simple man!