#the main thing holding me back is that there is a heavy focus on like. electricity + circuits for the general physics stuff

[awrkive]

WARM NIGHTS & CLEAR LINES — JJK (m.)

there haven't been a lot of people who have come into your life that became important to you – and you didn’t expect jeon jungkook to be one if it – not at all. but what started as a casual relationship turned into more than that, and now you find yourself deeply in love with him – and happily so.

or; your first "i love you" comes out completely wrong.

PAIRING cnbl!jungkook x cnbl!female reader

GENRE r18+ (SMUT, fluff) MINORS DO NOT INTERACT!

WORD COUNT 11k of pure fluffy and smutty nonsense 😍 literally 90% of this is smut

WARNINGS/MISC fluff galore, cnbl jk is the father of all simps all men need to be like him fr, angst if u squint but like not really 😭, oc's tendencies to be avoidant of her feelings show up lol i still love u saur, best boy cnbl jk ):, he will disintegrate if he cant call her by a petname [ explicit sexual content: unprotected s*x (its just a fanfic its not that serious), panty sniffing (like very quick), dirty talking lol, c*nnilingus, they hold hands during it <3, VERY SLIGHT foot action but like its very fleeting lol u dont need to worry about it lmfao, multiple s*x positions, cowgirl position cos her eyes are pretty trope, good ole cre*mpies ], L b*mb drop and an ily kink develops. literally every paragraph theres an ily crying. anyways i think thats all feel free to inform me if i left out any

NOTES i have like 11 asks on my inbox asking about how cnbl couple is and what their label is are they official now etc etc and they've sitting there since bush administration </3 after two years of drought we are finally so back. i purposefully didnt answer any of th asks since i want to make a drabble for when they finally make things official so this is it awrkive nation🩷 this can be read as a standalone?? but like pls read cnbl first lol (also i thought i ate this title when i thought about it but now i realize it kinda sounds ass but its 2am so give me some slack. also this is unedited skjfdjkfhdk AND this will also be my last post before i go mia for the next few weeks due to big life happenings. leave ur thoughts in my inbox or reply section to get a cnbl jk to go🫂

ORIGINAL STORY [CNBL] | MAIN MASTERLIST

Jungkook loves when he gives it to you slow. Loves the heavy breathes that puff out of your mouth, the drawl out moans that give your mouth that lovely, erotic O-shape which image burns in his head for the next few days (two days, at the very least), and the way he can feel the exact moment when you clench and unclench around the ridges of his hard cock. 

But he also loves it when he jackhammers into your pussy, pounding in and out of it at a quick pace that your eyes roll to the back of your head, your fingers digging into his skin (or scalp), the staccato rhythm of your “oh”s and “ah”s that sound like real music to his ears, and the way your mouth hangs open as you utter sweet gibberish into the air because the pleasure he’s giving you feels too much. 

“Give it to me, give it to me,” you whisper against his mouth. On your back, you’re sprawled across his bed, your thighs resting on the crook of Jungkook’s elbows as he pounds  into you like he’s trying to win a contest.

There’s dried up tears on the side of your eyes, your lips swollen from the way you’ve been kissing for minutes, and Jungkook finds it hard to focus on one thing when you have your pussy gripping around him like a fucking vice, your breasts bouncing at his every quick thrust, and your pretty face looking at him like you just want nothing but cock. 

“Y-yeah, fuck—” Jungkook grunts, repeating the same motion of fucking into you at a pace so fast he can hear his bedframe hitting the wall when he thrusts back. He grips your thighs tight, veins popping out of his arms. “You like this, baby? Love when I fuck you quick and fast?” 

You nod your head, bottom lip caught in your teeth, looking up at him with those hooded eyes that Jungkook is near to losing his goddamn mind. God, you’re so fucking pretty it genuinely hurts him. Most especially his dick.

“Am I fucking you stupid, angel?” He slides out, and then enters you abruptly, making you cry out in pleasure. “I'm taking care of you so good you can't think straight, huh? Hm?’

“Y-yes!” You squeak out, grabbing to try and hold onto his biceps. Jungkook leans forward so you can find leverage on his body, his dick hitting deeper into your core at the movement. At the mewl that you let out, he stretches your legs higher until you almost feel like you’re being folded in half, with Jungkook jackhammering his dick into your tight pussy. 

"S-so good…" you whimpered, almost out of breath. 

Jungkook groans at the pretty sound. “Ngh– I feel fucking good, too, baby. You're so fucking pretty. Squeeze those tits for me.”

You oblige, grabbing your boobs and squishing them together. Jungkook revels at the sight, wanting nothing but to burn every second in memory. Sometimes, he wishes he can have some sort of copy of you two doing this… just a little something for your own private enjoyment. He hasn’t brought it up to you, mostly because he thinks you won’t necessarily be into the idea as much as he is. Will probably say no, or be partial to it at best.

Next time. He tells himself. 

“Fuck, fuck – fuck!” Jungkook grunts, sliding in and out of you, picking up his pace more, beginning to sound delirious at the sensation of your walls fluttering around his cock. It’s impossible the way you just grow tighter every second, clenching around him like you don’t have any intentions of letting go. 

“J-Jungkook—!” You cry out, arms reaching out for him, and when Jungkook sees the small stream of tears falling out from your eyes again, he can’t help but fuck you senseless. “Oh my god– ah– fuck, i-it feels so good, don’t stop, don’t stop.” 

He continues his movements, pounding into your pussy, tightening his hold on your hips. Your nails dig into his forearms, and your chest subtly moves up and down at every action that he makes. When you close your eyes, that’s when Jungkook knows that your climax is near, and so he stays consistent in his pace, just fucking into you deep and fast – just like how you like it now.

“Ah– there, Jungkook— oh god–!” You yelp, choking in your words, your pussy spasming around Jungkook’s cock until he feels that burst of hot white around his shaft. You reflexively let out a loud moan, but what you say next completely catches him off-guard. 

“It feels so good– I love you.” 

Jungkook staggers, dick slipping out of you momentarily at your sudden confession. But as he lets his gaze fall to your face, you have your eyes closed, lost in the moment, like how you usually are when you just orgasmed – and Jungkook knows he can’t talk to you at that state, nor can he ask to confirm what you just said.

So he looks down at where your bodies meet, shakily breathes when he sees the base of his cock getting covered in your cum, your juices dripping all over his dark sheets making a wet spot underneath you.

“F-fuck,” He hisses, quickening his pace to let himself go. 

He thinks about the sound of your “I love you”, how it falls prettily on your lips, and how good it would be to hear that one more fucking time.

Letting out a guttural groan, the thought completely tips him over the edge, and he grips his cock to shoot his cum into your swollen hole, painting your walls white just as you painted his shaft the same color with your own orgasm. 

Unexpectedly, he feels you gush the second time.

It’s cold and it’s hot at the same time – the sensation. It’s top three one of the best feelings a man could ever experience, and Jungkook is greedy – always greedy when it comes to you – that he pushes his cock back in to put it all in you, not wanting any to be wasted on the mattress. And just because he wants to hear that pretty moan from you again when he enters your cunt.

You do, making the hair on his body tingle. 

He drops down beside your body – more like on top of you, but a little off to the side – making sure to not put all his weight on you lest he hurts you. As usual, you receive him wholeheartedly with open arms, humming when he begins to suckle on your still rock-hard nipples, his hand shooting up to fondle the other one. Instantly, your hand caresses his hair.

“Kook.”

“Hm?” He hums against your breast. 

“I’m sore. Get your dick off me.” 

Jungkook frowns, but nonetheless acquiesces and slides out of you. He hisses when he feels your cum leaking out, about to insert a finger in you to stop it, but you take his temporary separation from you to stand up from the bed, leaving him on it alone. 

“Baby,” Jungkook calls – whines – really, looking at you with furrowed brows. 

You roll your eyes. “I’m not cockwarming you tonight. I’m going to the shower–” When you see him moving to get up from the bed as well, you shoot him a glare. “No. No funny business. I’ll just go clean up and you can too and then we’ll sleep.”

“I can clean you up.” Jungkook looks at you, wide-eyed. You look at him dryly. He sighs and then lets himself fall back to the bed, naked and all that, his dick still semi-hard against his stomach. “Okay, fine.” 

“Good.” 

He stares at your ass as you go to the bathroom, enjoying the view of your naked back before you disappear inside the room. 

Jungkook closes his eyes as he crosses his arms on the back of his head, thinking that maybe it’s good you didn’t let him in the shower with you because… how does he bring up the fact that you just said… it?

“I love you.” 

Did you… mean that? Like… you love him? Like, actually, love love him? 

It’s been eight months since your whole set up started. Four months of solely fucking and another four months of more fucking but you’ve actually both established that you like each other.

Of course, Jungkook feels more than that. He has for a long time now. He’s liked you since the first time you had sex and he started having deeper feelings for you every other day since then.

Needless to say, Jungkoon loves you.

Has for a long time now. 

But he didn’t say anything because he was scared that you would be scared. He felt like the luckiest guy on earth when you told him you liked him – and he felt pretty much untouchable when you two started exclusively dating each other four months ago. You’re definitely his girlfriend now and him your boyfriend – and sure, you haven’t had The Talk yet, but… now that you said you love him… that pretty much changes the course of everything…

Right? 

However, he finds himself pondering on it. 

Did you really mean that? Jungkook doesn’t think you’re the kind of person who just spout words as heavy as that confession, so you couldn’t have been insincere when you let that out. 

But… you were in the middle of sex, though. Did you just say it because you were in that position? Maybe you figured him out long ago now, have already known that he loves you, so you just said it to get him off? 

That’s probably not the case, he physically shakes his head. He knows that you know you don’t need to do anything else other than be underneath him or on top of him so he can release. Hell, your mere voice is even enough to tip him off the edge; there are countless incidents where he feels a certain kind of desperation for you, in the morning or in the middle of the night when you’re away and not in his arms, and he presses your name on his contact last, then what’s supposed to be an innocent call turns into something very much far from wholesome when he feels his dick twitch at the very sound of your voice and embarrassingly cums in his pants when you goad him about it. 

You know your tight hold on him. You don’t need to say I love you to get him off. 

But damn, did that really get him going more than usual.

“Shit.” Jungkook hisses, his head throbbing at the thoughts going haywire inside his head. His dick has calmed down now, soft in between his legs, and he’s starting to feel sticky, especially with the ruined sheets on his back. 

Standing up, he picks them up to put them in the hamper, grabbing a towel real quick to wrap around his lower half. 

When he finishes changing the bedsheets into fresh and clean ones, that’s when you step out of the shower. 

“I turned on the hot water for you.” You say, tightening your baby blue robe which is a pair of Jungkook’s own robe that he bought for you two two months ago.

Jungkook walks over to your direction and takes you by the waist to plant a quick kiss on your lips. 

“Thank you, angel,” he says. You give him a smile and he can’t help but give you a peck once again. “I made the bed.” 

“Thanks.” 

Jungkook stands there and he doesn’t notice that he’s staring until you point it out with an arched brow. 

“What?” 

With a surprised look, Jungkook takes himself out of his trance. “Oh, uh, nothing.” He gives you a hesitant smile. He’s actually thinking of asking you about the thing you said earlier. But right now, as he looks at you again, he finds himself a bit reluctant. “I’ll shower now.” 

You look at him weird and Jungkook chuckles as he leans down to kiss you again. 

When you break the contact, going over to his closet where a huge portion of your own clothes have already made its own way to, Jungkook thinks that maybe he’ll bring it up when he finishes showering. 

But as he steps back out of the shower ten minutes later, you’re already sprawled across the bed with your nightie on.

And as Jungkook steps closer to you, you’re fast asleep, soft snores coming out of your mouth, pretty and peaceful in your slumber. 

Jungkook smiles at the sight. 

Tomorrow. He’ll bring it up tomorrow instead. 

In the morning when Jungkook woke up, he didn't find you in his arms like he expected to. And when he looked through the notifications on his phone, your text told him that you already went for your 10 am class. Jungkook’s first one is at 2:30 in the afternoon. 

He intended to take you out for lunch in the afternoon, but when he called you, you said you had a meeting with your club and you’d only be free in the evening onwards. 

At 9:30pm, when all of Jungkook’s classes have ended, he sent you a text again, hoping you’d be free by the time. 

One whole day of not seeing your face and he was starting to feel a little on edge. 

[9:31pm] Jungkook: hi baby classes ended [9:31pm] Jungkook: hru i havent seen u at all today

Jungkook couldn’t help but send another one.

[9:32pm] Jungkook: i missed u. can i come over?

At that point, he was already over at the uni’s parking lot, going to the direction of his car and unlocking it when he got near. When he buckled himself into the driver’s seat, he hoped to see a reply from you. 

But nothing came.

When he arrived home at the end of the day, he took a quick half-bath and ate some leftovers in the fridge. 

As of now, as he settles himself onto his bed, he scrolls through your text thread, the Delivered button on his last text taunting him the longer he looks at it.

With furrowed brows, he begins to type up another message but then soon, the Delivered stamp changes to Read, and the three dancing dots on your end play on his screen, which somehow lightens his mood.

[10:45pm] princess🥰💓: Hello, Kook! So sorry for the late reply. I got caught up with classes and the long meeting with the club today [10:46pm] princess🥰💓: We apparently have to push the fall edition of the print a week earlier and I also have to revise some stuff in my thesis so I’m a bit tight on sched

Jungkook nods to himself upon reading the text message, feeling bad for you.

[10:47pm] Jungkook: ohh ic ic [10:47pm] Jungkook: do u want me to bring u food? 

[10:48pm] princess🥰💓: Like, youre coming over? 

[10:48pm] Jungkook: yeahh [10:48pm] Jungkook: if u want 

Jungkook waits as the bubbles appear and disappear on your end, until he receives your final reply.

[10:50pm] princess🥰💓: Hmm I appreciate it but Im over at Hana’s right now. Club stuff. And then I’ll go home later to work on my paper

Pouting, Jungkook sighs as he reads your message. He really wants to see you today… he misses your pretty face and your voice and your touch.

But he doesn’t really want to push. You’re very anal about your personal space, especially when it relates to your academics. 

Letting out another heavy sigh again, he tells you to give him a call when you’re at your place. 

He doesn't receive any.

“Hey,”

“What the—” You see the librarian from across the room immediately eyeing you with a deadly stare. Mouthing a shameful “sorry”, you clutch your chest, turning to the embodied voice again properly this time. Only to get taken aback. “Oh hey… hi.”

Jungkook stands in front of you and he looks so… handsome – nothing new or groundbreaking, per se. He always looks like that. With only a simple combo of grey hoodie and black cargo pants, his backpack slung over one shoulder, he can probably outmodel professionals on the runway. Though, the way he looks so comfy is making you want nothing but to snuggle him. 

“Busy day?” He asks, pertaining to the laptop and stack of books on your table. Placing his bag on the floor underneath the table, he takes the seat beside you. 

“Yeah… I'm writing an essay right now.” You offer him a small smile. It feels like you haven't seen each other for weeks, but the truth is, it's just been over two days since you were at his place.

“I see. Do you mind me here?”

“Nope. You can do whatever you want.”

"Can I kiss you then?" He asks and that makes you pause. 

Looking around, you take note that there aren’t a lot of people in the library anymore as it’s already late. There’s the librarian a few feet away from you, but he’s currently busy doing something on his computer. With a quiet chuckle, you face Jungkook and say, “Do you need to ask?” 

Jungkook shrugs, already leaning towards you. “I just feel like it.”

“It's fine, Kook.” you turn your head to him, and he does not waste any second, closing the gap between you both and capturing your lips in his for a soft kiss.

You sigh in his mouth. You miss him so much and he smells so good it calms your insides. You've been stressing over the essay you’re writing, but all that seems to die down as a result from the exchange with Jungkook.

God, you really need to talk to him. 

“Missed you.” He says once your faces are apart. He pecks your lips one more time for good measure and gives you that adorable bunny smile of his.

“We saw each other, like, two days ago.” You chuckle, making sure to muffle the sound.

Scooting his chair closer to you, Jungkook whines in your ear, “Too long.” When you look at his face, there's a small hint of pout on his lips. 

“Well, we're here now.”

“Really?” Jungkook raises his brow. “Then let's get out of here. You can write your essay at my place and I'll cook you dinner and then we can binge watch the third season of Twin Peaks.” 

“You haven't even started on the first season, why are you watching the third.” You say with an incredulous tone. 

“Doesn't matter.”

It does matter. 

Jungkook has driven you both to his place. When he turned on his TV, you told him you can just start Twin Peaks all over again so he can understand what he's watching, but he insisted that he was gonna know the context eventually – fast forward, he did not. So here he currently is, asking you who everybody is and what’s the context of what they’re saying, and as much as you love his company, people posing questions after questions while watching something will never not be a pet peeve of yours. 

“Baby,” you start. Jungkook looks at you with doe eyes. You cup his face and stare at him seriously. “You're annoying me.”

He lets out a gasp. 

A literal, audible gasp. 

“That hurt. Please tell me you're joking.” Jungkook says that, but you can see the playful glint in his eyes as you squint yours at him.

He made you bulgogi and you both devoured the last of it five minutes ago – and you're thankful for his kindness and generosity but god—

You push on his chest lightly. “Then stop asking. I told you we can just watch the first season but then you want to jump into the last one, of course you're gonna be confused.”

“Yeah but you already watched all of it. I didn't want you to get bored.” Jungkook pouts. You stare at him for a while and you kind of hate that he’s so handsome and so cute at the same time it makes it hard for you to completely be annoyed with him.

There's a fond look on your face when you roll your eyes again. Scooting closer to him on the couch, you plant a quick kiss to his cheek. 

“You're really sweet, Kook, but why don't we just watch a movie or something.”

He leans down to kiss your mouth. “Alright. You pick the movie and I'll go grab some chips from the pantry.”

You smile at him before he disappears to fetch some food, leaving you to browse through the catalog. When he returns shortly, you muse, “You're really nice and sweet to me today. What's up?”

Jungkook scoffs, as if offended by what you said. “Am I not nice and sweet every other day?”

“That's not what I meant. You're just extra sweet and extra nice tonight— I mean, you usually put up a fight on who picks the movies.”

“I let you win every time though?” He says and you nod in thought. 

“True.” Looking back to the television, you hover over the Notting Hill poster. Thinking that the description sounds interesting, you click on it. As the movie loads, you turn your gaze to Jungkook and nudge his leg. “But still…”

He can’t help but chuckle at your persistence. Gathering your feet on his lap, he leans back and retorts, “I just missed you so much. Is that bad?”

You don't anticipate the way he lifts one of your legs, holding your ankle up and then putting a kiss on it. 

It makes blood rush to your cheeks. With his mussed hair and the grey hoodie and cargo pants from earlier changed into a simple white shirt and grey sweatpants, he looks comfy you just want to jump him and bite him and kiss him all at the same time. 

Damn. He really makes you feel a whole lot of things you're starting to think you need an intervention.

You’ve never been so attracted to somebody before. It may be because you know you’re past the point of being just attracted to him.

And then there’s that beat in your heart again. The flip-flopping and the weird feeling in your stomach.

You look away from his intense gaze. “No.”

You hear him let out a low chuckle, a sound so attractive you feel the hair on every part of your body standing up. 

“Come here.” he puts your legs away from his lap, much to your little disappointment. But he beckons you to come close to him, and so you do, leaving your lying position from the couch to go over to where he is. You don't know whether you're gonna place yourself beside him or what, but he beats you to it as he takes your thighs and guides you to straddle him. 

You do so without any words, following his lead. You feel heat creeping up your neck when you finally land on his lap, his arms circling around you. 

“Why do you still smell like flowers even after a whole day?” It's followed with him sniffing the juncture between your neck and shoulder, inhaling your scent. 

You flinch 'cause it tickles a little. He always does and says that shit and you can't help but laugh, always not knowing what to say to that. But Jungkook doesn’t seem to need your input, anyway. 

He squeezes your body, hugging you tighter to him. 

“I really missed you, you know?”

You giggle. “Yeah, you said that the third time now.”

“You're keeping count but why can't you just say you miss me too?” He pulls away, making sure to face you so you see the pout on his face. 

You peck his lips. “That's because I don't.” You joke, earning a glare.

“Wow, first you say I'm annoying and now you apparently didn't miss me?” You're sure he's joking but the frown on his face makes you think that maybe somewhere in his head, he's thinking otherwise.

You smile at him. “I was just kidding, Kook. Of course I missed you too. And thank you for the food.” You say against his lips, leaning down to kiss him again. 

“Does that mean you’re done avoiding me now?” 

Breaking away from the kiss, you look at him in surprise, taken aback by his words. 

“What?” you say, confused. 

Jungkook arches a brow. You both stare into each other’s eyes but then his gets way too intense that you can’t help but look away. That’s when you hear him sigh. 

“Baby, talk to me.” Jungkook cups your jaw with his palm, gently directing your face towards his. “I don’t like when we don’t talk. You clearly have something on your mind. What is it? Is it something I can fix?” 

Hearing his words makes your heart melt and your brain turn into mush. Is it something I can fix? Jesus.

How can you not fall for him when he says things like that? 

“Did I do something wrong?” Jungkook asks when you don’t say a thing. 

That earns him an instant, aggressive shake of your head. 

“No, Jungkook. You didn’t do anything wrong, not at all,” you say, planting your palms on his shoulders to assure him. You see the slight hint of smile on the curve of his lips. “It’s, uh, it’s me…” you trail off, not sure how to navigate your next words. You take note of the way Jungkook’s eyebrows meet in confusion. “I’ve just been… feeling weird lately.” 

At that, his confusion grows even more, but it’s more out of concern instead of perplexity. 

“What’s wrong, angel? You don’t feel okay?” He says, caressing your face as if he’ll find the issue there. He looks so willing to just get you to okay and it makes your heart beat a little faster than usual.

“No– I mean, I feel okay. It’s not that,” you shake your head, shy at his doting. When he waits for your next words, you can’t help but bury your face in the crook of his neck as you say— more like whisper— against his skin, “I told you I love you the other day.” 

You feel Jungkook stilling under you. And it makes you nervous. Heart racing against your ribcage, you can’t find it in yourself to break away from your hold on him because that would mean you have to look into his eyes – and you don’t want to. Your cheeks feel so hot and you feel like throwing up. Your emotions are all over the place and Jungkook’s prolonged silence isn’t helping at all. 

But suddenly, those thoughts die down when you feel him relaxing underneath you, his arms wrapping around your waist. You feel a weight on the crown of your head and with a gentle rub on your back, Jungkook whispers against your hair, “I love you, too.” 

That makes you instantly look up from him. When you see his face, his lips are curved into a soft smile. 

With furrowed brows, you voice out your concern. 

“You don’t need to say it back just ‘cause I told you that.” 

Now, it’s Jungkook’s turn to be confused. 

“I’m not saying it just ‘cause you said it, baby.” He looks so sincere and for a moment, you feel bad for doubting him for a second. Jungkook must’ve noticed the look on your face as he cups your jaw again, angling it towards him. You feel his smile against your mouth when he presses his lips to yours. “I'm in love with you, __. I have been for the past few months now.” 

Your eyes widen a bit when he calls you by your name.

Jungkook has always liked calling you by every endearing pet name in the world that you’re lowkey convinced he forgot your real name at this point, but when the sweet syllable rolls off his tongue, you can’t help but melt. 

He doesn’t seem to notice your surprise, though. Just breaks away from the contact you’re both engaged in and he takes your wrist in his hand, lifting it to his face to kiss the skin on the side of your palm. 

The action was so momentary and brief but it doesn’t deter the fact that it made your heart jump. 

You think it’s funny how you feel so much whenever he’s around. You think it’s funny that you feel so giddy – even after all this time. 

You think it’s funny that before the whole thing started, you’ve never considered this ever happening but here you are, completely elated over the fact that you’re in love with Jeon Jungkook and he feels the same way too. 

“You have?” You say, voice quiet. He nods, humming, leaning to your palm when you put it over his cheek. “Since when?” 

“The first time we went to that abandoned house.” 

Your lips part at the declaration. That was… that happened so long ago. Nearly four months from the present.

“That long?” You blink a few times at him, not really sure how to react to that confession. 

Jungkook chuckles lowly, pressing a kiss to your thumb again. You like how his instinct is to always have a form of physical contact with you whenever you’re around. You don’t know if he knows that himself, but you’ve definitely observed that for the past few months you’ve been “exclusively” seeing each other and it just… absolutely melts you. 

“I know… I’m a bit of a coward for not telling you sooner. But I didn’t want to scare you off.” Jungkook says admittedly, and his last sentence makes your heart twinge. 

He didn’t want to scare you off. Of course he’d think that. You had a total breakdown at the prospect of him opening up to you just four months ago – before you told him you liked him.

You swallow the sudden lump in your throat. “I— yeah. I was in my head over the past two days, you know?” 

Jungkook’s face etches into a look of concern. “Hm?” 

Nodding your head slowly, you find comfort in tracing random shapes and lines on his chest instead. 

“These feelings… they’re not new. I didn’t just wake up one day and realized I love you. I felt it during the time when we woke up together in bed for the first time at your place. I felt it when you drove three hours from your parents’ house to my dorm just ‘cause I told you I missed you. I felt it when you stayed up late with me just so you could help me make my flash cards. I—” you look away, suddenly embarrassed at what you’re saying. It’s not like you to say so much. Not like you to show and voice out this extent of your emotion. “I remember the times I felt I loved you for the briefest of moments in the past three months, but lately, I can't stop thinking about it and suddenly, I can’t count on my fingers anymore how many times I felt I love you. I loved you every hour of last week and yesterday I loved you even more.” 

You watch as Jungkook looks at you with parted lips. Awe-struck? You don’t want to hype yourself up too much. So you look away, keeping your eyes focused on his white shirt. 

“And what about today?” Jungkook suddenly speaks. 

You free your bottom lip from your teeth and finally look Jungkook in the eyes. “I love you more than I did yesterday. And tomorrow I’ll do the same.” 

“Fuck.” Jungkook utters, bowing his head. His tone's a mix of incredulity, amusement, and joy at the same time. When he looks up at you again, he looks at you with so much sparkle in his eyes you’re starting to think you’re a fool for not noticing earlier the love they hold for you in them. “I just… wow.” 

Your eyebrows meet in confusion. 

Jungkook chuckles and shakes his head. “I just… I had this huge confession in my head, you know? I– uh– I wrote it in my notes app.” 

Suddenly, the serious atmosphere breaks as you can’t help but laugh. “What?”

With a small pout, Jungkook continues, “I’m not good with words, you know that. So, I had this big confession planned out. I was gonna tell you in detail how much I love you, but after hearing what you just said… I forgot about everything I tried to memorize last night.” 

Now you’re giggling in his lap. Just trying to visualize him typing on his phone while figuring out what to say to you and him studying it, memorizing the lines…

You're so glad it's him you fell for.

“Don’t laugh,” he scolds, but there's a hint of playfulness that lies underneath it. Jungkook inserts his hand under your shirt and starts rubbing the skin of your waist. “Truth is that I was afraid when you started avoiding me. Thought I’d lose you again.” 

His vulnerable confession makes you stop completely. There’s a certain melancholy in his eyes when he mentions it, and you feel like scolding yourself for even causing that. 

“What I did wasn’t the most mature way to go about it. I’m sorry,” you start. Sighing, you adjust yourself on his lap to get more comfortable. “Uh… I guess I was just embarrassed and wanted to have time to compose myself.” 

“What were you embarrassed for?” 

There’s heat that spreads to your cheeks. For a brief second, you consider lying, but then you remember honesty. It’s what got you both here. Just being open to each other and communicating. 

“Jungkook, no one wants their first I love you said during sex.” You deadpan. 

“Oh.” He blinks. 

At that, you can’t help but roll your eyes. “Exactly.” 

“What’s wrong with that, though?” Jungkook furrows his brows. But his tone borders on teasing when he continues, “You know what they say? Make a girl cum one and she’ll love you, make a girl cum twice and she’ll actually tell you she loves you.” 

“Oh my god.” you groan, jabbing at his chest slightly and taking off your legs off the couch so that you stop straddling him.

Jungkook bursts into laughter and is quick to grab your waist, effectively pulling you back to him again. It results in you falling haphazardly into his lap, which he takes as an opportunity to cage you in a hug and guide you on your back to hover on top of you. 

“I’m kidding, baby,” he whispers against your cheek. “I’m kidding.” 

You inhale a sharp breath when he starts kissing along your jaw. “Good.” 

“I really appreciate you for saying all those things. I wish I can be as eloquent as you,” He tips your jaw with his fingers so that you look at him. “You’re a poet, __.” 

That makes you smile. You secretly like when he calls you by all these petnames... but the way your name rolls of his tongue just hits a lot more different.

“As long as you love me back, Kook.” you say, pushing his bangs off his forehead so that you can look at his face wholly. 

“I love you.” He confesses, kissing your lips.

“I love you too.” you smile. 

Jungkook pecks your lips one more time and suddenly follows it up with another one. Soon, you’re a giggling mess underneath him on the couch when he keeps it up until it tickles. 

“Jungkook,” you whine, wriggling under him and avoiding his mouth.

This only makes Jungkook chuckle in the crook of your neck, halting his cute assault on your lips. When the high of the laughter comes off, you feel a wet trail of kisses down to the base of your neck, and suddenly, Jungkook’s hands are under your shirt, rubbing along the bare skin of your waist. While he peppers open-mouthed pecks on your neck, his fingers trail upwards until they’re on your bare tits. 

“Oh,” you let out a low moan when his palm squeezes around the flesh.

It earns a groan from Jungkook, who presses himself closer to you. And it’s when you feel the growing need on his crotch area – his dick poking your stomach as he stays lapping up your neck. 

“Jungkook,” you call him again. It takes Jungkook a few seconds to look up at you. When he does, his long hair is a mess on his head and his eyes are hooded in that drunken-like state, lips wet from his previous ministrations. 

“Hm?” He hums, gives both your boobs a good squeeze again, making you sigh out. Jungkook continues to touch you, fondling your breasts in his hand as he starts kissing up your jaw instead. 

“I want you.” you whisper against the air, closing your eyes at the sensation of his touch. 

He feels so good on you. You want to take off your stupid clothes.

“Shit,” Jungkook hisses, giving an involuntary thrust against your crotch that made you both groan. “Fuck. I want you, too, baby— god, let me just—” 

You whine when he breaks away from you, but you watch in awe as he makes quick work of kneeling in between your legs, peeling off the white shirt from his body with one arm from the back in a swift motion. He throws it on the floor and swipes his hair out of his face, and in that brief moment, with his toned abdomen and inked arm, you nearly melt.

“Can I take off your shorts?” He asks, but he already has his fingers hooked over the bottom you’ve changed into when you got into his apartment. Giving him a nod, you help him in taking off the garment by lifting your bum off the sofa. Jungkook, ever the expert in the art of taking off your clothes, does it quick, the shorts landing on the floor together with his shirt, forming a small heap. Bottoming out, he takes your thighs in the crook of his elbows and scoot your body closer to his. The angle is a bit awkward from where you lie, and Jungkook makes your cheeks burn when he turns his head to the side to kiss your knee. “So beautiful, baby. Your legs are so smooth.”

“Stop talking,” you say, embarrassed. 

Jungkook chuckles at your reaction, already used to it. His face leans even closer and soon he has the tip of his nose on your panty-cladded core. Like clockwork, he takes a subtle sniff, closing his eyes for a little while at the scent, gripping your thighs tighter at the action. 

If you weren’t a heating mess before, you’re near on combustion now. Surely, Jungkook knows what this does to you. 

“You smell so good. Such a pretty girl,” he grunts. Then, he presses a kiss to your pussy which makes your breath hitch. 

“Jungkook,” you let out a whine for the nth time. “Don’t tease.” 

He shushes you out, clicking his tongue as if you did something wrong. 

You capture your bottom lip in your teeth. Jungkook cups your jaw so you can look at him when he says, “Be patient, princess. I’ll give you what you want. Always.” His voice is gentle and soft, and you know he means it. 

Still, you give him a pout. 

“I wanna fuck.” 

He chuckles, low and sounding so attractive when he brings his fingers through his hair again. It doesn’t help that you can clearly see the outline of his dick getting bigger inside his grey sweats. Damn those joggers for real. 

“Okay,” Jungkook smiles down at you. “Take your shirt off.” 

You make quick work of removing your shirt off to reveal your naked body to him. At this point, only your underwear and his pants are the only things keeping you apart. 

As usual, Jungkook zeroes in on your body instantly, paying the most attention to your tits. According to him, they’re two of his most favorite things in the world and as much as you’d like to call bullshit on that, it really does seem like he’s not joking about it at all. 

“Oh, baby,” Jungkook brings your legs down gently, sliding on top of your body and hovering as he quickly fondles your boobs with his huge palms. “Fuck, you’re so soft.” He says, pressing a kiss to your cleavage. Not wasting any more time, he latches his tongue around a nipple, and you automatically hold onto his head for support when the sensation nearly knocks you off the couch.

Despite that little movement from you, Jungkook continues to lap at your breasts. Licking and tugging at your nipple to get it hard, paying attention to the other one by pinching it and simultaneously squeezing. As seconds pass, Jungkook alternates between your breasts, and as he does so, you feel your core starting to heat up, your need growing bigger. 

“B-baby,” you sigh out, gripping his hair tighter which makes him grunt. “I want you.” 

“I know, baby, I know.” He whispers against your skin. You’re about to whine some more when Jungkook finally leaves your chest to pepper kisses down your stomach. When he gets near your nether region, he guides your legs to hook over his shoulder. “These gotta go.” He says about your panties, and you’re more than willing to help him take it off you. 

The moment it's no longer on you, Jungkook hisses at the sight, head leaning down to finally plant his mouth on your pussy. 

The first lick feels ecstatic just like it always does. With Jungkook lapping up a big stripe over the length of your core, you keep your bucking to a minimum, holding onto his hair instead.

“Taste so fucking good, I can never get enough of you,” he says before he dives in again. Jungkook has this thing when he eats pussy. He always does it like he’s making out with your mouth, his tongue prodding at every seams, wrapping your labia around his lips and being messy with it.

Jungkook breaks away for a while as you hear a sound of spit, followed by the cold sensation of his saliva dripping down to your hole. Soon, you feel Jungkook’s thumb beginning to rub your clit, resulting in a ragged breathing from your lungs. 

“F-fuck,” you moan, tightening your hold on his hair you’re sure you’re pulling on his scalp. 

“You’re so fucking wet for me. So sensitive,” Jungkook says as he picks up the pace of his thumb. “Ain’t that right, pretty girl? All for me, right? This is all for me, hm?” 

“Y-yes!” you squeak out when you feel him prodding his tongue at your entrance again. His finger is fast against your sensitive bud, with his tongue lapping up the juices that eagerly come out of your hole. Jungkook makes out with your pussy like he would with your mouth, and with the tip of his nose touching your skin at this proximity, you can't say you’re not close to the edge. And embarrassingly so – because he’s just gotten started and you already feel like cumming.

“Sh–shit,” Jungkook hisses. He shifts his thumb with his tongue this time in stimulating your clit, using two fingers instead to stretch your pussy out open just so he can see the way it throbs and flutters at his every action. It’s a sinful sight, really, the way you’re so open and wet for him. 

Soon after, Jungkook’s getting a little more aggressive in the way he pushes his head closer to your core, jaw working to devour your mound, two digits inserting themselves in your aching hole that somehow satisfies your need to be filled at the very moment. 

And you’re a panting mess beneath him – trying so hard to muffle the moans from your mouth. Jungkook’s gotten a total of three noise complaints for the past 4 months you’ve been fucking at his place – and even though he tells you not to worry, you find that it’s hard to believe when the one time that you got to ride in the elevator with his neighbor, she looked at you both like she knew you’ve done something. 

Never again. 

As if having read your thoughts, Jungkook breaks away for a while to say, “Don’t hold back, gorgeous. Let me hear those pretty moans of yours.” 

Your cheeks burn with heat as you see his wet jaw and plump lips when you glance down. When your gazes meet, Jungkook inserts his middle and ring fingers in his mouth, and when he pops them back out all wet with his saliva, he pushes them into your hole, lax in his movements, looking right into your eyes as he does so. 

“Oh my god,” you gasp, holding onto his wrist automatically when he pumps his digits into you faster than his pace earlier. 

“There,” Jungkook smirks. “Moan for me, angel.” 

“J-jungkook– oh my god– ah–!” 

Jungkook goes back to leaning his head down and soon enough, his mouth is back on your pussy, simultaneously sucking your clit and licking around your labia, all the whole sliding his fingers in and out of you, you can feel yourself dripping down the leather of his couch. 

“Fuck,” you sigh out, suddenly feeling overstimulated. 

Jungkook picks up his pace and you feel a sting on the sides of your eyes as the pleasure begins to build up. Your hold on his wrist falls off and as if he knows exactly what you’re looking for, he reaches for your hand with his free one, interlocking your fingers together as you see him look up at you while he eats you out. 

“Oh god,” you mewl, reaching down with your other arm to swipe his fringes off his forehead so you can see him better. 

Jungkook stares intently at you as you do the same watching him licking your core enthusiastically. You let your head fall back at a particularly delicious lick, and soon after, you feel that familiar zap that starts on your toes that goes right up to your stomach. 

“K-kook,” you call pathetically, swallowing the lump in your throat. It feels somewhat dry at this point. Closing your eyes, you focus on the sensation of his tongue flicking your clit, saying, “I’m cumming.” 

Jungkook keeps his movements of your pussy, not relenting even when you grab his hair a little too tight, and you feel like you’re breaking off his fingers’ joints by the way you’re gripping it so hard.

“I’m cum– there, fuck, that feels so good– I’m cumming!” 

The knot in your stomach snaps and you feel a gush of wetness coming out of your pussy when it does so. You hear Jungkook groaning in between your legs, his licking becoming more messy as you feel him use three fingers to rub over your core like a greedy man wanting everything to be his. 

“Jungkook…” you sigh out, your fingers easing their hold onto his, already feeling sensitive after your release. You look down at Jungkook only to see the crown of his head as keeps lapping up your wetness. He hums in your pussy and you know you can’t keep him off there for awhile so you wait, running your fingers through his hair soothingly, feeling bad for almost ripping it out awhile ago. “Kook, I’m sensitive.”

“Hm.” He hums to acknowledge you. He licks one last stripe before he lets go, easing off your thighs on the sofa and trailing kisses on your stomach and breasts until he’s eye level to you. “Love how you taste,” he says, kissing you, and your cheeks burn with heat when you feel your orgasm off his mouth. When he breaks the kiss, he looks at you with a smile you can only identify as lovesick. “I love you.” 

That makes you melt. 

You thought it would feel weird to hear him say it. But you think about the future and how there would be more like this, with Jungkook telling you he loves you in more shared random moments and you can’t help but mirror the smile he has on his stupid handsome face. 

“I love you.” you say, initiating another kiss. 

When Jungkook presses his body to you, that’s when you feel his cock poking into your stomach. You assume he’s even more rock hard now, given the previous events. 

Sneakily inserting your hand between your bodies, you try to reach for the bulge in his pants and when you take a hold of his dick, Jungkook grunts. 

“Babe,” he whines and breaks away from your lips and buries his face in the crook of your neck instead.

“It’s completely unfair how you still have your pants on while I’m completely naked.” You say, palming him through his sweats. You feel Jungkook tense above you, and when you give him a particularly hard squeeze, he retaliates with a bite on your shoulder that makes you squeal. “What the hell was that for?” 

“For teasing me,” Jungkook says, finally looking at you. He grabs your arm, kisses the side of your wrist before he hauls himself off you completely, planting his feet on the floor while you lay there on the couch bare and cold. But that doesn’t last long as you feel him picking you up with ease — bridal style. 

“Jesus,” you bury your face in his chest out of embarrassment. You’re all naked and he’s carrying you towards his bedroom in this ridiculous position. 

Meanwhile, Jungkook just laughs and as he reaches his bedroom, he closes the door lightly with his foot. 

“I’m not done with you yet,” He says when he puts you down on the mattress. He has that smarmy smirk on his face as he gets out of his grey sweatpants slowly. You’ve had the inkling he wasn’t wearing any underwear considering that it felt like there was not that much of a barrier when you held them there earlier – but it still takes your breath away when he’s left completely in his naked form, stiff and red-tipped cock standing to attention in his lower abdomen. Arching a brow at you, he trudges over to the edge of the bed and with the deep timbre of his voice, he calls you, “Scoot over here, love.” 

The new endearment definitely catches you off guard. Love. Is that something he’s gonna be calling you from now on? 

You definitely don’t mind. 

You follow his instructions and let your body move closer towards the bottom, making Jungkook hum in approval. 

“That’s a good girl.” Suddenly, Jungkook yanks your legs to his direction and you gasp in surprise, only to realize the position you’re both in. 

He’s standing right over the edge of the bed while he guides your legs to rest over his shoulders.

Jungkook and you have tried a lot of positions since you established your thing, but surprisingly, this has never been one of them and you find yourself curious as to what he’ll do next. 

His tattooed bicep flexes as he trails his finger up your naked thighs, making the hairs on your body tingle, especially your pussy which is all bare for his own viewing. Nibbling on your bottom lip, you watch as Jungkook turns his head to the side, and a gasp catches in your throat when he begins kissing up your calf. When his mouth nears your toes, you nearly yank it out of his hold. 

“K-kook,” you stammer, but all Jungkook does is pay you a momentary look and a non-committal hum, turning back to your feet again where he presses a tentative kiss to your big toe. When he feels you wriggle it in his hold once again, he turns to you with furrowed brows. You look away. “It’s uhm…” 

When you don’t say anything, Jungkook fills you in. “You don’t like it?” 

You feel your cheeks burning even hotter. Fucking hell. 

“No– I mean. Uh. I don’t know?” You knit your brows, confused yourself. You’ve never really thought about dabbling into the more adventurous aspect of sex but Jungkook has changed that ever since – right now, though, what he’s trying to do is confusing you. You’re sure you’ve never thought about feet and sex at the same sentence – but when Jungkook kissed your toes, that might have— 

Oh god. No freaking way he’s trying to give you a foot kink. 

“That’s okay,” Jungkook smiles at you warmly. “I was just gonna kiss them, baby. I love every part of you—” he presses a kiss back to your calf again. Staring deep into your eyes, he tells you gently, “But I’m not gonna do anything you don’t and won’t like, love.” 

It seems like the new unlocked petname is doing all things because you could just feel the sudden gush of wetness coming out of you as soon as he said that. Jungkook must’ve noticed, paying a quick look to your pussy and scoffing in amusement as he sees it. 

“You like that? Love? Hm?” He caresses your thighs again, his other fingers trailing dangerously close to your core. “Seems like me calling you love gets you wet. What about I love you? Does it get you wet just like how it gets me hard when you say it as well?”

When Jungkook presses his thumb to your clit again, you moan, feeling him continue his ministrations. You hold your breath when he begins picking up the pace of his rubbing, and with your position, it gives you an opportunity to spread your legs even more, feeling Jungkook hiss at the action. 

“Fuck. You really are so pretty. I’m so fucking lucky you love me,” Jungkook says. He talks sweet but you hear a sound of spit coming from him to your pussy, his saliva dripping down your core, making you mewl. “I’m gonna make love to you all night. Show you how much I love you.” Jungkook whispers as he pushes a finger into your hole, sliding in and out. “Look at what you do to me, love.” 

You open your eyes to see what he’s talking about, and when you zero in on his cock, it impossibly became bigger, the tip an angry shade of red now. It looks so tight and rigid and veiny that you want to whine to touch it – but you decide to lay still, anticipating his next move. 

“Put it in me,” you say, sounding challenging. 

“I will, just gotta make sure you’re all ready.” Jungkook muses before he inserts his finger once again. It glides in pretty easily, and you’re sure that you’re more than ready to take his cock. 

Grunting, Jungkook pulls you closer and lets go of one of your thighs to grip his dick. He gives it a good squeeze twice before he puts it against the lips of your pussy. 

“Oh god,” you moan at the weight of him. 

“Shit.” Jungkook hisses. You know he’s feeling the exact same way you do. 

When he prods the tip at your entrance, you nearly squeal in delight. Instead, you grip the sheets behind you and look at the way Jungkook’s brows knit in concentration as he grips the base of his cock to enter you fully.

You both moan in unison when the first inch gets inserted, with Jungkook gripping your other thigh tighter and inhaling a sharp breath. Jungkook enters you slowly and arduously, like he’s savoring every second that your pussy swallows every part of his cock. 

“You– fuck– you love a big cock but you’re so fucking tight,” He groans as he begins to slide in the remaining inches, getting both your thighs together again. 

“It’s your fault,” you retaliate, hissing when he begins to move a little inside you. It doesn’t hurt the least bit – you were already way too wet from your first orgasm on the couch of his living room – but in this position, his cock feels deeper and it just feels so damn good. 

“How is it– shit– my fault?” Jungkook grunts, beginning to pick up his pace. “I fuck you almost everyday.” 

“Oh god—” you moan when he hits a little too deep at a particular thrust. “You’re so big, that’s why– fuck.”

“Hah.” Jungkook scoffs, bottoming out to enter you again. “Play with your tits for me, baby. Fuck, I love them so much.” 

You grab your breasts, thankful at the suggestion because they’re bouncing a little from his pounding and you’re sure they’re gonna be sore the next day. 

Needless to say, Jungkook likes what he sees as he continues to slide his cock in and out of you at a steady, slow pace. 

There are two sides to Jungkook when it comes to sex. Sometimes, he likes to do it fast with jackhammer thrusts that makes you question his stamina and strength – not rough, because he told you you’re too much of a pillow princess for that (you rolled your eyes at him so hard and he only laughed at you, telling you it’s actually because he didn’t like the thought of hurting you in any way), and you admittedly love that. It’s what got the words “I love you” out of your mouth in the first place. Intense fucking coupled with intense emotions are a combination you now realize is dangerous – but right now, as he pounds into you slowly, making you feel every ridge of his cock, you realize it’s your favorite. 

There’s something so intimate about the way Jungkook closes his eyes when he seemingly tries his very best to contain his strength as he enters you with his dick. It’s weirdly hot when he inhales a sharp breath to regulate his breathing, brows furrowed in concentration. Like this, you get to feel every moment of where you both started and where you end. 

And when Jungkook leans down on the bed, folding you in half at the action, his dick hits deeper as he plants his palms on the mattress, is cock continuing their ministrations in your cunt. 

He grunts in your hair, grabbing your breast and squeezing it hard in his palm which earns a moan from you. Jungkook looks at you and kisses your parted mouth. 

“I love you,” he says when he breaks away, kissing your cheek. Then the tip of your nose. And then the space between your eyebrows. “I love you so much.” 

You giggle. In the middle of sex. When his cock is snug deep in your pussy. 

“You’re a sap.” you can’t help but cup his face in your hand, grinning at him widely. 

“Where’s my– shit– I love you back?” Jungkook knits his brows, thrusting in and out of you still. He grips your hip with one hand, and there are balls of sweat on his forehead starting to form at the exertion from his body. 

“Of course I love you too, baby,” You say. “Kiss me.”

Jungkook doesn’t wait any more second and leans down to capture your lips into an open-mouthed kiss. You don’t break away until his hips stutter, indicating his impending orgasm. 

He’s usually the one who whispers all those sweet nothings in your ear when you’re on the brink of your climax, but this time around, you tell him how much you love his cock, how it’s made for you, and how much you want to keep making love to him all night – and that’s how he breaks.

“F-fuck,” Jungkook groans as he shoots his hot white orgasm inside you, his voice strained as he finishes off with a few more erratic thrusts. “Oh god.” 

“That’s it, Kook, cum for me,” you whisper against his lips, your legs already sliding off his shoulder. You can’t help but moan against his mouth when you feel him cumming more.

“I love you, angel.” Jungkook says and kisses you again. 

You reciprocate the kiss and hope he feels the smile you have on your lips. 

You don’t really expect to cum again – but then Jungkook suddenly palms your ass and taps both cheeks. 

“Cum for me a second time.” He says, pecking the side of your lips. 

You shake your head. As much as you’d love to, you feel like you’re actually about to break tonight. 

“It’s fine—” 

But Jungkook cuts you off quickly. “Please?” 

And how can you say now when he looks like… that? His sex afterglow puts every man in the movies to shame. And you’re just human prone to giving in – especially when it comes to him specifically.

“Okay.” You say, tapping his cheek with a smile. “How do you want me?” 

“Want you to ride me.” He whispers. “Wanna see your pretty eyes while you’re bouncing on my cock.” 

You ignore the flutter in your heart at his words.

Jabbing at his chest lightly, you roll your eyes at him and let him get off you to position himself against the headboard of the bed. Jungkook grins when you soon plant your folded legs on both sides of him, helping you put his still erect dick inside your still sopping wet pussy. 

You both hiss at the sensation, with you closing your eyes at the way he feels. Meanwhile, Jungkook doesn’t waste any second and dives into your breasts immediately, tugging and sucking at your nipples, squeezing and fondling at the flesh, and moaning when you begin to move up and down on his lap. 

“S-so good,” you mewl, wrapping your arms around his neck, fumbling with the hair on his nape. 

“That’s it, love. Doing so well.” He leaves your breasts in favor of your jaw, peppering kisses there until he makes a stop at your lips again. Jungkook finds solace in holding your hips as you move on your own, and as he watches your closed eyes and parted mouth, he leans back to the headboard, looking at the image of you at the very moment – wishing he could burn it into memory. 

“My god– ah—” You begin to speed up your pace, concentrating on the way Jungkook’s cock seemingly hardens at your every drop and fall. 

Soon after, you feel Jungkook sneaking his hands in your pussy, and when you plant one of your palms on the mattress leaning back, Jungkook rubs your clit to help you reach your climax.

You feel yourself leaking on him from both your orgasms in your pussy earlier, and at the thought of that, you feel another wave of ecstasy that snaps in the bottom part of your stomach.

“Oh my fucking god.” 

You bury your face in Jungkook’s neck the moment you cum, breathing erratically against his skin.

“You did so well, baby,” Jungkook kisses your hair, caressing your head lovingly. “I love you.” 

Humming, you let your body fall lax against his, feeling like your bones just lost all its joints, unable to move. Thankfully, there’s Jungkook to take care of that. When you refused to move, he teases you about being a baby and carries you to the bathroom instead where he tells you to pee while he prepares the shower for the both of you. 

Minutes later when you’re both done cleaning yourselves, you lay in Jungkook’s bed beside each other. Or more like, you lean almost all of your weight on top of him, your legs and arms wrapped around his body with Jungkook’s arms underneath your neck, serving as your pillow. 

“I think I just unlocked a new kink.” Jungkook says, alternating between kissing your forehead and caressing your head. 

“You discover one, like, everyday.” You tell him, eyes shut closed. You’re starting to feel sleepy from everything you did tonight. 

Jungkook snorts. “Fair. But for the record, nothing beats this new kink of mine.” 

“What is it?” 

“The I love you kink.”

Even if you can’t exactly see him, you’re sure he has that stupid cute bunny grin on his face.

Chuckling, you say, “God, you really are so corny.” 

“Hey, can a boyfriend not be turned on when his girlfriend says she loves him?” 

At that, you freeze. Jungkook must’ve noticed because he stops caressing your head. You move away from his chest and lean on your elbow so you can look down at him.

“We’re girlfriend and boyfriend now?” You ask with knitted brows. 

Jungkook looks just as confused. “I mean… yeah?” 

“Oh.” You nod. Looking to the other side of the room, you ponder, “Well, that makes sense.” 

Jungkook looks offended when your gaze falls back to him again. “What do you mean that makes sense? We’ve been boyfriend and girlfriend since you told me you liked me.” 

“You told me you liked me too,” You roll your eyes. “But… really? You think that?” 

Now, Jungkook’s pouting. 

“Wait, you didn’t think we were boyfriend and girlfriend all these months?” 

“Eh…” You think about the past four months since you both established an exclusive relationship with each other. You’ve always thought it was just this unlabeled thing. But apparently… “I guess we are boyfriend and girlfriend.” 

“I literally introduced you to my friends as my girlfriend last month, though?” Jungkook asks. 

You jut your bottom lip out. “I have no idea.” 

He sighs. “Forget about it.” 

“It’s okay. I love you.” You say, blinking at him. 

Jungkook visibly melts at that. 

“I think you just found a new way to get away with anything…” he says, eyeing you suspiciously. 

You snicker and cheekily press a quick kiss to his lips. 

There haven't been a lot of people who have come to your life that became important to you – and you didn’t expect Jeon Jungkook to be one if it – not at all. But what started as a casual relationship turned into more than that, and now you find yourself deeply in love with him – and happily so.

Meanwhile, Jungkook thinks the same as he caresses your hair, staring at your serene face while you sleep in his arms, thinking it couldn’t get any better than this.

all right reserved © awrkive, 2024. no reposts, translations, modification, and copying allowed. if you enjoy my work/s and have the extra means, please consider supporting me on ko-fi <3

[eddiesxangel]

Your requests are open aaah 💕 OKAY this scenario for Eddie has been on my mind for a while - imagine hooking up with him (could either be a fuckboy or not) and you're worried you might turn him off when you're riding him because you easily get tired (and in past relationships you'd get criticized for it too because those jerks expected you to do all the work).

in the middle of it eddie can sense something wrong and at first you're hesitant to tell him then you eventually give in, scared he'll stop but Eddie just smiles and sweet and just says "well why didn't you say so sweetheart? hold on" and then suddenly he's wrapping his arms around your waist and thrust up into you like an animal and you get overwhelmed with pleasure and Eddie loves the little whimpers / sounds you're making as you bury your face into his neck 😏✨

-@/daisymunson (because sadly it's not my main huhu)

Sorry this took so long

Your chest was heaving as your poor legs have been working tirelessly to bounce on Eddie’s cock.

“Fuck baby, you like that don’t you, fucking so good” Eddie moaned “I’m going to call you my little bunny. Love hoping on my cock.”

He loved that you took charge that so far every time you’ve fucked, which was only three, you were on top. He could watch your tits bounce for him as your rode him, how your fingers dug into his shoulders for balance. How you would lean down into him to kiss which only made him slip in deeper.

You wanted to enjoy yourself, you loved the feeling of his cock brushing up against your inner walls but, god you were so tired.

The pain in your thighs was more intense than the feeling of Eddie inside of you. The only thing you could focus on was the burning in your thighs, you were worried you would cramp up if you kept going so you slowed down.

“What’s wrong? Are you not into this?” Eddie could see you were off in another world. You hadn’t been making as much eye contact, your face was scrunching up like you were in pain.

“No ,I am… it’s just” you trailed off with heavy breaths as you paused.

“Tell me” he squeezed the sides of your hips, only making your pussy clench down on him.

“My legs are tired…” you let out an embarrassed laugh.

“Baby why didn’t you say something?”

“I thought you’d be turned off if I made you do all that work…”

“Why the hell would I be turned off by that?” He guides your chin with a single finger to look at him.

Your eyes looked down as your face turned hot. The other men you’d been with expected you to be in top, so what would make Eddie any different?

“Because everyone else has…”

“Everyone else— who? what?" Eddie stumbled over his words. He was dumbfounded. "so you never had someone on top of you?!" he needed to clarify.

you shamefully shake your head no and eddie moves into action at lightning speed, flipping you on your back unexpectedly.

"now baby, you just lay there and look pretty. Let me do all of the work."

His hard cock re-enters you and at this angle he is so deep inside you let out a cry of pleasure.

Eddie's hips rut into you at a speed at which you could never gain while you were on top. The sensation was so overwhelming you lost yourself in the moment.

Your soft mewls quickly turned into long outwards moans of pleasure.

Eddie’s never see you so fucked out there was no way you were getting on top in a while if this is how he could make you feel.

His big hands were pressed to the backs of your plush thighs, pushing them as wide as you’re let them.

“Fuck you’re taking my cock so good baby, sucking me in so good it’s hard to pull out.” His eyes focused on the place where you connected. He loved seeing the creamy ring forming at the base of his cock with each thrust into you.

You were lost in the feeling, overpowered by what Eddie was able to give you. Was this the kind of sex you’re been missing out on? Being taken care of your partner. Yes it was.

Your body started to tighten as the impending orgasm was to wash over you. You felt light headed and the only thing you could focus on was how Eddie’s cock pounding inside your pussy. Your hands grabbed his back and your legs wrapped around him like a koala bear, pulling him closer and closer. You never wanted to disconnect your bodies after this.

“Eddie!” You screamed as your pussy clamped down on his cock and a rush of pleasure flowed through your body.

“Yea that’s it, fucking cum on my cock” his hips never slowed, the room was filled with the wet snaking sound of skin on skin. The room smelled of sex and sweat. Your haze never lifted until Eddie’s hips sputtered as he came.

You broke the minutes of silence of catching your breath.

“I didn’t know it could be like that”

“There are so many more positions I want you in baby we are just getting started.

[jaysgirlx]

Hey bby, give us a needy Jason plsss

needy jason todd is something else…

he's not embarrassed to beg and plead for your touch especially when you know he wants it too. sometimes they'll start for soft like the need to hold you and caress your face but as time went off he grew comfortable with wanting more.

"baby look at me, please"

"jay what about the movie?"

"i rather look at you all day than this dumb movie"

jason needed your absolute attention when you were with him, he was yours and he wanted you to focus on that. he didn't just give himself to anyone and he wanted to show you that, so yes he had to be needy. but you can't just blame him, you don't stop his needy behavior because you like it too.

"eyes down here princess," he said while lapping his tongue over your cunt. you didn't know how he'd have his eyes locked with yours but also be so good with his tongue. he'd gripped your thighs roughly if you even thought about looking away. he didn't just want your attention he needed it.

he wanted to leave kisses and bites all over your body constantly. there wasn't a time when he didn't want his body pressing against yours, whether it was from the front or back. he needed to feel you everywhere. and he needed your eyes on him while he did it.

sometimes he'd even kiss you at random times and they'd become so hot and heavy so quickly like he was so in need of your lips. he'd even grab your butt in public a couple of times, just cause he couldn't help it and he knew that for sure would get your attention. you were so cute and pretty all the time and it was all just for him.

if he had to occasionally slip his hand under your shirt to do that he didn't care. sometimes you'd pretend not to notice but it was hard to ignore your boyfriend when he sucking on your tits like his life depended on it.

"j-jay i have work and- "

"please baby, let me taste them a bit more? god your breasts are so sweet" he says while practically drooling on your breasts. he sucks on your nipples while you're gripping on the couch for dear life. you feel his cock growing hard against your leg and you're grinding against him want more than just this. he's the main reason why you can't do work at home.

and one thing about needy Jason is that when he fucks you, he grabs your face. you have to be looking at him even if he's fucking you from behind. he knows you love him, but having your constant attention brings something else out of him.

[eupheme]

So I finally watched Fallout. Really cool. Loved the main characters a lot. Totally going to be normal about it all 🫠 Also, if you're still taking requests, what about #10 "Spread your legs wider" with The Ghoul but in two different contexts? One where he's (begrudgingly) teaching reader how to shoot and another that's spicy.

ooh hi anon, I love this idea! 👀💖 these were such fun scenarios to explore together, I hope you like this! thank you so much for sending it in!

— on target

cooper howard / the ghoul x f!reader

rated e - 1.8k

Tags: weapon practice, pining, flirting, big dick cooper howard, parters-with-benefits, mutual mast, rough PiV

Two times the Ghoul tells you to spread your legs, and two times that you listen.

"Again."

You frown, a sideways glance from over your shoulder, "But I hit it."

A neat mark pierces clean through in the outlined target. Low and to the left, but still within the boundaries. A win in your book, compared to the mess where you started.

"That'd just slow a fella down, not kill 'em." The Ghoul snaps, "If you were aimin' for a head, you'd have missed. Again."

You sigh, as you peer down the sights. Somewhere along the way, your desire to learn became a desire to prove him wrong.

That you could be - would be - good at this.

Enough time spent watching him - drawing and firing before you can even blink - to know, out of anyone in the Mojave Wasteland, that you wanted it to be him to teach you.

But the Ghoul had been reluctant to show you how to shoot. Seemed content enough to handle things himself, when shit went down. A sneering curl of his lip, when you had asked.

"Shoot your own damn foot off, sweetheart," He scoffed, "Then were'd we be?"

You had pushed. Never begging, you wouldn't stoop to that. Just needling - a reminder of how much use you could be to him if you could truly have his back.

He had laughed. Hadn't needed someone in two-hundred years to do that. Doesn't know why he'd start to worry about someone watching his back now.

But, he relented. A small pistol pressed in your hand, with a spinning chamber and everything.

The next shot you take is closer, but still too low.

With a grunt, he's manhandling you. A hand at your waist, at the small of your back - moving you into position. His knee pressing to yours, a heavy boot nudging your own.

"Spread your legs wider, now." His voice is low in your ear, making you shiver, "Center your gravity."

Your body is slow to respond. Caught up in how close he is, how his touch feels electric - even through the layers.

"You listenin’, vaultie?" The sharp tone snaps you back, as you do as he says. Thighs inching wider, the curve of your ass pressing against his front.

"Good girl." He hums - the syllables drawing out - and it shoots straight through you.

A heat pounding in your cheeks as his hands still rest at your waist. Solid and unyielding, as he always was.

It takes a real effort to raise your arms and aim again. Inhaling a breath, and holding it.

His voice rough, as he rasps in your ear.

"Now, take the shot."

This time when you fire -

Your bullet hits dead center.

“Well, come on.” The Ghoul’s fingers pinch into your skin, “This was your idea now.”

As if he was no more than an innocent bystander. As if he doesn’t need this as much as you do, with the way he shifted into your wandering palm.

Your back arches, where it presses against the bedroll. Bare knees clamp against his waist. A boot lost to the wastes in your urge to rid yourself of clothing - pants and underwear in a twist around one of your shins.

Torn down after all that pent-up pressure finally came bubbling over.

“Spread ‘em wider, sweetheart.” There’s a tap against your thigh, a command in the low rasp of his voice. “Show me.”

Your heart thunders in your chest as you obey. Legs butterflying as they spread, dipping down as you open yourself up for him.

For once - instead of that laser focus on you, with that distrustful nature of his - those eyes dip down.

There’s a shark intake of breath. His fingers flex when he sees you - damp and glistening, as few things are out in the wasteland. The pretty gleam of your arousal as it drips from you.

Almost as if he means to touch. Sink two fingers deep, bury himself in you until you forget everything else.

Instead, they pinch against your hips. Slipping back up to work open that thick belt buckle. The sun glinting off ancient, yellowed resin as his layers loosen. Fingers closing around himself instead, easing the hard length free.

He’s thick, bigger than you thought. Your pulse spiking at the way his fingers, bigger than yours, just make it around. Ruined and red like the rest of him - though it doesn’t stifle the urge to part your lips and stick out your tongue.

The Ghoul’s chin dips down, when those eyes fix on yours again. A breath passes before realize what he wants - your own hand drifting. Your moan soft as the tips of your fingers press down, slowly sliding to your clit.

Teeth clenching down as your circle, aware of the sounds you make. Not just the hitch of your breath, but the loud, slick swirl of your fingers.

A betrayal, showing how much you need this - aching even before that first brush of his hands, guiding you into position.

His attentions transfixes you enough that you almost miss it. How his fist moves in tandem with yours, copying your rhythm.

It has your hips bucking into your touch, fingers rubbing just a little faster. Your lips parting with a harsh breath - torn between watching him get off to you, and wanting to see the look in his eyes doing it.

The decision makes itself - your eyes lifting until they’re dixing on each other, held until he makes a rough sound.

“Never seen you want somethin’ like this before,” He rasps, “You gonna ask nicely for this, too?”

His fingers tighten with the emphasis, squeezing. The tip gleaming with a pearl of precum, before it dribbles down to smear against his swollen tip.

Reminding you how you had needled at him to teach you, until he had barked a “fine, fuckin’ fine already-”. But this time, you can already feel that strung-tight wire inside you.

An innate knowledge that yes, it would be pleasurable to come with the heat of his gaze upon you - but to have his length buried deep, to come around his cock as he fucks you -

It would be incomparable.

“I need you,” You hear yourself beg.

“You need me to what?” His brow lifts, “Seems like you’re doin’ a fine job yourself.”

Your teeth grit, swallowing down your pride. The pace of your fingers just barely slowing - drawing it out, in the hopes he gives you what you need.

“Please,” The syllables draw out as you keen, “I need your cock, need you to fuck me-”

His eyes glitter in the afternoon sun, the cat that caught the canary.

“Where was this before, hm?” The Ghoul rasps, a twitch at the edge of his lips, “Could’ve gotten what you wanted a lot sooner, darlin’.”

Your answer comes out strangled, his hips moving just as your lips part. Fingers wrapped around his base to angle the tip. Nudging himself just inside the tight clench of your pussy - parting you open - before there’s the sharp forward punch of his hips.

It’s immediately too much.

The moan breaks, the air stolen from your lungs. Going from aching and empty to full in a second, all of your muscles going tight.

“Fuck, sweetheart.” He breathes - jaw gritting the same way when he had looked at you, on that last day of practice, “Gonna snap it clean off if you don’t relax.”

That hunger etched so clearly across your face, his hands still resting on your hips. Tired of the teasing. The flit of his hands and the shift of his hips into yours. The rock of his thigh against your core, just as you were about to fire.

“Don’t start somethin’ you can’t finish, sweetheart.” It had been rough in your ear, a warning and a challenge.

But if you could handle his gun - you could handle him, too.

With your own little snarl and a tilt of your head, you had kissed him. It feels like a dream, now, even though it was only a few moments ago.

And it’s only been a breath since you’ve been full of him, but each second lengthens. Your sounds bleeding into a whine as he starts to move - hands grasping at your hips, the thrusts starting shallow and turning longer.

“Not my fault.” You huff, that sharp sting easing into a syrupy warmth as he starts to move, “Didn’t tell me you were packing a-, a sarsaparilla bottle down there.”

“Is that right?” Lips wide stretch over stained teeth, “Can’t say I’ve heard that before.”

Your strangled laugh becomes a groan, as your start fingers swirl again. This is how it should be, you think - stuffed to the brim with him, as you bring yourself to the brink.

Eclipsing your quiet fumbling in the dark, the bitten-back hiss of pleasure. No more than a relief of tension and a way to sleep. Now, it’s so much more than that. The pleasure mounting, clicking upward - a geiger counter in the wastes.

Only for your cunt to tighten around him - a new wash of desire crashing over you - when the Ghoul inches his thighs wider. Arcing over you - his eyes narrowing when yours go wide, lips parting with a breathless gasp.

You wonder if he’s had as much practice with this, as he has with that gun of his. This new tilt of his hips sends him against a sensitive spot inside you, the tip nudging against it again and again.

He must, with the way he bares his teeth - the rough chuckle at the “oh fuck” that loosens from your throat.

The sound is like the sharp scrape of steel against flint to your ears. It would be startling if you didn’t know him the way you do.

“D-Don’t stop.” You beg again - the heel of a foot hitching to dig into his back, keeping him close, “Oh, you’re gonna make me come.”

“That’s the idea, sweetheart.” He growls - but for once he listens. That pace staying steady, his own chest heaving as you writhe beneath him.

Hips bucking to meet the sharp slap of his. Your touch too harsh, too needy. Pulling you to the edge with the realization that he wants to feel you come around him.

Just like he wanted to see you hit that target.

It’s that flicker of knowledge that sends you over.

The grin he gives you is near feral. Your head tilting back as the pleasure floods through you, sending your nerves endings alight.

Barely able to hear the soft echo of his words before.

“Good girl.”

thanks so much for reading! I have a few more requests I am working on, can’t wait to share them when I am done! 💖

[cartierre]

CHIHIRO | lh44

synopsis: and if all is too late, is there still a way to salvage what we once called love?

pairing: lewis hamilton x fem!reader (formerly), theo james x fem!reader (mentioned) warnings: angst, heartbreak, (some) vulgar language, lots of dialogue, no use of y/n word count: 2.1k

author's note: yes this is inspired by billie eilish's song 'chihiro' and also a bit by nicole's and lewis' relationship/break up! tried to be experimental, please give me your honest opinion about this i beg you. this is also not proof read since i hate reading my own stuff!

You’re fine. 

Everything’s fine.

You’re so close.

No one can take this away from you now.

Taking a deep breath, the only thing you could concentrate on were your shaky hands in front of you, the many voices behind you overlapping and blurring into each other. You couldn’t distinguish your mother’s voice from your sister’s, or your bridesmaid’s from your friend’s. Your dad was out there somewhere, getting everyone to take their destined place to take one worry off your mind. 

The dress you picked out months ago suddenly starts to suffocate you, the white blinding your eyes in an uncomfortable manner. You couldn’t decipher what happened. A minute ago you felt like the most beautiful woman on earth and the next you felt like ripping off your own skin. 

You have cold feet.

No, no I don’t.

“I think I need some fresh air.”

The voices behind you stopped at once. There was a split second of awkward silence before you could hear some feet shuffling over to you. Your mother’s concerned face appeared in your view. You could tell she tried to hide her worry. 

“Are you sure my darling?” She asked. You just nodded without looking into her eyes.

“Yeah, I'm fine. Don’t worry.”

Don’t worry, your daughter is just having a panic attack.

“Should Savannah accompany you?” She looked at your sister, waving her over to help you up. You shook your head no. 

“I just need a moment to calm down from all the excitement.” You lied to their faces, sending them your most believable smile you had in store. You were a great liar, the perks of being an actress. 

Throwing over a soft robe to at least conceal some of the wedding dress, you hurried out of the suffocating room. You smiled and nodded at some of the people you passed by, trying to hold up your act of a happy bride. This is supposed to be the happiest day of your life after all.

Getting out of the small house next to the main one, you fled the eyes of the guests and escaped into the big, blossoming garden, finding your way into the massive maze that adorned the centrepiece. The old mansion behind you disappears from your sight and with each step away from the buzzing preparations of the wedding, your breath starts to normalise again. 

Bending over and holding yourself up by your knees, you caught your breath. The heavy feeling started to disperse, your mind clearing up. Closing your eyes, you tried to focus on your surroundings.

The mild wind breezed through your hair and caressed your face, you could hear the leaves from the many hedgerows making up the maze and the water splashing softly against the fountain. Birds chirped in the distance and you could faintly make out some people’s voices up at the mansion. 

And some footsteps approaching you.

“The centrepiece of the hedge maze might not be the most convenient hiding spot.”

You tensed, your eyes snapping open and you straighten your back. He was behind you, so he couldn’t see the shock written clearly all over your face.

“I didn’t think you’d come.” You still hadn’t turned around. 

“It would be rude to turn down a wedding invitation without a good reason.” He answered, and you could hear his steps getting louder and louder behind you.

He slowly came into view. You had yet to turn your head into his direction, but from the side you could see him sitting down on one of the stone benches next to you. 

Finally, you turned your whole body to him. He wore a black suit, classic yet he made it seem so chic. His hair was braided back, his beard trimmed neatly and you could see some of his tattoos peeking out from underneath. Gold jewellery adorned his ears, his neck and hands.

He looked absolutely ethereal.

“And I figured if you didn’t want me to be here, you wouldn’t have invited me.”

You felt your body burn out of embarrassment. You didn’t answer him, you just kept staring at him with your most neutral face you could muster. 

“Theo was the one who suggested it.” 

He chuckled, and part of you wanted to melt right there. 

“He’s always been a gentleman.”

Silence. Birds chirping, leaves blowing, water splashing, the occasional yell from someone up the mansion. 

“I see you’ve got the venue you always wanted.” He looked around. “The waiting list must’ve been long.”

“They made an exception for us.” You kept your answers to a minimum.

“Right.” He nodded and kept admiring your surroundings. “The perks of being rich and famous.”

His eyes found yours again, you felt your heart stop for a second before returning to a rather fast speed. You hoped you kept your cool at least from outside.

“You look beautiful.” His eyes soften, the smile on his lips genuine.

“Thank you.” You gave him a nod.

“Theo is a lucky man.”

You could’ve been that lucky man.

“So they say.” 

He chuckled again. “You used to be more talkative.”

“Maybe I just don’t want to hold a conversation with you.” He laughed at your words, shaking his head.

“Say the words and I leave.”

You kept silent. He smiled.

“You have cold feet.” You felt like an arrow just entered right in the middle of your guts. “That’s why you’re out here and not up there.”

He analysed your body language. 

Fuck, he’s always been good at reading you like an open book.

“You’re scared.” He finalised his conclusion. “I’m just figuring out why… You always wanted this. Big engagement, great wedding, grand marriage…” He placed his chin on his hands, his arms resting on his upper legs. “What are you scared of?”

You bit your lip, your arms felt heavy on your sides, your fingers started to fiddle with the material of the robe. You felt so naked in front of him, so insecure and exposed. Your breath starts to pick up again.

“What are you running from, my love?”

He felt your body language change up in pace, your neutral stance completely flipping over. He stood up, his face painted in worry as he approached you. “Hey, I didn’t mean-”

“Fuck you, Lewis!” You took a step away and he stilled instantly. “Don’t fucking call me your love!”

You breathed heavily, as if you were close to exploding from all the emotions flowing inside you. Maybe you were.

You’re fine. 

Everything’s fine.

You’re so close.

No one can take this away from you now.

You calmed yourself again.

The birds are chirping.

The leaves are blowing.

The water is splashing.

The wedding is happening.

“I’m sorry.” You apologised. “I shouldn’t have said that.”

Lewis looked at you, you avoided his gaze. You could sense him sitting down again. 

“I think you swearing at me is the closest I’ve seen from the you I know.”

“Well, you don’t know me anymore.” You snapped. “You haven’t in years.”

He sighed. “Yeah, I guess I haven’t.”

You sighed too, your hands dropping to your sides again. You know you should just leave and return to your girls. They were probably already looking for you. 

Yet you took one step after the other and sat down next to him. 

“I am scared.” You confessed. You didn’t know why you were telling him this. Maybe because you felt like he was the only person you could talk to. “It was supposed to be you.”

Your mother would kill you for having such thoughts and your friends wouldn’t understand. Your sister would roll her eyes at you and god forbid your future mother-in-law knows about any of the doubts you had about marrying her son.

“I know.” His words made you smile sadly. 

You looked at him and he looked at you. You don’t think anyone has ever looked at you the way he did. No one, not even Theo.

“You were always meant to be a bride.” He twirled a strand of hair of yours between his fingers. “I just wasn’t meant to be a groom.”

You looked away and he let go of your hair, his hand lingering for a second in the air before dropping onto his lap. 

“I know.” Now he was the one smiling sadly.

You fiddled with the bow holding together your robe. Your thoughts were racing, but none made sense. 

“You shouldn’t be scared.” He took your hand in his, his fingers playing with your engagement ring. “You wouldn’t be wearing this if it was wrong to marry him.”

“Sometimes I catch myself thinking what ring I’d be wearing if you had been ready at the time.” You breathed out, leaning back against the bench. “And then I feel silly thinking that way about a man who has broken me in a way I thought I was never going to recover from it.” You snatched away your hand from his grip.

You heard him sigh next to you. He held his face in his hands and you could tell he was ashamed of his past actions. “I was an asshole.”

You chuckled at his words bitterly. “Yeah, you were.”

There was some understanding silence between you. This time it didn’t feel uncomfortable, no, more reassuring. He knew, you knew. There was no need to focus on your surroundings.

“I don’t think I want you at my wedding.” You breathed shakingly, unsure how he’d react to your words. You looked at him on your side. He was already staring at you. His eyes were sad, yet he understood you. He always did.

“Can you do me a favour?” He asked. “Can you show me your dress?”

Without any further words, you stood up and unveiled yourself from your robe. He sucked in a breath.

It wasn’t particularly extravagant. The simple cut hugging you perfectly as if it was custom made for you. Maybe because it was. The designer of your choice had outdone themselves, keeping it the exact same way you had envisioned it. 

Elegant, modern, ethereal.

It took Lewis a minute to compose himself. He never thought he’d see you in a wedding dress. Part of him regrets that he asked you to show yourself to him.

“You’re an angel.” You don’t look like an angel, you are an angel. You blushed.

You took your robe again, covering yourself up as much as you could. “Thank you.”

For a second you stood there and took a deep look at him. The way he sat there, it had changed. Before, he looked so confident, so sure of himself. After he saw you in your dress, you weren’t sure what to make of him.

He looked small.

“I should go.” You couldn’t bear it any longer. You’ve already talked too much to him.

Why were you still here? 

You turned around without waiting for his response. Taking the ends of your dress in your hand, you made sure to not get any dirt on it as you stepped away from the man you once loved. Once.

“I think-”

You staggered, halting in your movements. You were a few feet away from him, already at the entrance of the maze to make your way out of it. Turning around, you saw him as he stood up. 

“I think maybe I would’ve been ready.” He nodded unsure. “At one point.”

You stared at him, your lips pressed against each other. 

“I think I was overwhelmed by it all. My career, my team, you… That’s why I ran away.”

You kept staring at him without uttering a word, your dress still held up slightly. He continued.

“I think I see that vision of yours now.” He took a shaken breath. “It’s really beautiful.”

You felt your stomach twist and your hands grabbing the material of your dress more aggressively. Why did he tell you all this now? Was he trying to sabotage you? He’s done it once, you needed to make sure he wouldn’t do it again. Not this time, never again.

You cleared your throat. “I meant it, don’t come to my wedding.”

“Wait, I-”

“Lewis,” You interrupted him. “My love isn’t yours anymore. You’re the one who needs to let go now.”

And with that you turned your back to him, your face looking up at the mansion that stood upon you. Your future lay there. He couldn’t stop you anymore.

You’re fine. 

Everything’s fine.

You’re so close.

No one can take this away from you now.

You’ve never looked back again.

[anundyingfidelity]

PRIVATE LESSONS – Sanji x female reader

Summary: on what is supposed to be another of your private cooking lessons, you and Sanji get closer... in a very intimate way.

Pairing: Sanji x female reader.

Word count: 2k.

Warnings: pure fucking, dirty, obscene fingerfucking smut, some plot, heavy hand kink, eye contact, language (also reader thinks herself as a slut at some point), fingering, cum play(?), semi-public, praising, pet names (darling, sweetheart, good girl...).

Notes: this is just full of smut so yeah. Idk, this is my realization that I am a Sanji whore. Enjoy you sinners. And I'm sorry for any errors as English is not my main language. (I'll keep apologizing for this lol).

☕ if you like my writing, support me with a ko-fi !

Probably will make a part 2 to consumate this shit, but I can't promise I will...

GEN MASTERLIST!

Months ago, you started at the Baratie as a waitress but your biggest wish was cooking. And Sanji was there to help you with that. You had absolutely no idea how to start, lucky for you, the blonde chef of the restaurant was aware of your dreams. So you started lessons after your shift.

"Can't deny the wishes of a pretty thing like you," you remembered Sanji saying when you finally asked him to teach you. He winked and put a playful smirk on his lips.

Yes, Sanji was a flirt - but he was a flirt with everyone. So you never took personally his random comments and hits, until you started your cooking classes.

The Baratie was always closed and there was no one but Sanji and you in the kitchen. He had started with the basic stuff, like chopping vegetables and soft meat, and making easy entries and sidedishes.

There was a problem though. This was almost the fourth week you were receiving his lessons and you found out there was something distracting you a lot recently: his hands.

His beautiful, strong hands, that, in a delicate manner, would slice a fish and would convert it in the most delicious dish you ever tasted ever. You became so immersed in his hands doing little to nothing. Even if Sanji wasn't cooking, just fixing his hair or having a cigarrette, everything you could keep your focus on was his beautiful fingers, sometimes wearing pretty rings and jewels around them. And the way the veins on his big hands would appear... Gods, your mind started to wonder a lot of things and it was becoming difficult keeping your focus on the special salad you were preparing that night.

"You're doing great, love," Sanji whispered, staying right behind you and monitoring carefully your chopping like an inspector.

His sweet words were no help for you at all. With a deep breath, you finished with the last eggplant. Sanji immediately came closer and leaned behind your back, and you controled the loud gasp that was about to burst. You felt his strong body pressed against your own, and he suddenly grabbed your hand still holding the knife to start chopping a small piece of the eggplant you just finished. His arms were now sorrounding your figure as he guided softly on how you were supposed to cut it.

"Just make sure to cut them like this, see?"

All you could give was a nod. Fuck, you felt so embarrassed, hypnotized by his hands working on the must mundane activities in the whole world, grabbing firmly the knife between his fingers.

Those thick fingers you fantasized about late at night; not letting you pay attention to the important things Sanji would say to you about cooking. Those fingers you wished to have inside you right now, to lick them, to suck on them until they were completely dry... You rub your thighs together and try to keep your thoughts locked to continue with the lesson.

"Yeah, I see now. Thanks, Sanji," you were surprised you were actually able to talk.

You heard his chuckle behind you before shifting and come by your side, leaving you free of his grip and the warmth of his hands that you were already missing.

"Lets plate then."

Sanji guided you on how to place each ingredient on the bowl, making it harder for you to follow his pace. It took longer than you expected, but you were trying to keep your shit together; your skirt and shirt suddenly felt too tight on your figure and you tried to not rub your thighs, even if you wished for some friction right now.

Once the bowl was done, Sanji took the small plate with the sauce you prepared earlier and gave it a delicate taste, licking the spoon with his tongue.

Why did he look so hot just by doing anything? Was he aware of the effect he had in you lately? Was he teasing you? Or where you just hot and bothered already? No answer you had for any of those questions.

Sanji wrinkled his brows, savoring the sauce with such delicacy, and after a moment or so of thinking he looked at you.

"I think something is missing," he said.

"What? I put everything that was on the recipe for the sauce." In a swift move, you took the spoon from his hand and had a taste yourself. "Seems okay for me."

The chef tsked. "Darling, you need to taste it differently. Deeper, go further than usual."

Sanji dipped his forefinger on the sauce and brought it to your lips. With hesitation, you opened your mouth and licked the sauce from his finger, not only tasting the sauce but savouring the moment. Was he aware of how you looked at his hands? You were not going to question it. Not when you carefully wrapped your soft lips around him, closing your eyes slowly, arousal building up between your legs. His words were no help either, it was like if he was testing the waters and so were you.

You felt Sanji pulling out his finger from your mouth and you let out a soft moan. You wanted to snap yourself. He smirked, he obviously heard your pretty noise.

"Sorry..." you were ashamed but the burning desire was growing and winning over you. What a fucking slut, you thought to yourself. It didn't matter right now. You just had a taste of his fingers.

"So what'd you say?" Sanji interrupted the voice inside your head.

Your dark eyes looked intensely his charming blue ones. "I still think the taste is good."

Sanji leaned down, almost brushing your lips and looking like if he was forcing himself to not press his lips to yours right there and then. Until he did. He captured your lips in a heated and rough kiss, his tongue finding its way into your mouth and tasting the sauce and the sweetness of your plump lips. One of his hands cupped your cheek and the other pulled you closer, forcing your back to press against the counter. Now, you were trapped between his body and the surface.

A moan escaped your throat and Sanji happily swallowed it on the heated make out session you shared. He lifted you up so you were sitting on the empty side of the counter, taking shallow breaths, as he stood between your parted legs, stroking the skin of your thighs without any rush.

"I've noticed you look at my hands so attentively," he mumbled, biting your lower lip softly. You gasped, but he continued. "Why's that?"

His question left you speechless for a moment. Did he really need to ask?

"Sanji, I already licked your finger..."

His palms traced their way under your skirt, and his fingers teased your inner thighs, finding the fabric covering your wet core.

"Well, darling, doesn't that mean we can go further? Deeper?"

"Go ahead then," you mumbled, full of lust. Your skin was aching already for him and this was all you needed to feel complete. Him.

With that, his fingers rubbed you softly over your panties, pressing on the wet patch you were already making. Sanji smirked and he leaned to pay attention to the delicate skin on your neck. His lips pressed soft kisses, leaving a trail of them, until he found the sweet spot that made you melt into his touch, nibbling and sliding his tongue against your neck until he met your collarbone.

"Sanji..." the soft whimper past your lips and you held your breath, eyes closed as he hiked up your uniform skirt and puts aside the panties covering your core from him.

His name falling off your lips made his cock inside his trousers twitch, restraining himself to not fuck you right there in the counter until the only thing that was on your mind was his name and only him. Right now, he decided he would take care of you first. As you deserved it.

"So fucking wet for me, sweetheart," he groaned, forehead pressing against yours.

His fingers found your pussy, spreading your folds softly, coating them with your already dripping juices. Sanji rubbed your clit and he teased your entrance, going at an agonizing rhythm. All you wanted was for him to fuck you with his fingers. Now. You started to grind your hips, needing some more friction, knowing he would get the hint of your despair.

"Please, Sanji," you whined.

Sanji chuckled, and you felt pathetic for begging. You could tell he was enjoying your squirm. His free hand cupped the nape of your neck forcing your dark eyes to look at his own directly.

"Look at me," Sanji ordered. "Do not dare to close your eyes, darling."

You bit your lip and nodded, gripping tightly the edge of the counter.

"Good girl," he whispered with a raspy voice, and with a lustful smile on his lips. "I want to see you come undone."

And with his statement, he eased one digit inside your velvety walls. You moaned louder this time.

"Fuck, you're so ready for me," Sanji growled, noticing how obvious the ache between your thighs was. "You're perfect, darling," he cooed against your lips. His praising caused your walls to clench around him, gaining another dark smile from the blonde man.

The thrusts of his finger started in a delicate pace. Instantly, your eyes clenched, breath hitching, as he filled you up. Sanji gradually increased his pace, curling his finger to reach your deepest spot, and you felt your juices coating your thighs with his moves.

"You look at me, don't forget," Sanji whispered, his other hand now cupping your cheek. You obeyed, opening your eyes for him.

A second finger made its way inside your cunt and he pumped them harder this time. Your legs were spreading wider, moaning against his lips, dying to kiss him one more time. But you tried your hardest to mantain the deep eye contact, realizing where you were right now. In the empty kitchen of the Baratie, with the blonde chef between your legs, fucking you with his pretty fingers. Those he protected and took care of so attentively.

And now, the only place Sanji wanted to have his fingers on was inside of you. You looked flushed, sweaty and simply gorgeous, cyring and whimpering. All for him. Your pussy was throbbing and you let a rather loud and erotic moan.

"Shit, I'm so close," you cried.

"Just come for me, beautiful..."

His lips catching your swollen ones in a heated kiss. He curled up his fingers, thumb rubbing your clit softly. Your hips trying to meet the thrusts of his hand desperately, your smooth walls clenching around his digits. Sanji realized he enjoyed the control and power he had over you as you reached your heavenly climax. He loved it more than he could ever think of.

Your body trembled, and finally, you felt sweet release hitting you, walls spasming in ecstasy around his fingers. Foreheads still touching, eyes locked as he watched you come undone. Exactly like he wanted it to be.

You moaned his name under your breath over and over, filled with pleassure. Sanji felt your thighs closing and your pussy contracting around his digits. He let you catch your breath for a moment, enjoying the heat of your body. For the first time, Sanji then pulled away his forehead, remaining still between your legs, and slowly removing his fingers from your throbbing cunt, eyes looking directly to your wetness.

Still covered with your juices, Sanji used both his hands to spread your folds obscenely to get a better look at your pussyhole. Fuck, you felt so exposed to him, but you couldn't care less. You had a mindblowing orgasm just moments ago.

"Fuck-" you cried.

"So beautiful," he praised. Again, you whimpered and your hips bucked a little.

Sanji pushed a finger slowly inside you, just to gather more of your sweetness, so he could finally have a taste. He licked both fingers he used on you before, humming like he had found the best meal in days.

"So how is it?" you finally asked, teasing him.

"Sweetheart, you're delicious."

You laughed softly, realising you totally forgot about the dish you were preparing that night. "Is this included on your private lessons, Sanji?"

"Only if you want," he leaned down to share a last kiss, this time more gentle than the others.

He already knew your answer.

[angelstate]

“Unprioritized Love”

Husband!Price x Wife!Reader

Price is a loyal person, he thinks about everyone else before himself and doesn’t hesitate to do something he normally would be against if it means saving the people he cares for, it truly is a blessing at times, the way his priorities don’t falter…until they do.

because he is a loyal person but does not know or pretends not to know in which situations he should stand by one person instead of the other, it’s conflicting for him to choose someone when another person is also expecting his support.

it hurts a lot when you’re caught in that sort of situation with him, you’re his lover, his companion in life, and the person he returns home to, but you’re also the person he leaves behind for his team, you’re the one who waits around for him while the team gets him almost all the time.

and you know jealousy isn’t healthy, that you shouldn’t resent anyone because it's his job, he has to leave to provide for you, you cannot bite the hand that feeds you, it would be wrong, it wouldn’t be pretty, it wouldn’t be fair for him.

so you bite your tongue and nod like a child when he tells you about his job, about him going away once more, for longer this time. and the tears in your eyes are hard to be held back, because God, it hurts a lot to be left behind, all by yourself. away from your family and your lover, only an empty home to satisfy your basic needs.

He doesn’t mean to be an absent presence, the lack of a lover in your life. He truly doesn’t mean to give so little to you, to not hold you every night. but between his job and you…he knows which one he isn’t choosing even if he doesn’t say it out loud. 

“I'll be back when I can, alright?” he speaks, voice gruff as he looks around the room, his hands on his hips, you stay seated on the couch, knees close to your chest and your eyes glued to the TV for a distraction, is better to pretend you don’t care than to show him how much you are beginning to hate the dynamic he created in your life.

“mhm” you hum in agreement, taking a big breath and holding it in before exhaling through your nose, not trusting that if you open your mouth, a sob wouldn’t escape, Price notices the lack of words from your part, you always have something to say, a small joke to make about him better bringing you a souvenir or something from his “trip” but when this time you don’t speak or even dare to look at him makes him anxious.

“Want me to bring you something?” he asks, taking a few steps towards you, looking towards the TV, a baking program playing, and your focus on the show makes him raise an eyebrow, you aren’t one to enjoy cooking so he doesn't understand why you’re watching it. 

“no thanks” you respond, and the answer makes him feel like he’s done something wrong that made you upset, the last 4 days he’s been home replaying in his mind, trying to remember what could’ve made you get angry with him, nothing comes to mind sadly, and he feels clueless about everything surrounding you. 

“I thought you don’t like cooking” He decides to comment, shifting the conversation to something more banal and easy to speak about. “I started baking almost 8 months ago” you answer him back, voice flat and your eyes strained on the TV, the recipe to make pavlova having your main focus, it makes Price frustrated, how you won’t look at him, won’t give him the time of day when he’s leaving tomorrow.

you don’t expect him to know how your life develops and the things that change when he's away most of the time, it wouldn’t be fair to expect him to pay you attention when he already has a tough and complicated job to do, his salary pays for the kitchen supplies and food after all. it wouldn’t be fair to expect him to know you... god, how stupid is that?

“You didn’t tell me” Price states, his voice carrying a heaviness that reveals he is irritated about not being told something he should’ve known if he paid attention to the new things in the kitchen like the stand mixer next to the electric oven. 

“I thought I mentioned it when I gave you to try the brownies I made yesterday” you retort, your eyes landing on him for a second before returning to the TV, your gaze isn’t welcoming or warm and it creates a pit on his stomach to see you so detached and unresponsive to something he knew should make you upset.

It brings a sort of heaviness to his chest as he notices he doesn’t have the right to feel offended about not being told something when you should be upset about him not noticing in the first place something that occurred in his own home. It is hypocritical and he knows it.

Price stays silent for a long time, the sound of the TV filling in the silence that was created between the two of you, he feels out of place, not knowing how to answer you, what to do, what is the problem he feels he should be fixing right now.

“you should start packing” you comment after almost five minutes, and that phrase is said with a monotone tone, not one of sadness or a little bit of frustration that he’s leaving again, it's a tone that just states the obvious, you declare that he should pack his bag once more because otherwise he would leave with nothing for his mission and that wouldn’t be optimal.

“Can you help me pack?” He asks for a favor you often offer without him mentioning wanting your help. tonight you don’t offer assistance, almost like you aren’t faced by his departure, used to his absence, used to his side of the bed being empty.

“I’m watching TV” you speak and his heart breaks a little bit, you don’t sound apologetic as you often do when you’re not able to help him, and he’s leaving but he feels you left instead, that the girl he married is no longer in the house even though he has you in front of him, too focused on looking at the tv to help him.

he nods at your answer and doesn’t try to persuade you into doing something you don’t want to, it wouldn’t be fair to force you to help him just because he wants you to, it isn’t fair for you to give a hand and for him to take your arm. Loving someone isn’t really fair.

Only when he leaves the living room to go pack do your tears make their way out of your eyes, running down your cheeks as you cry silently, vision too blurry to even distinguish the images on the TV, it feels almost pathetic to be crying alone, your lover packing to leave and not be able to bring yourself to help him abandon you once again.

If you were his pet it would be abuse for him to just leave, but you're a woman and therefore being alone and left behind isn’t unexpected, being the one to stay home is almost an obligation when your lover leaves to provide for you even if you wish they stayed.

you’re not sure how it begins to be fair to be put in this situation, when the missions of 4 weeks turned into 4 months. When knowing everything about each other turned into barely remembering anniversaries and birthdays.

You don’t want to say the relationship fell apart because you doubt there’s anything at all to be destroyed anymore, you love him though, the pain in your chest and the tears falling from your eyes are proof of that, but you are not sure John loves you.

It’s uncertain how he views you after not spending time together for almost two years, you doubt there is nothing more than just an acknowledgment of your existence in his life, a statement that he knows you're his partner but not enough love to call you his lover.

“Why are you crying darling?” the sudden voice of Price pulls you out of your thoughts, the place next to you on the couch sinking as he takes a sit beside you, resting his elbows on his knees while his eyes examine your expression, you look utterly distraught about something, your breathing uneven and shaky as you begin to sob loudly, unable to talk as all your emotions came crashing down.

and the sight of you crying, digging your nails into your thighs, and being desperate for a peace that will not come, makes a heavy feeling of guilt and worry sit on his shoulders, wrapping an arm around your waist and another under your knees, bringing you into his lap and putting your face on the crook of his neck while you cried, sobs muffled against his skin, your tears wetting his shirt.

“take a deep breath love” Price says in your ear, your breathing so erratic that it makes him worried you will suffocate at some point because of the lack of oxygen in your body, he feels your chest against him as you do as he told you, taking deep breaths the best you can, trying to calm down for your and his sake.

you’ve never been one to cry with so much despair, to need his comfort in times of need because you managed well on your own, he was never around to solve your sorrow either so why bother? But today, he is the reason you're crying and it seems fair that he is the one to comfort you, that your only chore is to cry and keep your breathing somewhat stable while he does everything else to fix what he broke.

He doesn't know where to begin though, unaware of where he stands or what he should do to bring peace into your mind, what words will fix his mistake, and what words will tear you apart even more, he doesn’t want to cause you harm, not consciously, not right now. it wouldn’t be fair to you, it wouldn’t be fair to your heart, it would be cruel. and he doesn’t want to be cruel to you, not anymore.

“I’m sorry love…I should’ve been good to you” he whispers, kissing the top of your head, rocking you back and forth on his lap, soothing you like he would to a child, his voice low and soft, his hand caressing your thighs in a comforting manner. 

“I don’t know why I didn’t notice that you started baking, it was wrong, I didn’t notice you when I should’ve noticed every change you’ve had over the last two years” he continuous, speaking out the guilt he carried in his chest the moment he saw you and heard you break down into tears, your sobs engraved in his mind.

“I’m really sorry for missing out on all of this when I was gone, I shouldn’t have been such a bad husband, you don’t deserve that” he sighs, his eyes stinting a little bit from the tears beginning to form, and your calmer now, sniffling and whimpering, the tears slowly stopping, but it seems that your distraught was transferred to him because he doesn’t feel at ease, he feels the guilt eat him alive while he soothes you.

“I don't want you to leave…” you mumble, adjusting on his lap, your head resting against his chest, you have never wanted him to leave home, to go on missions for months on end with little to no contact with your lover, it feels like you're mourning him every time he goes away and doesn’t give you a small message to let you know he wasn’t killed.

“I know sweet girl” he replies, he doesn’t want to leave either, he never wants to, even though he continues to do so. It's a complicated situation, one he doesn’t dare to think about too much because he’ll end up ripping his heart out, his loyalty not being able to distribute equally for you and his team, always the latter winning even if he doesn’t dare to admit it.

he wants to promise you he’ll return quickly this time and will take a leave just to spend time with you, to dedicate more time to what's left of your relationship, he doesn’t want your marriage to fail, you’re the only woman he wants, the only one he had ever seen himself grow old together, he doesn’t want to let that go because of his own stupid and selfish mistakes.

He has to leave tomorrow, but when he’s back he’ll fix everything.

“I'll be back soon” he mumbles against your hair, face buried in it as breathes in your smell, trying to engrave it in his mind, to not forget this time details about you he has always loved. 

Thankfully, his promise becomes reality, and after two weeks of loneliness that have never felt heavier on your chest, he returns, a bouquet of flowers in his hand and a smile on his lips, happy to see you, to see the warmth and loving gaze you always give him back in your eyes after all this time.

He steps through the door, your face pressed against his chest, refusing to let go of him, fearing he would leave even if it wasn’t unreasonable, he had returned early for you, he had seen his mistakes and was fixing what never should’ve been broken

Peace is restored in your home, love is flourishing once again in your marriage, and whatever plans you had made to start over get discarded, you’re already having a fresh start, one that doesn’t involve leaving your lover. this time is a start with a more conscious man who is ready to do everything right by you, to never let his job affect the way he loves you. He's learning that his wife comes first, that his life outside of the military also has the same and more importance than his job.

(little reminder: I'm taking requests if you want me to write something specific xx)

[sebsxphia]

your (my) life with rhett abbott.

rhett abbott x reader.

￫ summary: a life with rhett.

￫ word count: 680.

￫ warnings: mentions of sex, some angst, children and fluff.

￫ authors notes: this is a collection of daydreams i have about my cowboy husband. my main masterlist can be found here! 💌

Rhett is a little awkward and shy. For a burly bull rider, when he first asked you out, his thumb moved between each fingernail to pick at it. His hands were twitching with nerves. From a first glance, he simply looked like a man asking a person out. His hands were by his sides and he stood tall.

His father told him to never look small, even though he made Rhett feel so small sometimes.

When you replied with a beaming smile that you would love to go out with him sometime, his cheeks became flushed with a warm pink, that spread over the tops of his ears and down his neck in a hot flush.

He gets grumpy too. His eyebrows knit together in a firm line. His eyes become stone and his eyelids grow heavy. He’ll focus on one particular spot of dirt on his jeans, not baring to look at anything else. He clenches his teeth tightly together and his jaw becomes firmly set.

But, he stands up for himself and what he thinks is right. However, it comes off as him being defensive and angry when really, he’s only trying to protect the things that he loves most. That being the life you’ve built together on your ranch and most importantly, you and your little baby girl.

Bonnie Abbott was born in the early spring. You spent many days in the summer standing on your front porch, with her in your arms and watching Rhett work not too far from your home. He couldn’t bear to spend long periods away from you both, so he always opted to do work closer to your home during the day.

You would hold her chubby little hand and wave it for her, humming in a sweet voice, “Wave to Daddy, Bonnie!”

You watch as your three ranch cats jump from the rooftops and fences of the barn. Your Anatolian Shepherd, Daisy, sits by your feet and keeps a careful and protective watch over both you and Bonnie. Robin, your Blue Heeler, is always quick on Rhett’s heels and trails around behind him, as he works in the hot and sticky Wyoming summer heat. Rhett whistles sharply between his lips and Robin is always quick to follow.

You still live in Wyoming, but you chose your ranch to be two towns over from Wabang. Rhett wanted to distance himself from his family, but he couldn’t leave them completely. He’s still holding onto this deeply entrenched guilt, that therefore causes him to tether to them.

He’s working on it though. He’s working on himself.

He doesn’t deny his mother and father of seeing his grandchild. You go back to visit when you can, but you normally leave after spending the day there. Rhett can only bear so many hours before the familiar and tell-tale signs of his set frown and tense jaw begin to appear. You still go back for occasions such as Thanksgiving and Christmas. Those are the only two occasions when you, Rhett and Bonnie will stay the night.

His old room is still there. It still comforts him.

You press up against Rhett in his small bed and keep him warm, whilst Bonnie sleeps soundly beside you both in her crib. His room is nearly identical to when he left it, but these small changes with you both now being in there with him, is what gives him the harmony to fall asleep.

You asked Rhett once if he would be gentle with you, as he had your beautiful naked body below him.

“Will you be gentle with me? Please be gentle with me.”

He gave you the love that you so dearly deserved. He calls you his “baby,” his “darlin’”, his love.

He is your dream. He is your cowboy, but a man who needs to be wanted. He needs to feel wanted. He gets so much validation from you, in every way. Emotionally, physically, sexually… And you give that to him without hesitation. He’s so over the moon with you. He’s so profoundly and deeply in love with you.

taglist: @beachbabey @tallrock35 @currentlybradshaw @unmistakablyunknown @iloveprettyboysblog @flames-thebitch @randomfandomgirl97 @kmc1989 @swiftsgirlfriend

tagging those who may be interested: @sunblchdfly @sugarcoated-lame @lewmagoo @peachystenbrough @floydsmuse @rhettmotel @mearslot @rhettabbotts @hangmanapologist @withahappyrefrain @castiel-barnes @sandbarbirdie

[lilacxquartz]

part 8 of 19 of kinktober: lactation

fem!sukuna x reader

plot: as sukuna’s loyal lover, you weren’t ever allowed to leave, not even if you were hungry… — themes: lactation, milk feeding, dominant sukuna, wlw, stomach tongue riding, f!reader, dub con, adding it to be safe, somnophilia towards the end, sukuna is a woman here — w.c: 600ish

kinktober masterlist • main masterlist • ao3

Rosy locks of silly pink hair cascaded down Sukuna’s toned back, gathering at her waist. Her eyes bored into yours like oozing sanguine red, staring over you with focused possession.

You had been nestled over her lap for two whole days now, desperate to break away and leave but she offered no such mercy. It was difficult though, as your stomach grumbled in protest.

“Please,” you begged, “I’m so hungry…”

Yet all Sukuna could do was smile, flashing you her razor sharp canines that glinted from the warm light. Her lips parted to speak and a deep, alluring voice sept into your ears like trickling honey, “Then feed from me,” she purred, coaxing you towards her readily bared chest, “drink from me.”

Your breath hitched as your mind searched for a response, unable to find a suitable answer. Instead, your heart pounded within your chest, surging towards a near deafening flutter. It wasn’t like she gave you time to think either; pushing your head towards her breast and positioning her swollen nipple for you to suckle on.

“Drink,” she urged, her voice leaving no room for argument that time around. Her demeanour betraying nothing short of a threatening stature, her eyes alone challenging you to defy her, but you never once did.

Albeit reluctantly, you slacked your lips open and propped her nipple into your mouth; her breasts heavy against your hold as you just barely latched over her engorged form. The taste of was almost dizzying as her sweet, creamy milk washed hot down your throat and warmed your stomach. Sukuna rolled her head back in pleasure as you fed—her long nails fondly scratching against your scalp in praise—her eyes slowly drooping shut in radiating pleasure.

“Good,” she praised, steadying your body with one of her four arms at the waist as she moved you ever so slightly up along her body, positioning you over just over her taut abdomen.

You gasped as you pulled away from her gushing teat; the residue of clinging milk rolling down your chin. With confused eyes, you tired to focus on what was next going on, slightly feeling alarmed by the sudden change in position and then without any warning—something shifted. Splitting open at unseen speed, her stomach cracked open to reveal a large velvety tongue that slipped out of her apex point. The giant muscle jabbed upwards, flicking at your soon swollen clit, half penetrating your cunt.

“Ride,” Sukuna instructed, “grind on me.”

Doing as you were told, you leaned forward, clumsily falling flat over her chest. You then tried to balance yourself over her, rolling your hips over her actively lapping tongue; the ribbed texture of it slipping occasionally to meet at your sensitive bud. Her lower arms helped guide your position, while one of her upper arms kept you level—the other pushing behind your head—making you feed from her once again, filling your once empty stomach to the brim with her offering.

Quickly overwhelmed, you could help but tighten your thighs as you rode yourself towards a rolling orgasm. It was a violent sweep, but she didn’t stop; continuing to whip almost painfully pleasurable strokes, lapping up your release.

However, try as you might to stay awake, you couldn’t; surrendering to the anchoring pull of exhaustion that beckoned you. Sukuna couldn’t help but smile at the aftermath, finally amused by your almost endearing action. Being a hedonist however, she still guided you along, shuddering at the shown bliss that you displayed even in the midst of deep slumber.

Oh, such a needy thing you were—but you were hers.

~~

tag: @vicocaaisha

[lovelettersforthedamned]

frat Peter x reader where he takes care of her after she gets spiked at one of his parties? 🥹🥹

Be Here For Her

✮ frat!tasm!peter parker x f!reader

✮ word count: 1.2k

✮ summary: your night has become foggy as your head swirls with confusion. when peter discovers your disheveled state, he swiftly becomes your aid while also preventing other people at his frat party from facing the same fate as you.

✮ warnings: language, mentions of drugs (spiking drinks), mentions of alcohol, hurt/comfort, angst, fluff, this is a heavy topic so read at your own risk pls.

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───

main m.list ⋆ peter parker m.list

gif by @kenstaroyco

Your head was pounding against the bass of the music while your body felt as though you were moving through a pool of gelatin. 

Peter was out mingling with the people entering the house of Kappa Phi, trying to keep things in order. But with the mass amounts of crowds entering the building, it was easy for both you and him to become distracted. 

You were hanging out with a group of girlfriends of the frat when Peter approached the group again, a sheen layer of sweat on his forehead. He opens his mouth to speak, but honestly, you don’t hear a word he says. It feels like your mind is swirling as you lose focus on the conversation playing out in front of you. And when Peter places an arm around your shoulders, it feels like a ten-ton weight was set on top of you, causing you to slump a bit further into his side. 

He must have felt your sluggish presence, because he grips your side tighter, keeping you in place right as your knees buckle and send you to the floor. The girls around you look at you with confusion and panic. They’ve been with you this whole time and knew you were just finishing your first beer, so you couldn’t have been drunk yet. 

“Woah,” Peter exclaims as he holds you by your arms when your knees slam into the floor beneath you. Your drink falls to the floor, causing a bigger mess. 

Your eyes are hooded over, your gaze unfocused. All you could put together were a bunch of faces looking down at you, and hands grabbing at you to help you up. The entire situation was overwhelming, but the thought of forming a coherent sentence made your head hurt more than it already did. 

Peter’s mind was running a million miles per hour as he slowly pulled you in his arms, carrying you bridal style to take you upstairs to his room. He turns to your friends before departing, “I’ll text you guys later, get home safe.” With a few nods from the girls, he starts his careful ascent to the quiet room. He maneuvers you through the crowd, careful to not bump your head on anything. As he’s about to climb up the stairs, he hears an eruption of laughter behind him. Turning his head over his shoulder, he spots a random guy with his friends pointing and laughing at you barely conscious in his arms. 

“Let me know if she’s a good fuck! I expect a ‘thank you’ later, bud,” he shouts to Peter, followed by another sound of laughter. 

Peter puts the pieces together, and suddenly his vision focuses on the guy who yelled at him. He’s a skinny guy, probably a freshman, with the most obnoxious yellow shirt on. The prick in the crowd didn’t know who he was, and who you were. Anyone who knew Kappa Phi knew about you and Peter. An urge to leave him bruised and bloody on the floor overcomes him, but when a pathetic groan comes from you, he remembers that you’re in a vulnerable state. The only thing you need is Peter. 

He blows him off and continues to make his way upstairs. Once he reaches his door, he skilfully pulls out his keys and unlocks them before twisting the handle and pushing his way inside the dark room. Peter lets out a sigh of relief as he walks towards his bed and lays you gently on the mattress. 

Peter quickly walks back to the door, locking it behind him as he takes off his jacket, throwing it in a random corner. Kneeling next to you, he brushes some hair away from your face, keeping his hand there. He notices that you’re mumbling incoherent sentences and his eyebrows scrunch in confusion trying to piece together what you’re saying. 

“D-Don’t…feel,” your body shakes with a tremor, “good.” 

His heart breaks at your weak mumble of broken words. Your hand slowly reaches up to hold the hand that’s holding your face. The only thing keeping him sane is knowing you’re with him. He’s keeping you safe, and you know that. 

Peter slowly comes off of his knees and starts to lay next to you. One of your hands is always touching him, a wave of reassurance washes over you at his touch. He pulls you onto your side and into his chest, the feeling of his rhythmic breathing lulling you to sleep. 

The moment he feels your breath even out to a steady pace, he pulls his phone out, calling one of his frat brothers who’s still downstairs. The phone rings a few times before the music blares out of the speaker followed by a loud shout, “Parker, what’s up?”

“Hey, Matt,” he starts, “will you do me a favor?” 

There’s no hesitation before Matt responds, “Yeah, of course. What’s going on?”

“Can you find Chris and look out for a scrawny kid with an aggressively yellow shirt on? He needs to be thrown out immediately,” his voice is stern but still quiet with you asleep next to him. 

Peter can hear Matt call out for Chris before placing his phone back to his ear, “We see him. Anything else?”

“Yeah,” he clears his throat, “if you see him with his friends, bring them outside and get their names. And search all of their pockets. Whatever you find, bring it up to me ASAP.” 

“Got it,” Matt answers before hanging up. 

⭒⭒⭒⭒

About half an hour later, a soft knock is heard from Peter's door, causing him to gently unravel himself from your hold. He makes sure you’re still asleep before pulling open the door. He finds both Matt and Chris standing there with a solemn look on their faces and a few bags of white pills in their hands. 

Chris starts, “We’ve got their names, all of them.” The air is heavy as Peter takes one of the bags and inspects the contents in them. 

“Okay,” he takes the rest of the bags, “will you send their names to me?” The two boys in front of him nod their heads. “Can you guys also make sure everyone’s okay down there? I would go with you, but (Y/N) needs me here,” he nods back to your unconscious frame behind him.

Peter can see Matt and Chris’ brains catch on to what happened to you tonight, and their eyes go wide. They nod, speechless before heading back downstairs. 

The bags in his hands feel heavy as he looks at them again before he looks back up at you. A feeling of guilt floods his brain, but he knows that you wouldn’t want him to feel responsible for this. He could hear you telling him that it wasn’t his fault. Putting them safely on his nightstand, he falls back into bed with you ready to help you tomorrow morning with whatever plan you decide to follow through with. 

✮ author's note: once i'm on my frat!peter grind, it doesn't stop i fear. thank you anon for this request!! this was a heavy topic that's so real and it's so scary :( thank you for reading! ok, bye ily!!!

[fanaticsnail]

hi sis can you write me a sanji fic pleaseeeeeee

One hurt/comfort Sanji fic here for you, Smol-Snail.

Limits

Masterlist Here

Word Count: 2,500+

Synopsis: Baratie has been overbooked, and the tension in the kitchen has been overwhelming. Being a hard-working kitchen hand, you have been covering far too many shifts. Sensing the overwhelm, your coworker attempts to aid you through your emotions.

Themes: Sanji x gn!reader, hurt/comfort, kitchen slang, eating food, minor swearing, fluff, angst, domesticity, hidden feelings, almost kisses, playful banter, nicknames.

Notes: Spoiling my sister usually includes Mihawk or Garp, but I am absolutely loving the change. Thanks for the ask, sis! Hope you like it. Also, gosh it's good to be back in Baratie again.

The crackle of water hitting a pan of hot oil popped and simmered, a string of curses and yells following the large rukkus. Voices overlapping, music blaring, orders expediting, and the clangs of silverware shuddering with ceramics in water continued to mute their tones in the air surrounding the lively kitchen of Baratie.

It had been a mean shift tonight. The restaurant was overbooked, over packed, and overwhelmed. Guests on the waiting list were made to wait longer than they had anticipated, adding to tempers flaring and temperaments turning foul on all sides. The front of house were begging with the back of house, the back of house pleading with the front of house. Chef Zeff had even jumped on the line, cooking alongside the lot of you to fight against the rush. The thump of his peg leg hitting the linoleum swelled within the serenade of the lively kitchen, the chorus finally rising without any indication of an interlude.

“Carne, 'hot behind', damn it!” Zeff growled angrily while standing to full stature. Carne was holding a tray of simmering desserts at chest height behind him while shifting from one surface to the other. “Communicate, kitchen. Ya’ hear?”

“Oui chef!” The kitchen all repeated the phrase like a prayer on their tongues to their hierarchical clergyman.

“Ca Marche-!”

“Sharps-!”

“Plate up-!”

“Push-!”

“To the pass-!”

“Through-!”

Sanji stalked through the rows up until the pass, pacing two and fro while jumping in to aid all those that needed support. Garnishing mains, whipping cream for desserts, assorting steel bowls of oils and accompaniments to coincide with breads and greens: Sanji did it all. Each time he stepped in to aid in the dance of the kitchen, his eyes fell to your frame to mentally check in.

Eyes down, shoulders hunched, rubber gloves thrust up to your elbows, you ensured the kitchen remained functional with the fluctuation of crockery, cutlery and dishes for truly impeccable service. The kitchen-hand, or 'Dish Pig', was the backbone to a functional restaurant, the mental wellbeing of the house truly on the shoulders of that individual.

How could a chef create masterpieces without a canvas? How could guests in the dining hall consume their delectable arrangements without the means to raise each bite to their lips? The kitchen-hand ensured all was possible, and the chefs barely paid you any heed while you slaved away to grant them relief in their supplies.

You attempted to hone in on your craft, using your fingernails beneath the rubber gloves to chip at caramelized and caked scorches on iron pots like a scourer. Breaths heavy and labored, you shifted everything from your focus asside from one thing and one thing only:

Keep the kitchen clean.

Bubbles and suds consumed your senses, your hair sticking to your forehead in heavy clumps of sweat and soap. Your nostrils flared with the burn of eucalyptus, lemon and menthol. Working a fortnight of splits and doubles to cover for your colleagues had finally taken its toll on you, and stressors in your personal life added to the tension in your bones. The loss on your own mentality began to slip into a panic as another wave of silverware made their way to your arm side.

The mention of, “‘Ere ye’ go, dish pig. Clean up,” barely phased you, regardless to the usual playful temperament you displayed. You didn't even crack the smile you usually had on your face, your permanent exhaustion falling in the emotionless and dead-stare you displayed down at the dish rack.

The kitchen has began to pack down. Each element was extinguished, and stock was taken alongside a final tally. The chefs had removed their aprons, cravats and hats and began making their way towards the bar for their knockoffs. Your own drink would have to wait, the pile never reducing no matter how hard you had worked.

For each plate you cleared and cleaned, four more would somehow find their way to your hands. Each pot would have a lid to match, each pan would have an array of spatula, tongs, and forks to pair with. The chefs used the tools of their artistry with reckless abandon, and it was now you who was paying the price for their carelessness.

“A'ight, beers? That what we're drinkin'?” Patty clapped his hands and rubbed them enthusiastically together. Carne barked out a long string of laughter, allowing himself to succumb to the relief that came from a grueling shift while he clapped his hand over Patty’s bicep.

“I'm keen on one of them steins we just got in,” he admitted, squeezing lightly before looking to Zeff, “Is that on the menu for knock offs, chef?”

“Only is if you save two for me, you prick,” Zeff stated affectionately, “Give us a pale or an amber, I'll be in my office takin’ a damn breath. What about you, little eggplant? What are you drinkin’ tonight?”

Sanji hadn't spoken a word since he hung up his apron. He had been keeping an eye on you throughout your shift, feeling the tension waft in your aura the longer you silently chipped away at your monotonous task.

“I'm gonna have a cigarette,” he nodded to the head chef without moving his eyes away from you. “Then I think I'll sample that new amaretto rum you got in.” Sanji moved to Zeff’s side, casually glancing back at you while lowering his tone to the head chef, “But first, I'm gonna stay here a while. Leave inventory to me, and I'll take care of it, old man.”

Zeff noticed the drop in Sanji’s usual cadence and finally took notice to the quiver in your shoulders. With a curt nod, Zeff turned to both Patty and Carne and spoke to them with a simple scowl that meant: ‘Get out of the kitchen, now’. The two chefs quickly looked between Zeff and Sanji, then to the source of the noise continuing to fall from the underappreciated corner of the kitchen. With a nod of their own, they silently excused themselves from the kitchen with Zeff trailing behind them.

Where Sanji would've placed an unlit cigarette between his teeth and stalked out behind them, he would never do that without you. Both of you were similar in ages, and the rapport and camaraderie had always been a highlight to his kitchen shifts. The two of you were more than coworkers, more than simple friends, and you both lived and breathed Baratie in your own ways. You both loved that place, thrived on the chaotic energy working the line, and adored spending time in the dark before the next shift would begin.

The only difference between you is Sanji had been working his usual shifts, and you had been overworked far beyond your natural capacity lately. You were running low on mental energy, and you were taking it out on the dishes you were cleaning.

Wiping, scrubbing, clawing, patting, drying, prying, stacking, and placing away in their delegated areas: you had not spoken a word for the whole shift. Nothing more than a soft, shaky breath expelling from an otherwise vacant expression, nobody would know if anything was occurring within the battle of your mind.

But Sanji did.

Unhooking his apron and rolling up the sleeves of his uniform jacket, he placed it over his neck and slowly moved over to work silently in an unoccupied station. Several containers of various raw ingredients were hastily removed from their spots. Pots, water, flours, sugars, utensils and plates were all set up by his skilled hands: making something of your youth that he knew would bring you comfort.

Rolling glutinous rice flour into small balls with regular flour and water, he stuffed them full of purple adzuki mix, hazelnut white chocolate, and yuzu-honey dew custard. Placing the small balls in a steamer, he set a mental timer to check on them after a few minutes. Not his usual method to make dango, but he wanted to experiment for you.

He knew better than to disturb you when you were like this, and he allowed you to work out whatever was brewing in your mind on the dishes you were cleaning. He looked to the bowls and dishes he had just made in crafting you something delectable and grimaced.

‘All of those dishes just to make a simple dessert,’ he mentally scolded himself, ‘And that's just one piece of the kitchen. You're taking care of everyone’s dishes here, not just the kitchen’s.’ He gently lifted the lid of the bamboo steamer to gauge the consistency of the circular treats, nodding to himself once he viewed the squishy exterior.

Plating up the dish by patting them dry and rolling them in rice flour, he softly approached you with the bowl of rainbow-colored treats.

You were in your own head, your thoughts swirling in a tight coil threatening to snap. This shift had been enough to break a seasoned kitchen hand, and you had endured it all with a silent professionalism. Just when you were about to begin the next wave of remaining dishes, you turned and met your eyes with a plate of rainbow and sunshine.

“Hands, chef. You need to eat something,” Sanji softly spoke, his usual smirk and cocky attitude fleeing his face. The replacement of his usual demeanor was something you hadn't experienced with him. His eyes were rounded, his lips softly pouring, his head was lowered and seeking out your gaze with his own, and his empathy was worn with each subtlety.

All in one fluid motion, your head hung low and your glove-covered hands shrouded your eyes from his gaze. At the same motion, Sanji placed the bowl down beside you and hastily drew you into an encumbering embrace. It had finally been too much for you, and this was the first breakdown you had ever had regarding a shift. Heavy sobs were muffled by your rubber-covered palms while Sanji cradled you in his arms.

“Hold onto me, love,” Sanji softly whispered into your ear. You immediately unburied your face within your palms and nuzzled into the blonde man’s neck, arms wrapping beneath his shoulders and clinging to him like a rope offered from a cliff’s edge. “There you go. Good job. Just hold on, okay?”

“S-Sanji?” you attempted to whimper out, only being met with a soft shush and a tighter hold on your form. He rose one arm up to remove your dark chef’s cap from your head and carded his hands over your scalp in a soft brush.

“You've been pushing too many doubles, and saying ‘yes’ a whole lot lately,” he gently soothed you, “And while I love this place as much as you and the old man, I know my limits.” He gently lifted his head to gaze down to where your head was nestled in his collar, “You just hit yours, didn't you?”

“First time since I started,” you whispered into his shirt, “I didn't think I had one ‘til now, Ji.” Your admission alongside his arms holding you firmly dried up your tears after the heavy release.

“Course you do. We all do,” his soft baritone gently coaxed you. You slowly raised your eyes to meet his. His smile was like sunshine after a storm, warmth following a heavy winter, hope where hopelessness was found mere minutes prior, and a sanctuary found after a season of war.

When he looked at you, you felt like the most important person in the world. Time stood still in that moment, eyes darting between one another's and gently focussing briefly on the other’s lips. The close proximity you found yourself in was not unfamiliar to you, but this emotion swelling was far greater than you had anticipated. Sanji made to lean towards you, halting mid-way and second guessing himself from giving you the kiss he truly wanted. Instead, he pressed his forehead to yours in a gentle seal of friendship.

Noses flush with one another’s, you both closed your eyes and dwelled in the silence for a moment. Nothing else was heard: no yells in the kitchen, no music from the dining room, no yells from your coworkers, and no demands from the patrons in the hall. All that was heard was the small thump of your heartbeat in your ears, and your shared breaths gently soothing one another in unison.

“I made you dango,” Sanji uttered softly, making no move to part from you.

“Thank you, Ji,” you expressed your gratitude just as softly.

“And while you eat, I'll finish up on the dishes,” he scrunched his nose playfully, moving away from your head and slowly releasing you from his embrace, “Then we can go and have a knock off. I'll have one of the bar staff take your shift tomorrow- And before you interrupt-!”

Sanji knew you all too well, halting your interjection before you had an opportunity to speak it out with a harsh expression.

“-I know it's a 'double split'. That's a four person job, and I know exactly the four people to do it,” he finally withdrew his arms from your shoulders and soothed your upper arms with a firm caress. “Now, hand over those gloves. I made a right mess cooking you your sweets, and I'm going to see to it that it's spotless while you eat.”

You slowly removed your arms from his body, halting them briefly on his hips while you bowed your head in gratitude.

“Oui, chef,” you huffed out in a bid to add humor to the scenario. Releasing him from your grasp, you began to remove your rubber gloves and hang them over the steel railing beside the sink.

Sanji slid his hands from your shoulders, his right hand moving to gently tap your chin up with his index finger. Following his motions, you met your eyes with his once more, offering him a small smile after the exhaustion of emotional release.

“‘Oui Chef’?” he gently teased you, his eyes playfully narrowing in his jest, “Hush, you. Now go eat your dango and tell me what you like about it. We got sweet red bean, white chocolate hazelnut, and citrus-melon mouse in the centers.”

Your eyes bloomed with a wave of gratitude, Sanji’s understanding washing from his aura and consuming you within his single glance. The only thing to break your joint hypnosis with the scent of the sweetness atop the bench, you bobbed your head a final time to your coworker and dearest friend.

You moved to sit by the sink on a wooden stool, plonking down and resting your worn feet with the plate sat in your lap. Head slumping on the steel bench, you close your eyes and raise one of the squishy spheres to your lips.

Placing the entire blob into your mouth, the center burst on impact of the clamp of your teeth. The flavors erupted over your palate, your emotions once again being forced to the surface at his thoughtfulness. Each tartness was compensated by the sweetness it needed, the sours holding a balance of soft umami to prolong the dance over your tongue.

Watching from the corner of his eye while elbows deep in the sink, Sanji smiled at the encounter, truly pleased that he could offer you that sense of comfort after a grueling few weeks. Each bite you took of his mastery had his heart swell. Knowing he could do this for you, take a piece of that burden away from you and give you some joy to focus on: that was all he ever craved in return from you.

Tag list: @mfreedomstuff @daydreamer-in-training @since-im-already-here @gingernut1314 @writingmysanity @i-am-vita @indydonuts @feral-artistry @the-light-of-star @empirenowmp3 @racfoam @sunflowersatori @carrotsunshine @skullfacedlady @jintaka-hane @thenotsofantasticlifestory

[macfrog]

champagne problems sex on fire chapter ten

i'm not sorry!!!!! you'll never catch me!!!! (im, like, super sorry)

pairing: ceo!joel x fem!reader

summary: the secrecy between you and joel comes to a head. one huge, explosive, painful head.

warnings: age gap (reader is late 20s, joel late 40s), workplace relationship, imbalance of power dynamic, whew boy the angst is big in this one sorry, reader has a lot of internal struggle, daddy issues and commitment issues to the max (ha), memories of parental abandonment and adultery, sort of vague mention/description of reader having panic attacks, attempts to initiate sex (but alas, only one small mention of previous sex), Big Argument, alcohol consumption, cursing, sugardaddy!joel, soft!joel, fluff and angst. angst angst angst angst

word count: 11.1k

series masterlist | main masterlist | playlist | follow @macfroglets w notifs on to be the first to hear when i post 💚

The lavender is the first to wilt.

It stares glumly at the kitchen counter. Posture hunched and drooping. You stand before it, clutching a jug of water like you’re starving the purple sprigs for information. Why did he lie to me why did he lie why would he lie to me tell me why.

The daisies look on, awkward and curious. Their petals streaked with green – still fresh and still at least trying to bloom. The news hasn’t reached their delicate stamens yet – they still have blind hope. But they’re drinking from the same rotten water their lilac neighbors are. They must know it’s futile.

You fill the vase up and fix the lace bow – the one you’d transferred from the brown paper wrap to the vase last night, after seeing Joel out. He stayed until nightfall, until the rest of your apartment faded into a pale gloom, forgotten about while the two of you watched TV and kept secrets from one another in your warm-lit bedroom.

When he leaned down and held his lips over yours, you pushed yourself onto your toes and kissed him goodbye. He ruffled your hair, clipped your bottom lip lovingly. Said, I’ll call you tomorrow. Get some sleep, pretty girl.

You lay staring at the ceiling the whole night.

He was out all day Saturday at a charity event. He called you as he arrived home – you heard the elevator’s ding through the receiver, announcing its arrival at his top-floor apartment. And you stayed on the phone, the thing discarded on your mattress, as sleep blurred the edges of the world in and out of focus all evening.

Three times you thought about just telling him to come back over, hold you until you forgot what he’d even done. Pretend that the man who, possessed by lies and jealousy or something much worse, had taken your wrist and swept you off out of Jean-Marc’s penthouse isn’t the same one who brought you tea and Chinese food yesterday. The one who held you, blood and broken wings safe in his arms, while you wept into his body.

Three times you stamped the flame out, remembering. As if you needed reminding. Your stomach still sinks anytime the reel jerks back to its beginning behind your eyes. The words unfortunately and unavailable. The rustling of the bag in the kitchen. The padding of his footsteps drawing nearer and nearer.

Your phone buzzes somewhere across the room. You set the jug down and shuffle over, tilting the screen in the morning light.

We’re outside baby. Take your time.

You haven’t mentioned it to him, yet. Haven’t breached the conversation. You’ve no fucking clue where to start. It hurts too much to look at it just yet – like scalding yourself with boiling water and clamping a wet towel to the burn until you can stomach the sight of your skin, all blistered and bubbling.

The towel is still covering the wound. You’re still frantically pacing around the kitchen clutching it, heavy and sopping. You’re not sure what it looks like, but from beneath the cold cloth, it doesn’t feel good.

It doesn’t feel good at all.

Joel’s leaning against the Rolls when you totter down your front steps. Fall plucks the leaves from the trees one by one; they swirl down to the smooth pavement, brown and amber and golden. You’re in a floral tea dress, which took you an obscene amount of time to decide on, given the cocktail of nerves and confusion and outright panic rolling around your stomach.

Your heel scuffs to a halt in front of him. He pushes off of the car and swings your door open, squints at you in the sunlight. You watch his eyes move down your frame, a misplaced desire to impress him dripping through your veins, and then he looks back up.

“Hi, pretty girl,” he says, and your veins sizzle. “You look…” he shakes his head simply, “…you’re beautiful.”

Your lips betray you. Your mind – that poor, dead lavender; your body – the poor, naïve daisies. Still has blind hope.

You can’t help but reflect his expression, attempting to mask it with a soft shrug. “Are the heels too much?” you ask, glancing down and lifting your foot.

Joel shakes his head instantly. “I like ‘em. And even if they were, we’re late. You ain’t got time to change.”

“You said you’d be here at twelve. It’s ten after.”

“I run a construction company, not a watchmakers. You okay?”

“Yeah,” you say. Unconvincingly.

“I mean,” he circles a hand over his stomach, lifts his eyebrows, “you feelin’ okay? We don’t have to go – Martha wouldn’t mind, you know that.”

“I’m fine,” you chirp, and your painted lips flatten against one another as you dip into the car. “Hi, Rand.”

The driver lowers his sunglasses and tips his head in the rear-view. “Hi, baby.”

Joel shimmies along the leather, shifting his jacket from between you to scoop your body against his. You glance down, eyeing his soft sweater, the light shade of it paired against that of your dress. The glint of his watch as his wrist slips happily between your legs, hooking under your thigh. The bloody crimson of the birthday card envelope, trembling in the door pocket.

The car pulls off, dragging you from your daydream. Stealing you back from the dystopia where you and Joel match, where you go together. A couple. Removing the notion of it from your makeup, each cell in your body slowly reverting back to yours again. Just yours. No CEO boss to stake his claim to any of them.

Martha’s place sits at the end of a cul-de-sac; neighbored on one side by a retired couple who spent their entire summer arguing in the backyard, according to Martha, and on the other by a row of quaint cypress.

The front door, bordered by polished mosaic squares of glass, sits inside one of four gable roofs. Dark green shutters either side of each stark-white window frame. A smooth path snaking between neatly-fringed grass, a hierarchy of tiny bushes growing greener and greener the closer they draw to the front steps.

Come in through the back, she’d said. Gate will be open. We’ll be in the yard.

Joel makes some quiet remark just to you about how perfect the house looks. The red brick and marengo tile. How much effort gone into polishing the front, only to tell you to use the back entry. ‘s only for looking, he decides, and then offers his hand to pull you from the Rolls.

He bends over the car, hand flat on the roof, and calls back to Rand. “Do me a favor – don’t go far. Just –” he jerks his head in your direction, “– just in case.”

When he straightens up and the car purrs off, you shake your head. “I’m fine,” you whisper, and he hooks two fingers around the string of the giftbag, taking it from your grasp.

He replaces it with his hand, his huge palm against yours. “I know,” he mutters, glancing down the drive, “but it’s an excuse for when I get sick of Alan ‘n all his damn friends.”

“Henry,” you remind him.

He tosses you a half-second look, smirk scrawled on his lips. He knows.

She’s waiting for you by the French doors when you arrive – Martha. Glass of sparkling champagne in each hand. Your fingers slip free from Joel’s before you’ve even rounded the corner.

“Saw the car pull up,” she tells you, leaning to let Joel kiss her cheek. “Here,” she hands you a glass, then one to Joel, “and here.”

You sip at the bubbling drink, letting the sharp fizz assault your tongue. Letting the feeling wash down your throat, stinging and bitter. Joel seems to swallow his just fine.

He swings the bag in her direction, tongue swiping across his bottom lip. “Just a little somethin’ from the two of us.”

You frown, holding a hand up to shield your eyes from sunlight too faint to cause the stiffness of your face and the drawn string of your brows. Where is Deb? And her two sons? And their shared gift? Isn’t it totally platonic and professional after all, to sign something from you and Joel?

Martha’s hands clasp. She reaches gleefully for the bag, smiling at the striped pattern. “I got no idea where he is. Last I saw, they were all headin’ up to his room. Some zombie game on his PlayStation. He promises me they ain’t playin’ the R-rated version.”

“That’s alright,” Joel says, “I believe ‘im.” He leans closer, a weight apparent at the small of your back. It shocks like a surge of electricity up your spine, hurts like a sudden muscle spasm. And then it soothes the pain, his thumb rubbing delicately. “’s a nice place,” he tells Martha.

She feigns disbelief. “Well, thank you, Mr. Miller, C-E-O,” she sings, and then, cocking an eyebrow, “y’all want a tour?”

You both nod politely, following her towards the kitchen doors. Joel nods towards a table by the barbecue – an island amongst a sea of candy and pastries, chopped fruit and bowls of nuts: a two-tiered, sky-blue cake. The name Henry piped in red icing – the letters swirling much like a birthday card you once read in a house on Maple Street.

“Nice little cake for Alan,” Joel mutters, squeezing your waist.

A stolen laugh shudders from your lips; the two of you snicker together, and despite your best attempts to cover your grin with your champagne flute, Martha spots you.

“What’s so funny?” she asks, sidling back over.

“Martha,” you clear your throat, “would you do me a favor?”

“What’s that, sweetheart?”

“Would you please tell Joel your son’s name?”

She looks at you blankly. Blinks between you and the man at your side, both staring back expectantly. But her stone-set expression begins to crack, the lines deepening around her mouth.

“As in,” you clarify, “his real name. Not Alan.”

She makes to reply when the swish-thud of a window opening interrupts, the prepubescent bellow of an almost-teen from overhead.

“Mom!” Henry calls, his dark head of curls and long, boyish arms dangling over the sill.

Martha glares up at him. “What have I told you about hangin’ from there” she yells, fists propped on her hips. “What is it?”

“Mike brought Blood Cry III; can we play it?”

She shakes her head indignantly. “I have told you – how many times? No!” She holds her hands out in apology to you and Joel, and then scuttles off into the kitchen. “Go explore,” she waves, “I trust ya!”

Joel wordlessly takes your hand, leading you in Martha’s wake through the kitchen to the living room: its navy walls and white paneling, bookshelves spanning the entire length of one wall, and a pale-brick fireplace centering two leather couches. Very pristine, very perfect. Very Martha.

You amble around, slowing in front of the mantelpiece above which a gallery of framed photos hangs. Henry as a toddler on a green trike; Martha’s stepdaughter and her kid; Alan on a golfing trip. Your eyes jump from plump cheeks to missing teeth, sunhats and Thanksgiving meals, until they land on a photo of Martha and Alan on their wedding day – her veil pinned neatly into a permed updo, her puffy-sleeved dress and the lemon bouquet spilling from her hands.

Joel’s shoulder brushes against your own, his eye journeying across the photos, too. “Ha,” he tosses a finger towards the wedding photo, “nineties Martha. Nice hair, huh?”

You smile, lazily swatting his arm. “She looks beautiful. They seem happy.”

Joel agrees. “Wonder what their first dance song was.”

“I bet it was something classy. Sinatra or something. Martha wouldn’t be breaking the marriage in to anything cheesy, that’s for sure.”

He laughs, spinning off towards the dining room. “You ever thought about what you’d pick?”

You hesitate, rounding the table on the opposite side. “Uh…no. Not really.”

“Not your thing? Marriage.”

You chance a glance at him over a vase of lilies in the center of the mahogany table. The smell twists towards you, leering as it coats your skin and your clothes and the back of your throat in a sickly film that makes your head spin. “I guess not. I’ve never – Not since…”

He nods. He knows. “That’s fair,” he says, hands finding his pockets. The idea of Blake – his name, his shaking hands, the tiny box in his suit pocket – the thought of those images flitting through Joel’s brain pinches the air from your lungs.

You watch the silhouette of him as it crosses over the bay window, looking out onto the trimmed grass and smooth asphalt street. Something cracks deep in your chest. Something begins to unbind.

“What would yours be?” you ask him, and he turns.

“Depends,” he shrugs, “on when I’m gettin’ married or not. Makes no difference to me.”

You bypass the point he’s making. Turn away from it like you would a shadow in the night. “If you were,” you insist, “what would you pick?”

He nears you, never breaking your stare. His confident matches your nervous, his steady gaze on your shy. “Somethin’ special to me ‘n her. An our song kinda thing.” And then, as he brushes deliberately by your shoulder to head for the stairs, “AC/DC or som’.”

Your heels stick like they did that night in the dive bar. Ears hurt with a ringing loud enough to blur the edges of your vision. Your skin feels the same hot – only, not from the crowded room you’re in, or the mix of alcohol and sweat and something akin to lust seeping through your pores.

You stare fixedly at the view from the bay window, the perfect little cul-de-sac with its perfectly smooth roads; perfect for kids learning to ride their first bikes, perfect for couples wandering arm in arm, perfect for angry fathers taking off in cars packed with belongings.

When you were a kid, buckled into the back of your dad’s car, you used to fight sleep to watch the moon race you home. Her white glow surviving being split over and over again by the trees you’d whip past. Your eyes would flit from hers to the windscreen, watching the road up ahead as it threatened to twist and turn. No matter how fast you thought your dad must be driving, no matter which direction he turned – every time you looked for her, there she’d be.

It makes sense now. The notion of staying. Occupying somewhere in space or in time, and forgetting how to leave. Forgetting how to try. Forever fixed there, glowing in a brilliant melancholy, singing to nobody in the dark expanse of the sky. Waiting for the sun to make her return. Just waiting waiting waiting.

You – the moon, and your sky – that fucking driveway. The Toyota, the rust on its underside so bitter you could taste it like blood on your tongue. Searching all over for the scraps of yourself, the pieces he tore away as he fled: veins tangled around spokes, severed fingers tinged crimson and hooked around the steering wheel. Don’t go. Don’t leave me.

And then, the sun – some sharp-suited, quick-witted Texan; enough charm and ease to lift himself over the horizon, to give you something other than the glimmer in your own tears to reflect.

The moon stares down at you now as you sit, perched on your balcony. Your knees tucked under your chin, watching two cats wrestle down on the street below. It’s just gone two; Joel’s in bed fast asleep. You slipped from his grasp and crept out of your room, a blanket over your shoulders, and disappeared between the sheer curtains. Your chest tight, your breathing short.

It keeps happening, that thing from Paris. Your head begins to spin, your voice withers to nothing. Your legs push you to your feet and force you to flee, though you’ve still to figure out where to or what from. All you know is that blue-eyed stare of your ex-fiancé has been wiped, replaced by the dusted beard of your boss instead. The plastic ring between his fingers. The creaking leather of his office chair.

Those same four words keep circling your head, replaying on a loop between your ears: why did he lie why did he lie why did he lie. Like white noise droning around your skull, bubbling nausea in the pit of your stomach. No, darlin’. Why would I lie to you?

Why did you lie to me?

Why did he do any of it? Take you to Paris, let you meet his client. Why has he been sleeping with you, treating you like some kind of girlfriend? The word plucks goosepimples all over your body. His body around yours at Aspen Heights – what you wanted so badly to believe was endearment, was comfortability and generosity, now feels like territory-marking. Feels like the white-knuckled tightening of a leash in his wide fist.

The leaves of the trees across the street tremble, lit luminous green by the 7-Eleven sign they fringe. You watch as two men swagger out of the store; their chatter drowned by the buzzing of the fluorescent sign. They split off with a quick handshake at the curb, disappearing into two different cars, driving off in two different directions.

You sniff. Some skunky smell hangs low in the air. So thick that you can feel it coating your lungs from the inside out. You sink back into your chair, push your fingers into your eyes until you’re watching a mirage of stars pull across your vision. Blow a cracked, nervous breath into the sky. Slip your nose beneath the collar of your tee.

Joel’s tee, which pools in the dip between your stomach and thighs. You suck his scent in like one hit of some intoxicating drug, for every three hits of clean air. Just seeing you through. Pretending there’s no addiction there.

But fuck, if you’re not screwed. One half of you holding back on mentioning the email because – what the fuck do you even say? How do you begin to ask him about it? How do you approach the topic, without prefacing it with feelings you’re too afraid to admit even to yourself?

And the other half – for fear of what you might cause. What you might make him do. For the pure, cut-throat fear that he’ll become the third in a list of men to just – leave. To let you down, to let you go. Change between couch cushions. Wild flowers torn from the earth’s scalp.

Then, the fracturing realization that you don’t want him to go. That you’re used to him, now, in a way you never were with your dad or with Blake. Your dad – who would choose poker night over parents’ night. Who would choose a drink with his buddies over a movie with you and your mom.

Or Blake – who would schedule sex on the nights he figured he’d have enough energy to fuck you until at least he came, and would buy you chrysanthemums on your birthday even long after you’d told him you were pretty sure you were allergic.

And then there’s Joel. Joel fucking Miller. Who turned up at your door less than thirty minutes after Martha told him you were sick. Who said in the car ride to her house earlier, Tell me your favorite flower.

Why? you asked.

Just so I know.

Joel – who has never asked anything more than you’ve chosen to tell him about your father, but whose face still screws into an angry grimace anytime he’s forced to think of him. Who reaches out to adjust the broken heart around your neck, slip the clip back to your nape without you asking Who offers you the last slice of pizza, and when you refuse, compromises by splitting it. Giving you the bigger half.

Joel – with whom sex feels like a form of communication: Here are all the things I don’t know how to say, yet. Yet yet yet. A conversation, each movement deliberate; each nip and lick and bite weighted with purpose and meaning. It lives under your nails, behind your teeth. Here – I don’t know what else to do with all this longing.

Joel – who has not only set every foot right, but has carved his own path through your heart. Explored the caves himself, a lonely lamp hanging from his fist as he carefully, gently, politely weaved his way through a jungle of valves and tissue, monsters and darkness, slowly winding his way to the center.

Joel. Who has never let you down. Until that fucking email.

A 7-Eleven employee, some scrawny kid with a mop of black hair and a polo hanging from his skeleton, drags a cloth in wide circles on the inside of the windows. He swipes his forehead along his wrist, thick tresses disturbed, and stares out at the empty street.

You blink twice, and a figure materializes at your balcony door.

“Baby?”

“Jesus!”

“Woah, woah. Easy – ‘s just me.” The pale drapes surrender to his wide frame, letting him pass. “Sorry, pretty girl. You okay?”

“You scared the crap outta me.”

Joel bends before you, a sweet little chuckle in his throat, and presses a warm kiss to your forehead. You lift your chin, letting your eyes close over and your thoughts melt away on his lips. He pulls the blanket tighter around your shoulders.

“What are you doin’ out here at this time of night?”

You shrug as he settles into the wireframe chair opposite. Groans as he leans back. His wide chest constricted by a tight, gray hoodie splattered with paint.

“Just can’t sleep. Nice hoodie.”

His eyes dip to the mounds of your chest under plain cotton, the blanket slack around your breasts. “Someone stole my T-shirt. Stole somethin’ of hers back. Why can’t you sleep? You hurting?”

Yeah. “No. Just – not tired enough, I guess.”

“You want company?”

Not really. “Sure.”

He laces his fingers over his stomach as he settles back, studies you as your gaze skims the street below. He knows you’re lying. But it’s two a.m., and you’re weeks into an affair that you’re both pretty sure has gone past the point of no return, and so, voice plain, he asks, “What’s on your mind, angel?”

“How d’you know there’s something on my mind?”

“There’s always something on your mind. It’s you.” And then, readjusting in his seat, “Tell me what you’re thinking about.”

You scrunch your nose with a sniff. Pull your arms inside the sleeves of his shirt and cross them under your breasts. “Your dad,” you say, locking eyes with him.

Joel lets it hang for all of three seconds. “My dad?” His face curls into a perplexed smirk, jaw tilting. He thinks you’re so fucking adorable, or maybe you think he is, and you’re not sure which one scares you more.

You laugh, chest lightening disobediently. It felt more comfortable when you couldn’t breathe. “What he did,” you explain.

“What he did,” Joel repeats, lifting his chin. Like a dog, sniffing out the truth. Something concealed in your fist.

So you unfold your fingers, holding it out in the palm of your hand: “Do you think he would’ve done it, still, if he knew what would happen?”

And then he really shakes off the humor. Sits forward, elbows leaning on his bare thighs. “What’re you talkin’ about, pretty girl?”

“Like,” you sigh, “if he knew he would split his entire family in two. You and your mom cut him off; Tommy moved halfway across the country. Was it worth it?”

“To me, or to him?”

You shrug again. He’ll choose the one he wants to answer. You’ll figure him out either way.

“Look,” Joel says, and hooks his fingers under the seat of your chair to pull you closer. He takes your ankles and you stretch your legs out, heels propped in the boxer-clad valley between his legs. A deep breath, hazel eyes pointed upwards like searching the skies for the words, and then: “People want what they want, right? They’ll do whatever they think is necessary to get it. He wanted to cheat, so he did. And he paid the price.”

“He wanted to cheat?”

It seems obvious to him. As though people seek out ways to hurt the ones they’re supposed to love all the damn time. The silver glint of a Labrador’s teeth as he sinks them into his owner’s skin.

Joel nods. “Wanted it badly enough that he did anything.”

“Lied?” you offer.

“Lied, cheated, left. Yeah.”

“And he risked everything.”

His head tips in agreement. “I guess he did. He was a damn idiot, you know? Had a wife who loved him, had two kids. He had the whole world in that house, and he threw it all away.”

“And,” the soles of your feet rest gently on the curve of his stomach, “would that – would it stop you? If you at least knew you were riskin’ something?”

“From cheating?”

“Anything. If you knew what you were risking was everything to you – would it stop you doing what you really wanted?”

His face tightens, brows knit with confusion and something else more difficult to place. “It depends. I wouldn’t risk something like you. I would n–”

“Somethin’ like me?” you interject.

Joel clears his throat. Looks up to the pitch-black sky again. “You…” He sighs. His answer is simple, black-and-white. There’s no way to hide it anymore. “I wouldn’t risk you, no. Not for the world.”

You fall silent. The moon stares down, seeming to melt around you. Her light like two steady arms holding you together, nudging you to ask the last question – the one spiraling around your mind like circling a drain.

Joel squeezes your ankle. “Where are you goin’ with this, baby? Are you asking me if I would cheat on you?”

Your heart jumps. The moon scatters.

Does he fall into the category of people who could cheat on you? Two months ago, he was just your boss. Two months ago, you hadn’t touched him more than a slap after a witty comment, the brushing of fingers as you handed him his morning coffee. But now…now, you’ve kissed his lips to shut him up. You’ve felt him come inside you. You’ve set foot inside his childhood fucking home, for Christ’s sake.

He makes you feel as though your heart is made of glass, delicate and laid bare but safe in his hands. He makes you feel as though a part of you exists outside of your own body – like there’s a piece of your soul wandering the earth by itself, touching base every time his hands are on your hips, his teeth in your neck.

Yeah. Fuck – yeah. He’s someone who could cheat on you. The way that email made you feel – he’s someone who could break your heart.

“I know you wouldn’t cheat on anyone,” you say, voice breaking. “No, I just – I don’t know what counts as a good enough reason to hurt someone you’re supposed to…supposed to love.”

Joel sits back in his chair again, the frame creaking under the weight of him. He reckons he gets it, now. You reckon he’s still wrong. “Come here,” he says, fingers flicking.

“What?”

He leans forward, takes your waist in his hands and pulls you from your chair into his lap, curling you up between his thighs. Safe. Protected by the shell of his body, protected by everything except from the thing scaring you most: the quickening of his heartbeat when you settle against it.

Your head slots under the curve of his chin, his voice a deep rumble over your skull.

“Your dad,” his chest swells, “he did what he did because he wanted to do it. Wanted it badly enough that he gave up you and your mom. And there wasn’t nothin’ you or her could’ve done to stop him, or convince him otherwise. You hear me?”

You turn into his neck, letting your tears fall hidden from view of streetlight or moonlight. You feel fucking tiny – a kid again, sat in a grownup’s lap, asking a never-ending series of why questions. Then, why did he do it? Why did he leave? Why are you staying? Why did you lie to me?

Joel presses his lips to your head, shushing you quietly, his body rocking back and forth like a boat on light waves. When he hears you sniffling, he holds you closer. Tighter. Your heart melds to your chest wall, desperate to seek his out. The hoodie he’s wearing smells like you, smells like him, smells like the chemicals of paint and the poison of love.

“It wasn’t your fault, darlin’, none of it.”

His arm hooked over your bare knees, the cotton keeping you warm. The other around your back, keeping you whole. You unstick yourself from his embrace, pulling your body straight until you’re straddling his lap, face to face with him in the light.

He looks up at you, almost afraid to blink. Afraid to lose sight of you at all. Your thighs lean heavily against his, your bodies locked together. You link your arms over his shoulders, anchor yourself to him as though the storm in your mind might sweep you away. And in the glimmer of light in his eye, the dazzling bulb of a lighthouse – you see the reflection of yourself.

Joel notices the shift in your expression. Holds you by the hips, follows the turn of your head. “You okay?” he asks, and you look down, avoiding his eye.

Glowing brilliant and lonely, blinking slowly. Your towering silhouette and caged-glass top. Drawing ships nearer just to ward them off when they pull too close. When they begin to notice the jagged shape of your shoreline, the ugly mess of your soul. Casting a blinding light on them, warning them to flee. And he didn’t fucking listen.

He docked anyways. Drew up on the beach, pulled himself into your body time and time again. You kept moving, kept warning him with each flicker of light, kept daring him to leave. And he never did. And there are pieces of you now living in him because of it, pieces you don’t understand how to take back. All you know, all you’ve ever known about Joel, is –

Your body sinks, hips lowering until you’re sure you’ve proven yourself right.

A stubborn weight between his legs. Not quite as hard as you’ve felt him before, not quite as heavy, but – a shape which sends a hot hiss between his teeth when you move over it, when the thin strip of your underwear courses over the thin cloth of his.

“P-retty girl,” Joel says, a groan seeping from the corners of his lips. A groan he holds onto with his molars, letting it snap like elastic when your hips circle again.

A weight as stubborn as the need slowly swirling in your chest. And pulled up into the cyclone are those same words: It wasn’t your fault. There wasn’t nothin’ you could’ve done to stop him. Why did you lie to me? It wasn’t your fault.

It hits you at once, the sudden realization that you’re lighter than you were before you first touched one another – really touched one another. Parts of you missing, passed over gladly the second his hand reached for them. The taste of you behind his lip, gums absorbing you like nicotine.

And you’re kissing him, your lips harsh against his, his stubble hurting your skin. Your tongue seeking out those parts of yourself. No. You don’t have me anymore. I’m taking me back.

“Hey,” Joel whispers into your mouth, steadying your hips. He pulls back and holds you still. “Why don’t we slow down? It’s late, you ain’t feeling too good –”

“I feel fine. I want to do it.” You lick again between his lips though he doesn’t budge; your attempts to move again, ineffective. “Joel.”

“It’s been a long day, you’re tired. Work in the mornin’, baby, I just don’t think we oughta –”

“You don’t wanna fuck me?”

He pauses, his tongue between his teeth. His brows pinch, almost painfully. “That is not what this is, ‘n you know it. I can see how tired you are – you ain’t even slept yet.”

“I don’t care. I want you to –”

His voice lifts to something you’ve only heard within the four walls of his office. Like chiding one of his guys, like snapping back at their red ties and crumpled collars. “I know what you want me to do. I just think we should go back to bed.”

“’n what if I don’t want to go back to bed?”

Joel sighs, looking out across the street. His tongue pokes at the inside of his cheek.

“I don’t get what the problem is,” you complain, still holding onto his shoulders. “You’ve fucked me in public before.”

“It ain’t that.”

“Then what is it?”

“Why don’t you go grab a sketchbook or something? Show me some of this artwork you been promisin’ since Paris?”

You blink back at him, watching the lighthouse swirl. The black waves begin to carry him off, sweep him from your view. “Maybe some other time,” you mumble, pushing yourself off of his lap.

Joel watches you, defeated. Keeps ahold of your hand when you stand between his knees. He swings your interlocked fingers gently. “Can you…can you tell me what’s wrong? Do you know?”

Your lungs pull in a deep breath, your shoulders rolling. “Same thing as always, I guess. Let’s just go back to bed.”

“Wait, pretty girl,” he tugs on your hand, reeling you back in, “waitwaitwait.” And then he’s standing, enclosing you in his arms again, asking, “What can I do to fix it?”

That same shrug. Tired. Deflated. Terrified. “If I only knew.”

You wait for Joel to move first, a sigh falling from his lips as he pulls the sheer curtains back, taking you by the hand and ushering you between. He follows your lead back into your apartment, sliding the door closed behind.

The living room is flattened by a gray silence, the liminal night swallowing up the air. Joel’s hand comes to rest at the nape of your neck, and when you turn to him, he says, “You wanna know if he thought it was worth it?”

You pause, fingers playing with the hem of his tee at your thighs.

He’s close enough that you can feel the heat near enough sizzling from his body. The right side of his face is shrouded in darkness; the chalky wash of streetlight painting the left. “My dad.”

You swallow hard, blinking in the shadow cast by his tall figure. The light clings wearily to his beard.

“She left him after two weeks. Went back to her husband. My dad died alone in an empty four-bed in Rosedale. You tell me.”

And then he pats the small of your back, takes you back through to bed – where you let him fall asleep on your chest, listening to make sure your fractured heart is still beating.

Joel Miller is in your shower. For the second time this weekend.

He’s not fucking you, not holding you against the rough tile wall as his cock draws come and blood and tears from your body. He’s not wrapping a towel around you, handing you a fresh tampon, kissing the parts of your skin still alight from your orgasm.

He’s just showering, before work. Using your peach-scented soap, pushing suds under his arms, over his stomach, between his legs. Lathering your shampoo like treacle between his palms, hair slick and foamy white between his fingers. Fixing the head so that his height fits under the stream of water, turning the knobs until it’s as hot as he likes it.

You’re lying across your bed, suffocating in the smell of his side and pretending none of it’s really happening. Face buried in his pillow, waiting for the intoxication to throw you under or wipe your mind clean or maybe just cut the air supply from your lungs completely. Whichever’s quickest.

The bathroom door opens; the sound of footsteps padding over to you. His weight sinks into the bed by your hip, then hovers over your back. His nose, still steamy and damp from the shower, nuzzles into the spot behind your ear. His lips leave a wet trail down your neck.

“You need another day?” Joel asks, kissing.

“I’m good,” the cotton absorbs the nervous edge of your voice, “just coming.”

“Stay home if you want, angel,” he says, hands roaming south to hold your waist. Like warning the pain, tempting it to show back up. See what he does about it. “I gotta go take this shareholders meeting, but I can come back as soon as it’s done.”

“Nah,” you groan, pushing your heavy frame up. Joel’s grip slackens. “I need the distraction, I think.”

He sits back, smiling dumbly when you straighten. His tongue runs along his teeth.

“You can use my toothbrush,” you mutter, heel of your palm wiping sleep from your eye.

“Hm?” He’s fixing the mess of your hair. Brushing one side flat, then the other; leaning back and forth with this dumb, half-there smile on his face. And your chest heaves, and you almost surrender to the impulse to throw yourself into his arms, almost lean into his cupped hands and burning caresses.

“I owe you. From Paris. You can use it, just this once.”

He scoffs. “I won’t use your toothbrush, darlin’. It’s alright.”

But you’re indignant. You already have every other part of me, don’t you? What’s one more? Just fucking –

“– use it. I swear I don’t mind.”

Joel’s head tilts, conceding. “Alright. Come get ready, then.”

Martha’s at her desk when the two of you wander back into the office. “Wait!” she calls, clicking around her desk as you pass by. She twirls a blue envelope between two glittery nails, holds it out to you.

Joel takes it, examining the childish scrawling of your names. “Nice, but – your calligraphy needs a little practice, Martha.”

“Hilarious,” she drones, sitting back against the desk.

You drift over to your own, dropping your back over the back of your chair, and shrug the coat from your shoulders.

Joel’s voice draws nearer as he speaks. “He have a good time?” he asks.

“Oh, yeah,” Martha replies, and Joel sits the card from Henry by your monitor, “barely saw ‘im the entire day. Thanks for comin’. For his gift, too – y’all really…You ain’t gotta do that.”

“Was all my idea, wasn’t it?” Joel asks, smirking to you.

An airy laugh pushes from your chest, loose with nerves. “Som’ like that. Glad he had a nice birthday.”

Joel saunters back toward his office, hands in his pockets. Fucking casual, like the world isn’t crumbling beneath your feet. Like the walls aren’t closing in, the sky lowering by the hour, the sun being steadily eclipsed minute by minute. He nudges the door closed with his foot, leaving you, Martha, and an awkward mist of realization between you.

“Your idea,” she muses, once you’ve plucked up enough courage to face her again.

You pick up Henry’s card, staring at the smudged handwriting to mask the horror peeling its way across your face. “Thought it was easier that way, y’know?” You gulp. “Don’t make it into anythin’.”

She grunts, something shaped like Ha. Her arms cross over her body, her eyes flitting between Joel’s office and you. “I sure as hell don’t remember me ‘n Alan ever doing something like that before it meant anythin’.”

“What are you saying it means?” you ask, rhetorically, dryly – a little meaner than you want it to sound. “What’s…?”

Her plucked eyebrows lift, forehead creasing. “Nothing, sweet. I’m just saying – you two are close, now. It’s nice.”

“We were always close.”

She holds her finger up. “Uh, no. Not turn up at my son’s birthday party together, leave together, then turn up at work the next day also together close.” Her eyes narrow, and you almost believe she might’ve been hidden between the trees last night – hell, for a second, you believe she might’ve been that scrawny kid wiping down the windows of 7-Eleven.

“I’m just saying,” she continues, when your throat closes around your nothing answer, “if something’s happening, I’m rooting for it.”

It shoots from your jaw like a bullet. “Nothing’s happening.”

Martha’s just as quick. “Okay,” she says, sweet and light. Breezy.

And then she shuffles back to her chair, resumes focus on some email. Twists the dial on her radio and fill the tense silence in the office with some smooth seventies song which lifts the hairs on the back of your neck the same way it did in that Parisian hotel. The dark suite, his eyes black and seeking. His hands on your body like he knew every curve and dip already.

Didn’t you believe that he might? That his hands were sculpted to fit the space below your ribcage? The plush cushion of flesh above your hips. The hinge of your jaw between his fingers.

Didn’t you think, for one fleeting moment, that maybe he was made just for you? As if you were so fucking lucky. As if anyone might stick around long enough to earn that label. Yours.

You settle back into your chair. The bubble writing on the front of the card stares menacingly back at you, the shapes seeming to swell and shrink in size the longer you stare at them. A bad trip, you think, this whole thing is just a bad trip. I’m gonna sober up any second, and I’m gonna be in bed, still dizzy after that night at the bar.

And none of it’s gonna be real. It’s not fucking real.

But then – lying on the opposite side of your computer, delicate and tiny, sparkling in the sunlight from over your shoulder: your ring. Your ruby ring, two euros in a gumball machine by the Seine. Like it’s winking at you, the accent rhinestones a taunting smirk. And the sight of it slings a thin wire around your heart, tight tight tightens until you’re sure you feel the tissue slice in half.

You take the ring in two shaking fingers, eyes bleary with sleep and salt. Blinking the dispersed light away, red rays bleeding all over your vision as you tilt the plastic. Joel’s voice muffles against his office door, like fists echoing against the flimsy walls of your little daydream. Time’s up. Hand him back over. It’s not fucking real anymore.

You roll the prize back onto your desk, letting it scatter shards of ruby until it hits the keyboard, the rattle echoing around your ears as you pace over to his office door. Your knuckles drum once, twice, three times against the wood before he opens it, and then he’s –

Staring down at you, breath shallow between slack lips. And he reads it all over your face, the panic and the words swimming around the tears in your eyes, and he steps back, and you step forward, and then the door’s closing again, and you’re settling against the arm of his couch.

“Ken? Hey, Ken?” Joel strides back over to his desk, hastily reaching for the phone. The voice from the receiver doesn’t stop, doesn’t slow. “Ken. Can I –? Jesus Christ.” He lifts the handset and drops it less than a second later, cutting Ken’s fucking droning, cutting the only sound in the room, cutting your blood short in your veins.

And then – “Alright. Talk to me.”

You don’t reply. He seems to tense up. Moves almost robotically over to you, lifts his hands to hold your shoulders. And when you lift yours to push him away, he almost flinches.

“Baby.”

Your jaw shakes once. You wrap your arms around yourself, squeezing the breath from your lungs.

“You’ve been actin’ off since yesterday,” he mutters, giving you some space. He’s moving slow, like he’s afraid you might lunge for him. “You gotta tell me. You’re scaring me, now.”

You haul your gaze from his open arms, his broad chest, the idea of letting him pull you in and calm you down. Your eyes land on his monitor. The text of that email flashes before you again. And your shell hardens.

“Is there anything you wanna tell me?” you ask, staring at the Apple logo. Your voice sounds timid, sounds so little that you swear you see Joel catch the words as though they’re made of glass.

His head tilts. His eyes narrow. It’s genuine confusion, you think. The penny hasn’t dropped yet. “…What?”

It pisses you off. Seems to shatter that glass into fifty angry shapes, brittle and sharp. The shards cut like a knife through the air between you. “Nothing you think I oughta know?”

He shakes his head slowly. “No, baby, I don’t…”

Your glare finally lands directly on him. Piercing straight into his eyes. But your jaw locks shut around the words.

“What the hell are you about to accuse me of?” Joel asks, mirroring your stance. Pulling his arms over his chest, jaw tight. “Cheating on you?”

Your chest jumps with a tiny laugh. “Why would I accuse you of cheating on me?”

“Sure sounded like that’s what you were thinkin’ last night.”

“No. I don’t think you’re cheating on me.”

“Then what is it?”

The gun fires. Gates open. Thunder rumbles. A fire lights in your stomach, blazing through your entire body.

“When were you planning on telling me about Jean-Marc?”

He goes quiet. Still. Realizes exactly what you mean in almost an instant. “How did you…? Where did you –?”

“I saw the email. On Friday. Gave me your phone to look for Alan’s Twelfth fucking Birthday, didn’t you?”

His face drops; a broken sigh falls from his lips. He looks up to the ceiling, something of a disbelieving, disappointed, fucking dismayed laugh loose between his jaw. “I wasn’t,” he eventually concedes.

“You weren’t?”

“No.”

You can’t believe him. You actually can’t believe him. Fists balling to hold your nerve, to hold the tremble in your voice steady, you ask, “Why?”

Joel’s body twists, rolls like some awkward wave as he readjusts, searches the surrounding room for an explanation. “There’s – there are a number of reasons why.”

“Start with the first one.”

“Alright.” He grips the wooden desk either side of his hips. Meets your stare, and it’s almost fucking admirable, the bravery with which he’s walking into this. You don’t scare him at all, not yet, anyway. Not even in the midst of a standoff in his office – guns loaded, eyes never blinking.

He pinches the bridge of his nose and then lifts his arm, waving his palm like he’s swatting the image of the Frenchman away. “He’s…He freaks me the hell out.”

“He freaks you out,” you repeat, voice flat. “Really, Joel? Big guy like you?”

You can’t help yourself. This is so fucking insane, it’s laughable. You’re like a snake shooting sharp shots at the ankles of a bear – and it’s too easy to take jabs when you’re still in disbelief at what’s fast turning out to be the truth.

“He’s sleazy, and inappropriate, and he doesn’t respect boundaries.” He counts them with three steady fingers. “Not mine, certainly not yours. I don’t like him, darlin’.”

“You like him enough to go have two meals with him in one weekend. Fly all the way to fuckin’ France for ‘im.”

“That was business. At least, the lunch was. The breakfast was a mistake.”

“What’s the second reason, Joel?”

He licks his lips. You can’t tell if it’s anxiety or anger. “You’re too good at your job. I didn’t wanna lose you.”

It’s simple enough. It’s more believable than six-foot-two Joel being afraid of five-foot-two Jean-Marc. You accept it a lot quicker.

“Any more?”

His expression drops. Yeah. There’s one more. And he doesn’t know how to say it.

“Joel.”

“I didn’t want to lose you.”

“Got that one.”

“No,” he says, shaking his head. Expression unmoving. “I didn’t want to lose you.”

You suck in a deep breath, chest wobbling as your lungs fill. The snake retreats from the bear, jaw slackening. Your eyes sting, Joel’s figure blurs a little, and then you rein it back in.

“I didn’t want you to go. That’s all,” he offers, plainly. “Just…wanted you to stay here. With me.”

“’n what if I wanted to leave?”

“Then…” Joel’s arms lift again, gesturing to nothing, “…then we’ll work something out.”

You lift your chin, some sick expression pushing your eyebrows up. “We’ll work something out?”

He nods.

“Who’s we?”

And it’s the first time you see him falter. The first time he has to catch himself. “You said it yourself,” he says, “you ‘n me. This.”

You shake your head. No no no no. Not this. Not now. The snake coils up, preparing to strike again. “What, us sleeping together?”

“That’s…What?”

“You don’t think there are plenty other women you could be sleeping with here, ‘n plenty other men I could be sleeping with over there? You really want me to stay here just so you got someone to fuck?”

Joel’s lips fall apart. His grip loosens on the desk. “That’s all this is to you?”

“Uh, yeah. Last time I checked.”

You don’t believe yourself. You know you don’t. You don’t believe a fucking word being tossed out of your mouth. You’re being an asshole, deliberately being a dick to him, and you can’t stop. There’s a wall being built at rapid pace, shutting him out. Shutting you in. Bricks made of angry words, each one separating you a little more, hiding you from his view.

And then his mouth closes. Lips form a thin line. Brows lower, blocking any of the light you’re so used to seeing from his eyes. Dark, cloudy, angry. “Got it,” he snaps. “Anything else?”

“Huh?”

“Do you need anything else? Or are you just in here to piss me off?”

You lift from the couch, arms loose, hitting your hips with a slap. “Fuck off, Joel.”

“Oh,” he nods, “right. Fuck off, yeah. Keep goin’, baby. Tire yourself out. ‘s all you’ve been doin’, ain’t it? All this time? All you’ve been using me for?”

Good. It’s good. You want him to argue back. You want him to hate you as much as you hate yourself right now. You want to see the bear’s claws; make all the hurt you’re dragging up through yourself, just to dish at him, worthwhile.

“You know what?”

“What?” he spits.

“I knew you were gonna do something like this, eventually. I knew it. I fucking knew it.”

Joel follows suit, pushing himself off the desk in one motion, and then the pair of you are chest to chest, squaring up to one another atop his five-thousand-dollar rug. “You knew what?”

“Knew there was something about him. Knew you couldn’t stand him. And this is why, right? All ‘cause he wanted to hire me?”

He turns away and laughs, almost recognizable as the same laugh you could draw from him with a silly look on your face – except sharper, colder. “Not even close,” he says, reeling back in. “You didn’t see the way he looked at you? The way he talked to you? About you?”

“Of course I saw it, Joel, I’m not fucking stupid.”

“Then use your good sense ‘n catch up, baby. You’re right: you’re not fuckin’ stupid. You were like fresh meat to him, and what? You reckon I should’ve let him just – sink his teeth deeper? Really?”

It lights something in the back of your mind; a memory flickers to life. Loops like a static radio message through your ears. “Right,” you nod, “right. Because you don’t like other people’s hands on things that belong to you, do you?”

His head jerks back, face warped with confusion and…disgust. “The hell are you talkin’ about?” he demands, voice muscled with anger.

“Martha said it once. You don’t like people playing with your toys, or whatever.”

And that seems to hit him low in the stomach. Seems to knock the wind from him.

“Are you kidding me?” he asks, and you swear his breath cuts in his throat. “That’s what you think?”

No, you think, it’s not. You know him better than that. But admitting that you know him better than to use you as some little plaything – something he had any control over, some accessory to wear on his arm – would mean admitting that the problem lies elsewhere. Lies with you.

And that’s not something you’re prepared to do right now, either.

Maybe before you found that email. Before you found out he’d been keeping you on some invisible leash. Maybe when he had you in his arms, kissing you so soft you thought you might die right then and not even notice.

Maybe when he looked at you, twirling chopsticks clumsily in his fingers, face lighting in a grin when you giggled at him – and three words floated through your head. Dared to dance over the tip of your tongue before you caught them and hissed, What the fuck are you doing here?

But – no. It’s all fucked up now. And you can’t break the tightness in your jaw to admit any different.

“You don’t think there’s a chance I actually care about you? That I – Jesus, that I respect you? Are you this goddamn hellbent on convincing yourself that everyone’s out to hurt you?”

“Joel,” your voice says, and it’s not you controlling it. Some gravely, pained thing. A shriveled part of yourself, cowering from the light. You’re recoiling, physically backing up from him.

“Darlin’, I can’t –” He reaches for your wrist.

You whip it away. “Stop.”

“I am trying to understand you,” he pleads. “I’m tryin’ to figure you out. Why won’t you let me –?”

“I don’t want you to.”

A laugh ejects from his throat and plummets straight to the floor. “Yes, you do,” he says. “You don’t do everything we’ve done unless you’re in it.”

“In it?” you seethe. “In what? What are we in?” You pinch your fingers: air quotations around the words, or possible claws digging four more wounds into the same chest you wept into last night.

Your head shakes rapidly as you speak. “We were just sleeping together. We were just having sex. That’s all. We were just having sex,” you repeat under your breath.

“I wasn’t,” Joel says. Matter-of-fact. Like reading from a contract. He takes a deep breath, and then repeats, “I wasn’t.”

The words splinter painfully from your tongue. “Well, I was.”

And though your eyes are pinned to the buttons of his shirt, though his expression sits just too north for you to see the way his face pulls – you notice his head lift. Know that there are creases digging between his brows at the same rate cracks appear across his heart. You feel the warmth of his gaze slowly cooling. Freezing over.

“I’m sorry,” he says, holding a shaky palm out. The fear begins to sink in, plunging through ice water. He’s beginning to bargain. “I’m sorry I didn’t tell you. I should’ve, I should’ve told you ev–”

Your body moves as the words ricochet, refusing to let him finish his plea. “Glad we got that cleared up, Joel,” you say, near-leaping for the door.

But he’s faster. He steps in front of you, blocking your exit path. “Please hear me out. Please listen to me.”

Your body writhes under his gaze, twists like some little creature under a microscope. He waits for your go ahead before he continues. You toss your head, acquiescing.

“I just – I couldn’t stomach it. I couldn’t sleep at night thinkin’, what if you went for it? What if he managed to swindle you into taking him on? I wanted to get you the hell outta that penthouse the second he laid eyes on you.”

“So why take me in the first place?”

Joel scoffs. “I ain’t in control of you, baby! You had to figure him out on your own – and I thought you had. Christ, one minute you want me to step back ‘n let you make up your own mind, next you’re askin’ me why I took you somewhere? The hell am I supposed to do here?”

Read my mind. Don’t let him near me. Don’t let me go.

And at the same time –

Mind your fucking business. Let me make my own decisions. Keep your hands off me.

The truth is: you want him to go back in time. Take you back with him. Never touch you, never look at you any more than to ask for a coffee, or thank you for fixing up his office. Never make your heart skip that first beat, never set your skin on fire with that look in his eyes.

You want him to go back in time, and undo every knot he ever tied in your body. Let go of every string of your heart he has his fist around, every nerve which undoubtedly belongs to him, now.

Undo it all, so you might have a half-decent reason to hate him.

In the deepest, darkest parts of yourself, echoing around the caves you were always too frightened to explore yourself – you want him to tell you why he kept it from you. The real reason. And you want him to grab your wrist and pull you back into the room, back into his arms, when you inevitably flee at the sound of his reasoning.

Because you fucking know why he didn’t tell you. It’s scrawled on his face right now. And even though Jean-Marc is all of those things – sleazy, inappropriate, a scumbag in thousand-euro moccasins – that only makes up for part of the reason.

There’s a bigger piece to the puzzle, and you both know what it is, only neither of you will turn to face it. You’re simply cast in its shadow, playing blind chess under the silhouette of something you both refuse to acknowledge.

“You’re supposed to be my boss, and nothing else.”

He just stares at you. As if he’s waiting for you to say, Kidding! and laugh. As if he’s waiting for what you really mean to shove what you just said out of the way and tell the truth. It hurts all the more.

After a few seconds of awful silence, his breath falls from his lips in the form of a sigh, staggered with a laugh of disbelief. “I don’t…I don’t get it.”

But you’re tired now. You feel drained. You’ve less fight, energy gone to waste before you could make it to the real contest. Kicking his door down and yelling at him over Jean-Marc was the pregame show.

“What don’t you get?” you whisper, slumping back against the arm of the couch.

His answer terrifies you more than anything.

“You.”

You sigh, eyes falling closed in time with the drop of your head. Your breathing labored, your heart pounding. Fear. Adrenaline. Anger. Fear. Fear. Fear.

“You never let me in, did you? All that stuff you told me – your dad, your ex – like you want me to know. Like you’re lookin’ for me to do somethin’ about it. And then when I try, you slam the door closed again.”

“I don’t…I don’t want you to do anything about any of it,” you cry, tears pooling at the corners of your eyes.

Lie number one.

“Then what do you want? Tell me, pretty girl, ‘cause I’m – I’m at a loss here.”

“I want you to – fuck, Joel, why can’t you just –? I want you to back off.”

Two.

“I can’t,” he whispers, leaning closer. “’s the thing. I care ab– I lo– I…”

He rubs his eyes with his palms. Maybe his head hurts as bad as yours does. Maybe the office is becoming too bright for him to look, too.

“You think you’re broken,” he mumbles, “you think all that stuff makes you – I don’t know, what is it? Unlovable?”

There’s a spotlight creeping over you – bright white and burning. Lighting every inch of you up, every dark shadow uncovered. The monsters and the phantoms and the six, eight, twelve-legged beasts scuttling off in search of refuge.

Jeers and cackles from an audience behind him as he cranes the neck of the lamp and positions it right on you.

“Don’t –”

“…Worth nothin’? I don’t know, angel, but I can’t do anything about it if you won’t let me, and –”

“Joel –”

He’s not listening. He never fucking listens. He’s still going on, but your ears are ringing, and your vision is whitening, and your chest is constricting, and your throat is dry and your lungs are closing and your skin is hurting and your –

“What the fuck did you even expect?” you hiss, before your brain catches the words.

Joel halts. He finally stops talking. The room finally dims again. You can hear cars on the street. Your phone is ringing at your desk.

You repeat your question, quieter. Heavier. “What did you want from me?”

He’s frozen. Looks concerned. Looks…afraid of you. “I never wanted anything from you,” he says.

“No? Sure sounds like you wanted something.”

He doesn’t say a word. It gives you time, you think – time you know you should put into backing up, thinking it through, not saying it. But you don’t do any of those things. You fucking say it anyway, don’t you? You are your father’s daughter. The anger is woven into your skin, ivy around your bones. The fire behind your eyes isn’t love, or passion, or determination.

It’s rage.

“Is this what you did to Avery? This why you didn’t wanna marry her?” And then, steeling yourself, gritting your teeth: “What secrets were you keeping from her, Joel?”

He still doesn’t bite. Avery’s not the sore spot, and you know it. There’s a different weakness to him, now. Newer. She’s stood right in front of him.

“I mean,” you scoff, incredulous, “what did you think – that we were gonna end up married or something? AC/DC first dance? Big wedding in Italy, three kids and a fucking prenup to save your ass ‘n your millions?”

You swear you hear the crash from here. The bear hitting the ground, or the door of the Toyota slamming shut, or Joel’s heart falling apart, maybe. He gathers it up, sweeping it into his hands with what little dignity you’ve left him with, straightens, and –

He’s angry. Looks it, sounds it. Feels it. A way you’ve never seen him before – not directed at you, anyway. Accounting, when they fuck up the budget for the year. Jean-Marc, when he flirts with you too much. Never you. He’s never this mad at you.

Like kids in a playground, coming up with the worst, most poisonous insults to throw at one another – your words swing fast, and he only just manages to swerve them, hitting straight back with a punch made up of his own.

“Naw, you’d probably say yes to my face ‘n then break it off two days later, wouldn’t you?”

It’s low. It stings. Shocks the life back into you, once it’s looped twice around your ears.

Joel knows it. Sees the glint in your eye before you have the chance to clear away the tears. Hears the tiny gasp that escapes your lips. The bear just stepped right on top of the snake.

“Fuck,” he says instantly. As soon as the sentence leaves his mouth, he’s undoing it. “That wasn’t – I didn’t mean…” He’s stepping forward, trying to wrap his hand around your arm. “Baby, I’m so sorry –”

Your wrist slips from his grasp. “Don’t – don’t touch me. Don’t.”

“Hey,” he says, almost cooing, almost trying to fan the burn with light breaths, “look at me. Please look at me. I did not mean that, alright? I was just –”

You shake your head, staring off past him. “It’s fine, Joel. No, I knew exactly what you meant.”

He staggers backwards, running his hands through his hair; almost growling into his palms when he drags them down his cheeks. “Darlin’,” he says, and leans in again. He speaks slow and seriously. “I would give you anything. There is not a thing in this world that I wouldn’t do for you. I would do anything. In the whole damn world. This is – It’s not –”

“Anything?” you ask, your stone-set gaze refusing to meet his.

He mirrors your curious expression, his own brows lifting. He can’t believe you’re even asking him. “Yes. Anything. I care about you more than anyone in the fucking world.”

He probably says more to convince you. Probably promises a load of stuff, apologizes a couple more times. Probably says sentences that would lodge themselves between your vertebrae and paralyze you with fear, if your hearing weren’t muffled and your mind elsewhere.

Your shoulders tighten. Jaw ticks. When you pull your eyes to finally meet his, you nod. “Alright,” you interrupt, pursing your lips, “okay.”

“Okay?”

Another nod. Yeah. You’re about to do this. Father’s daughter aren’t you just your father’s daughter always running out always running off –

“This is over. It’s done. You don’t look at me, you don’t touch me, you don’t talk to me unless it’s somethin’ in your job description or mine. Hell, even then – see if Martha can do it before you ask me. We’re done.”

It wipes him clean. Every thought, every desire, every motivation – gone. Dissolved, by the venom seeping from your fangs. No more bear. He stares back at you, eyes glossy, lips trembling. He flattens them against one another, steadies himself. Angry, upset, fucking – heartbroken.

“Is that what you want?” he asks. His voice breaks. It sends a blade through your chest.

You hesitate. Your eyes are searing. Between your tears and the nauseating tilt of the room, you can barely see him.

The third lie rolls from your tongue like a marble.

“Yeah. It’s what I want.”

And you know it, better than anyone: you’re lying through your fucking teeth. The way you have been this entire conversation. Pasting over wounds and scars, bricks laid over sodden sand foundations. But you’re petrified – stood on your own, fighting your own corner. The only person who ever managed to make you feel safe, calm you down, lower your gloves for you – now stood opposite with his fists up, too.

Joel nods. Anything in the whole damn world.

“Fine,” he says, eventually. “Fine. We’re done.”

[chestersturniolo]

𝘤𝘳𝘰𝘴𝘴𝘳𝘰𝘢𝘥𝘴

Matt Sturniolo x fem!reader

•the heart wrenching notion of right person, wrong time •

warnings; none apart from no happy ending!

••••••••

It was a cool evening, the kind where the air was crisp but not cold enough to make you shiver. You sat on the park bench, as the sun started to set. You could hear the soft rustle of leaves and the distant noise of the main streets, but all you could focus on was Matt sitting beside you.

Months had led up to this moment—months of late-night conversations, spontaneous adventures, and sharing parts of yourself you hadn’t shown anyone else. He was the kind of person who made you laugh without trying, who knew when to talk and when to simply sit in silence with you. And yet, here you were, on the verge of saying goodbye.

“Timing is such a cruel thing, isn’t it?” Matt said softly, breaking the stillness between you. His voice had that familiar warmth, but there was a heaviness to it now, a sadness.

You nodded, struggling to find words for a moment. "Yeah…it really is”

Matt turned to look at you, his blue eyes catching the last bits of sunlight. The conflict in them was clear—he wanted this as much as you did, but there was something bigger, something neither of you could change. “If things were different—if we’d met just a year from now, maybe we wouldn’t be having this conversation”

You swallowed the lump in your throat. “I’ve thought about that a lot too. But it’s not a year from now…It’s now…”

Matt looked down at his hands, his fingers tracing the edge of the bench. “I can’t ask you to wait for me. It’s not fair. My career... this move... it’s going to change everything, and I don’t even know what that looks like for me yet. I don’t want to drag you into something uncertain”

He was leaving to pursue his youtube career with his brothers in LA — a dream opportunity, something he’d worked so hard for. You were proud of him, but that didn’t make it hurt any less. The timing, as always, was off. The universe had a funny way of bringing people together just to pull them apart again.

“I don’t want to hold you back, either” you whispered, your voice barely audible. “You deserve this, Matt. And I... I have things I need to figure out too”

It wasn’t a lie. You had your own ambitions, your own dreams you were chasing. But that didn’t change the fact that, right now, sitting next to him, you wished things were different. You wished the rest of the world would stop for a while, so the two of you could just exist here, without all the complications.

Matt sighed and leaned back, looking up at the sky. “You know what’s funny? I’ve never felt more connected to someone than I do with you. But life… life just won’t wait”

You turned to him, heart aching. “What if we’re making a mistake? What if we’re letting something slip away that could’ve been—”

He cut you off gently. “No, don’t think like that. What we have... it’s real. But sometimes love isn’t enough to change the timing of things. Maybe we’re supposed to meet again when the time is right”

The words stung, even though you knew they were true. Maybe it wasn’t forever. Maybe someday, when your paths crossed again, things would fall into place. But right now, you were at a crossroads, and you couldn’t walk the same path.

You reached out, taking his hand in yours. His fingers laced with yours, and you sat like that for a long moment, neither of you wanting to let go.

“When you leave tomorrow...” you started, your voice trembling.

“When I leave tomorrow, it doesn’t change what we had” he finished for you. 

The tears you’d been holding back finally slipped down your cheek, but you quickly wiped them away, not wanting him to see. “Do you think we’ll find our way back to each other someday?”

Matt smiled, but it was a sad smile. “I really hope so sweetheart….but if we don’t, at least we’ll know that for a while, we found something extraordinary , something real… eachother”

You nodded, knowing this moment would stay with you no matter what the future held.

As the sun disappeared completely behind the horizon, you knew it was time. Time to let go, even though it felt impossible.

The silence between you grew heavy. Matt glanced at you, his eyes searching yours for a moment,as tears started brimming in his own.

He leaned in slowly ,placing his lips into yours, soft and tender, a kiss that held everything you couldn’t say. It was a kiss filled with goodbye, with love, with all the moments you’d shared and the ones you would never have. Time seemed to stop around you, and for that brief moment, nothing else existed. Just the two of you.

When he pulled back, his forehead rested against yours, and you could feel his breath against your skin. His hand cupped your face gently, thumb brushing away the tear that had slipped down your cheek.

“I love you—” he whispered, his voice trembling. 

“—I love you with my whole heart”

Your chest tightened, the weight of those words sinking into you. You felt it too, every ounce of what he was saying. “I love you too”

But you both knew love wasn’t enough to change what was happening next.

Matt hesitantly stood up, offering his hand. With a small sigh you wrap your hand around his, pulling yourself up.

He pulled you close, kissing you one last time, the taste of salty tears from both of you lingering.

You both slowly pulled away,

“I’m going to miss you” you whispered.

Matt squeezed your hand gently before letting go. “I’m going to miss you too-“ be breathed, trying his hardest to hold back his tears, but failing miserably as they continued to fall. 

“-Maybe in another life,huh?” he sniffled.

You left out a soft sob at his words, tears streaming uncontrollably. Your bring your hand up to your chest, laying it comfortingly over your aching heart. 

All you could muster was a small nod 

“Another life” you whisper.

You both stood for a moment, just looking at eachother. Trying to memorise every detail. 

Matt placed his hand on your cheek, before leaning forward, placing a lingering kiss to your forehead. He pulls away, as his thumb brushes back and forth. His teary eyes met yours, both of you silently saying goodbye. It was too painful to say out loud. You both knew it, and you knew eachother knew it. So you stood silently, letting your gazes say it all. 

Matt slowly started walking backwards, his eyes still locked to yours, with a small smile and sniffle, he turned around. 

As he started walking away from you, you couldn’t hold back the sobs, wrapping your arms around yourself as a form of faux comfort.

Matt stops in his tracks, the sound of your cries ripping his heart to shreds. He stands still, his back still facing you.

“Don’t look back Matt” you call out, voice trembling. 

He stayed paused, for what felt like an eternity. You could see the tension in his shoulders, the conflict in his stance. But finally, he took a deep breath and hesitantly continued walking, each step heavy with finality. You watched as his silhouette got smaller , and eventually disappeared into the dark, carrying your heart with him. 

••••••••••••

A/N; i’m actually distraught after writing that wtf😭 probably the saddest thing i’ve written and i hate it but love it at the same time. thankyou for reading loves!!

- 𝑺𝒂𝒈𝒆 ♡

MASTERLIST

taglist;

@sturnobsessedwh0re @nayveetbhh @phone4pills @demzzz @dripgodnay

@sturniooolos @monroesturnns @mattsbitchh @slutforsturnioloss @pvssychicken @tsturniolo4 

@brianna-grace12 @blahbel668 @stvrlighht @witchofthehour 

[reidmarieprentiss]

Lost in Translation: Part Three

Summary: Derek sets up a meeting for you and Spencer. Old feelings resurface.

Pairing: Spencer Reid x fem!reader

Category: fluff, mild angst

Warnings/Includes: insecurities, discussions of past issues

Word count: 7.2k

a/n: this took me so long my loves im sorrryyyyy i have been experiencing the worst writers block ever and i just keep starting stories and not finishing

main masterlist prologue part one part two

After another long day at work, Spencer found himself seeking out Derek again, the weight of everything gnawing at him more than he could handle. He caught Derek just as he was about to leave for the night, his anxiety written all over his face. 

"Derek," Spencer called out, his voice tentative, eyes darting around nervously.

Derek turned around, noticing the tension in Spencer's frame. He sighed quietly, already knowing what this was about. "What’s up, Reid?"

Spencer hesitated for a moment before asking, “Do you think she’ll ever forgive me?”

Derek paused, weighing his response carefully. He crossed his arms, his face thoughtful but firm. "Honestly, man, I don’t know. She’s hurt, and it's not something that’s going to just disappear overnight."

Spencer's shoulders slumped, the frustration and guilt heavy in his voice as he mumbled, “I messed up so badly. I don’t even know if she’ll ever be able to look at me the same way.”

Derek shook his head slowly. "Look, it’s not gonna happen overnight, and maybe not even for a long time. You have to be patient, Spencer. Respect her space, her boundaries. If she’s ready to talk, she’ll come to you. But you can’t force this."

Spencer ran a hand through his hair, clearly struggling with his emotions. "I just... I wish I could fix it. I hate knowing I hurt her like that."

Derek softened, his tone a little gentler now. "I get it. And I know you want to make things right. But sometimes, you just have to give people the time they need. If she’s ready to forgive, she’ll let you know. But right now? Just focus on being there if and when she’s ready."

Spencer nodded slowly, absorbing Derek's words. It wasn’t the answer he’d been hoping for, but he knew deep down that Derek was right. All he could do now was wait, as painful as that was.

"Thanks, Derek," Spencer muttered after a long pause.

Derek clapped him on the shoulder, offering a small, supportive smile. "Hang in there, kid. Just be patient."

—

You were at the grocery store, minding your own business, pushing your cart down the aisle and scanning the shelves for the brand of pasta you always bought. You spotted it, way up on the top shelf, and sighed, stretching up on your toes but still coming up short. Typical.

Suddenly, you felt a presence beside you. "Need some help with that?" came a familiar voice, and your heart skipped a beat. You turned to see Spencer standing there, his expression somewhere between awkward and hopeful.

For a split second, you froze. The last thing you expected was to run into him again, and here, of all places. But you managed a polite smile and nodded, stepping aside as Spencer easily reached up and grabbed the pasta from the top shelf. 

“Here you go,” he said, handing it to you. His fingers brushed yours for the briefest of moments, and you felt a rush of memories flood back, but you quickly pulled your hand away, holding the pasta against your chest like it was some sort of shield.

"Thanks," you mumbled, trying to avoid making eye contact. 

Spencer stood there, clearly waiting for the moment to stretch into something more, but you couldn’t handle it—not here, not now. 

“Well, um, I should keep going," you said, your voice a little too quick, too tight. "I’ve got a lot to get through." 

Spencer opened his mouth, probably to try and start a conversation, but you were already stepping past him. “See you around,” you added quickly, pushing your cart down the aisle, the tension thick between you.

You didn’t look back. You couldn’t. But as you walked away, you couldn’t help but feel Spencer’s eyes on you, the weight of everything unsaid lingering in the air.

After the grocery store run-in, you'd reached your breaking point. It wasn’t just Spencer showing up again; it was how seeing him churned up feelings you thought you’d buried deep. The confusion, the anger, the unresolved emotions—it was all too much. You’d tried to brush it off, to pretend like it didn’t affect you, but every time Spencer popped back into your life, those old wounds opened up again.

Derek noticed. He always did. He was the one who sat with you in silence after the grocery store encounter, watching as you pretended like everything was fine. Finally, he leaned forward, his voice gentle but firm. "Y/N, I can see it. You're not okay."

You swallowed, staring down at your coffee, fingers trembling slightly around the warm mug. “I don’t know what you want me to say, Derek,” you murmured, your voice low.

“It’s not about what I want you to say,” Derek replied softly. “It’s about what you need. You keep running into Spencer, and every time it’s eating you alive.”

You didn’t want to admit it, but he was right. You could feel it—each encounter was a reminder of the pain you’d carried for so long, and it was getting harder and harder to keep pretending like you were fine.

Derek paused for a moment, his voice softening even more. “You need to figure out what’s gonna help you heal, Y/N. You’ve been holding onto this for too long.”

That statement hit you like a punch to the gut. Healing. You hadn’t thought much about that—not really. You’d just been trying to ignore the past, trying to move forward without looking back. But now? Now it felt like you couldn’t move on until you faced it head-on.

After a long silence, you finally spoke, your voice barely above a whisper. “I want to talk to him.”

Derek looked up, surprised, but he didn’t say anything, waiting for you to continue.

You took a deep breath, the words tumbling out as you finally admitted the truth to yourself. “I need to talk to Spencer. Not to... forgive him, but to get closure. To... figure out what I need.”

Derek nodded, his expression thoughtful. “Okay. I can help with that. We’ll do it on your terms. No surprises.”

You felt a wave of relief wash over you. “Thank you,” you whispered, your voice thick with emotion.

Derek gave you a small, reassuring smile. “I’ll arrange it. My place, no interruptions, just you and him. Whenever you’re ready.”

For the first time in what felt like forever, you felt like you were taking control of your own story, and while the idea of facing Spencer still terrified you, there was a flicker of hope that maybe, just maybe, you’d finally get the answers—and the closure—you needed.

—

Derek had set the scene, arranging a cozy dinner at his place that looked almost like the setup for a romantic date, with warm lighting, neatly set plates, and a few candles casting a soft glow over the room. Spencer arrived first, his nerves evident as he fidgeted with the buttons on his blazer, glancing around the room with a mixture of hope and apprehension.

Seeing Spencer’s anxious expression, Derek couldn’t resist a grin. “Damn, pretty boy! You clean up nice,” he teased, giving Spencer an approving once-over and a reassuring pat on the shoulder.

Spencer tried to smile, though his eyes were still a little distant, the weight of the evening pressing down on him. “I don’t know, Derek… Do you really think this is going to go well?” he asked quietly, his voice tinged with uncertainty.

Derek squeezed his shoulder reassuringly. “Hey, you’re here, looking sharp, and ready to try. That’s all you can do, man. Just be honest, listen to what she has to say, and let the rest work itself out.” 

Spencer took a deep breath, nodding as he let Derek’s words settle over him, finding a small measure of calm amidst the swirling thoughts in his mind.

The two men spent their time waiting for you chatting, though Spencer’s nerves were evident in every glance he threw toward the door, each sound making him sit a little straighter, tighten his grip on his glass, and shift in his seat. Derek watched him with an amused grin, offering the occasional reassuring word, but knowing full well that Spencer was a bundle of tension no pep talk could completely unwind.

Then, the unmistakable sound of a key turning in the lock filled the quiet room. Spencer’s hand stilled on the glass as he took a deep, steadying breath. Derek chuckled softly, shaking his head. “Showtime,” he whispered, patting Spencer on the back just as you stepped through the door.

When Spencer looked up, the breath he’d taken seemed pointless. It left him in one swift, stunned exhale as he took in the sight of you. You looked radiant, your hair framing your face perfectly, your outfit both effortlessly chic and undeniably stunning. The way you carried yourself, that familiar confidence mingling with a hint of surprise as your eyes met his, left Spencer utterly captivated. He couldn't have said a word if he tried.

Derek, noticing the silent awe, cleared his throat with a playful smirk. “Well, I’ll leave you two to it,” he said, slipping out of the room, though not before giving Spencer an encouraging nod.

"Hi," Spencer breathed, his voice soft but full of emotion, his eyes drinking you in like he’d never seen you before.

"Hello, Spencer," you replied with a shy smile, your cheeks already feeling warm under his gaze. There was a hint of nervousness in your expression, but the familiarity between you two softened it into something almost tender.

“You look… beautiful,” he said, the words tumbling out with a raw sincerity that caught you off guard.

"Thank you," you murmured, your cheeks deepening in color as you smiled. "And you… well, you look quite dapper."

A surprised laugh escaped Spencer, his eyes lighting up. "Dapper? I don’t think I’ve ever been called that," he chuckled, a bit of his earlier tension melting away.

You found yourself laughing softly too, the moment pulling both of you into that easy rhythm you’d shared once upon a time. The atmosphere around you shifted, the laughter a small but hopeful bridge over the wide, silent gap of everything left unsaid between you.

After the tentative laughter fades, there’s a moment of quiet between you and Spencer, heavy with unsaid words. You both know why you’re here, but neither seems quite ready to dive into the painful conversation waiting in the wings. 

Spencer fidgets for a moment, his fingers running along the edge of the table. He takes a deep breath, steadying himself before looking up to meet your gaze.

"I know you don’t owe me anything," he begins, his voice unsteady but sincere. "But I want to say… I’m sorry. Truly, deeply sorry. For everything.”

You nod slowly, allowing him to continue, your expression guarded but open, ready to finally hear him out.

“I was… I was scared,” he admits, his voice barely above a whisper. “Back then, I thought that if I left first, I could protect myself. But in doing that, I hurt you in ways I can’t ever take back.”

“But why? Why were you scared? And what were you protecting yourself from?” You asked hesitantly, scared of his answer but needing to know. “Me?”

Spencer swallowed hard, your question piercing through the fragile wall he’d built around his emotions. He looked down, his fingers twitching as they brushed over the edge of his glass, his voice barely steady. “Not from you,” he murmured, shaking his head. “Never from you. But… from what I felt for you.”

He met your gaze, the vulnerability in his eyes startling and raw. “I wasn’t used to feeling that way, to… wanting something so much. I’d spent so much of my life being alone, thinking that maybe I didn’t need anyone, or rather, didn’t deserve anyone. But then… then you showed up, and everything I thought I knew didn’t make sense anymore.”

You felt a pang in your chest, hearing him admit it out loud. It was the answer you’d suspected, maybe even hoped for, but it didn’t ease the hurt. “So, instead of letting yourself feel, you chose to leave. Just like that?”

Spencer winced, the guilt etching deeper lines into his face. “I thought… I thought I was doing the right thing. That if I left, I’d spare us both—” He cut himself off, his voice trembling as he realized the selfishness in his own logic. “But I was wrong. I see that now. I see that every time I remember you, every time I think of the life I could’ve had with you if I’d just… if I’d just been braver.”

You take a breath, letting his words settle. There’s a part of you that wants to lash out, to ask why he thought his fear was more important than you. But instead, you just say, “I never understood why. I thought… I thought I’d done something wrong.”

Spencer’s face twists with regret. “No,” he says emphatically. “You did nothing wrong. You were kind, and patient, and everything I didn’t think I deserved. I was selfish and... immature, and I ran because I couldn’t handle what I felt for you. Because… everyone who had come before you left me. And I couldn’t stand the thought of you doing the same, I–I had to be the one to do the leaving.”

There’s a long pause as you both let the weight of the past sink in, the air between you thick with the echoes of everything that once was.

You took a shaky breath, absorbing his words, letting them wash over you like a bittersweet balm. The hurt still pulsed beneath the surface, but Spencer’s admission was a kind of validation—a small relief in knowing that he hadn’t left because of anything you’d done, but rather because of his own fears, his own pain. You could see it now, the scars of his past, etched into his expression as he looked at you, vulnerable and exposed.

“Spencer,” you murmured softly, searching his face, “you didn’t have to protect yourself from me. I would’ve stayed. I wanted you to stay.”

He closed his eyes briefly, as if the words stung, and when he opened them again, they were glassy with unshed tears. “I know that now,” he said, his voice a whisper filled with remorse. “And I hate that I wasn’t strong enough to believe it back then. I took the easy way out, and in doing that, I lost the best thing that ever happened to me.”

A lump formed in your throat as you considered everything he’d just laid bare. Part of you wanted to let that resentment simmer, to guard yourself, to keep holding him at a distance so he couldn’t hurt you again. But another part of you, the part that still remembered the warmth in his smile and the kindness in his eyes, wanted to believe that maybe this time, he was telling the truth. Maybe this time, he was ready to face his fears instead of running from them.

Finally, you nodded, your voice soft but steady. “Spencer, I don’t know if I can just forget everything that happened, or if we can ever go back to what we were.” You paused, swallowing the last remnants of bitterness in your throat. “But… I think I’m willing to see who we can be now… as friends.”

His face brightened, the relief evident as he let out a small, shaky breath, nodding fervently. “Thank you. Thank you for giving me even the smallest chance. I swear, I won’t take it for granted this time. I would love to be your friend again.”

Spencer’s words hung in the air between you, sincere and hopeful, filling the room with a kind of warmth you hadn’t felt in a long time. You watched as he visibly relaxed, the tension in his shoulders easing, the lines of worry on his face softening. He looked like he’d been holding his breath for years, and now, finally, he could breathe again.

You offered a tentative smile, feeling some of the weight lift from your own heart as well. “Good. Friends, then,” you said, letting the words settle, hoping they would feel real in time. It was a start—a cautious, careful start—and maybe that was all either of you could ask for right now.

Spencer reached for his glass, lifting it with a small, almost shy grin. “To friendship?”

You hesitated for just a second before picking up your own glass, meeting his gaze with a nod. “To friendship,” you echoed, clinking your glass gently against his.

For a moment, you both just sipped in silence, the atmosphere lighter, yet still laced with the unspoken acknowledgment of everything you’d been through to get to this point. But now there was something else too—a tentative trust, a fragile understanding, and a sense of hope that maybe, just maybe, you could both find a way forward. 

After a while, Spencer glanced at you with a soft smile. “So… does this mean I get to hear all about what’s been going on in your life? I feel like I’ve missed so much.”

You laughed, the sound coming easier now. “Maybe. But only if you tell me about yours. I imagine it’s been… eventful?”

Spencer chuckled, nodding. “Eventful is an understatement.” His smile grew, and you could see in his eyes a quiet gratitude—a promise, almost—that he wouldn’t let this new chance slip away.

And as the two of you fell into a familiar rhythm of conversation, it felt like the beginning of something healing, something honest—a friendship, perhaps, but one built on something much deeper, with a foundation strong enough to weather the past.

During the meal Derek set up, Spencer’s face lit up as he leaned in, his eyes sparkling with amusement and mild embarrassment. “So, picture this,” he began, already chuckling. “It’s my first day at the Bureau, and I’m nervous, right? I mean, I was 22, fresh out of college, and suddenly surrounded by all these experienced agents. And then, in walks Derek.”

You laughed, already picturing Derek’s confident stride, imagining him sizing up a much younger, slightly awkward Spencer.

“He takes one look at me,” Spencer continued, shaking his head, “and smirks like he’s just seen the nerdiest kid to ever walk through the doors of the FBI. I’m there, clutching a giant stack of files and notebooks, and he comes right up to me, flashing that classic Derek grin, and goes, ‘Hey, kid, did you get lost on a field trip?’”

You burst out laughing, covering your mouth as you imagined Spencer’s face at that moment. “No! He didn’t!”

“Oh, he did,” Spencer said, eyes widening with mock indignation, though his grin betrayed his amusement. “And it didn’t stop there. He called me ‘pretty boy’ and ‘kid’ within the first five minutes and has never stopped since.”

You shook your head, still laughing, picturing young Spencer being tossed right into Derek’s playful antics from the get-go. “I can totally see it. Poor you. And let me guess, you had no idea how to respond?”

“Absolutely none,” he replied, grinning sheepishly. “I just kind of blinked at him and stammered something about already having a map of the building… which only made him laugh harder.”

The two of you dissolved into giggles, your laughter filling the room as Spencer recounted more of his awkward encounters from that first day, each story making you laugh harder than the last. You felt a warmth spreading in your chest, the weight of the past slowly giving way to the simple joy of sharing these small moments together again.

Spencer’s eyes were already wide with anticipation as you leaned in this time, grinning with a story of your own. “Okay, the craziest job I have ever been on?,” you pondered Spencer’s question, setting the scene with a dramatic flourish. “A couple of months ago, I was hired to redo this guy’s entire downstairs ‘mancave’—you know, dark leather couches, endless sports memorabilia, a bar in the corner. The whole place just screamed midlife crisis.”

Spencer chuckled, leaning forward, clearly captivated. “Alright, I’m with you. Go on.”

“So, I’m there working, measuring walls, trying to envision the space,” you continued, “and the husband, who hired me, starts getting… a little too friendly. Like, way too friendly. He’s making these cheesy comments, trying to act all smooth, and I’m just politely nodding, desperately trying to get my work done without engaging.”

“Oh no,” Spencer said, shaking his head with a mix of laughter and disbelief. “And where was his wife during all this?”

“That’s the thing,” you said, leaning in closer, your eyes alight with excitement. “Right as he’s leaning over my shoulder, trying to impress me with some ‘fun fact’ about his baseball collection, his wife walks in. She takes one look at the situation—him practically draped over me like some tacky velvet blanket—and loses it.”

Spencer covered his mouth, his shoulders shaking with laughter. “You’re kidding!”

“Nope!” you laughed, savoring the memory. “She immediately tells me I’m fired—screaming at him, at me, at the whole mancave situation. I barely manage to grab my things and escape before things get even more awkward.”

Spencer’s eyes widened even more. “That’s insane! Did you still get paid?”

“Well, here’s the best part,” you said, grinning mischievously. “A few weeks later, I get a call. It’s her! She’s left him, found herself a nice little apartment across town, and wants to hire me again to redecorate her entire new place. She said, and I quote, ‘Let’s make this space reflect the woman I’m becoming. Classy, strong, and with no sign of men.’”

Spencer laughed so hard he had to catch his breath, shaking his head in disbelief. “That’s incredible. I can’t believe she rehired you after all of that!”

“Oh, trust me,” you said, still giggling. “It’s a project I will never forget. That apartment is full of plants, bright colors, and bookshelves—and not a single ‘mancave’ element in sight.”

Spencer chuckled, his gaze soft and warm, but beneath the smile was a glint of curiosity and a hunger for more. There was so much he wanted to ask, so many gaps in the last six years he yearned to fill in. 

“So, uh, how was the rest of your undergrad?” he ventured, his voice carrying a hint of the awkwardness he couldn’t quite shake. He’d been dancing around the question, unsure of where to begin.

You hesitated for a moment, then decided to keep things light. “Well, it was definitely boring without my favorite study buddy,” you teased, a playful smirk forming. “And, from what I heard, the rest of the students were utterly lost without their... shall we say, ‘nefarious professor?’”

Spencer groaned, instantly covering his face with his hands, his cheeks turning a noticeable shade of pink. “Oh god, you knew about that?”

You bit your lip, trying to hold back your laughter but failing as a small giggle escaped. “Your reputation precedes you, Professor.”

He peeked out from behind his hands, a mix of embarrassment and humor on his face. “I swear, I was young and stupid,” he mumbled, shaking his head with a self-deprecating smile. 

“Oh, I’m sure,” you laughed, but as the sound faded, your face softened, a more serious expression settling in. “That’s, uh… actually why I never made a move back then.”

“Oh,” Spencer murmured, the weight of the truth sinking in as he glanced down. He understood what you meant—that lingering fear you’d had, that you’d just be another one of his temporary flings, another notch in his belt. He sighed, regret lacing his voice. “That’s… that’s also why I never made a move.”

“Oh,” you echoed, the realization settling over both of you like a bittersweet memory, so many missed chances hanging between you.

You sat in silence for a moment, each of you processing the weight of that mutual hesitation, the missed opportunities. Spencer reached for his cup, taking a small sip before he looked up at you, his eyes searching yours. “I’m sorry for all of it. For making you feel like you couldn’t… that you weren’t different.”

You nodded slowly, offering him a small, understanding smile. “I know, Spencer. I know you didn’t mean for it to be that way. I think we were both just… scared.”

He smiled back, his gaze warm and grateful, the unspoken hope that maybe, just maybe, things could finally be different lingering in the air between you.

—

It had been a week since you and Spencer shared that dinner, and neither of you had been able to shake the lingering thoughts of each other. The quiet moments of laughter, the shared memories, and the glimmers of connection that you thought had faded—all of it kept replaying in your minds.

For you, it was a mix of nostalgia and something new altogether. Every time you caught yourself thinking of him, you were reminded of the sweetness that had initially drawn you to him all those years ago. Despite everything, he was still that kind, brilliant, and awkwardly charming man you’d fallen for. The more you thought about it, the more you realized that the qualities you had admired in him hadn’t changed—they were still very much a part of who he was.

For Spencer, the realization was even more profound. That evening had reawakened everything he had tried so hard to suppress. He found himself smiling at random moments, remembering your laugh, the way your eyes crinkled when you were amused, the ease with which you teased him. He’d always known he loved you, but after spending time with you again, he knew it with even more certainty. The essence of you—the parts of you that made him fall in love in the first place—were still there, and he wanted more than ever to be a part of your life.

Every time his phone buzzed, he felt a pang of hope, wondering if maybe it was you. Maybe you had gotten his number from Derek, maybe you looked him up. He debated asking Derek for your number and texting you just to say hello, but he held back, not wanting to push or ruin whatever tentative peace had grown between you both. Still, he couldn’t stop the quiet, enduring hope that maybe, just maybe, there was a future for you two.

Two weeks of silence had worn Spencer down to the point where he couldn’t hold back any longer. He found Derek by the copier, filling the quiet hum of the office with the one question that had been gnawing at him.

"Derek, has Y/N said anything about... the dinner?" Spencer’s voice was hesitant, his words laced with a mix of hope and nerves.

Derek chuckled, barely pausing as he fed another document into the copier. “Yeah, man, she said she had a great time.”

Spencer’s heart leaped, but the thrill was short-lived. "But she hasn’t reached out... do you think she's waiting for me to contact her first?" His words came out in a rush, almost pleading.

Derek turned, his expression shifting to one of mild confusion. “What? No, kid,” he shook his head, looking at Spencer like he was missing the obvious. “Y/N told me you two agreed to be friends. She’s not playing games. If you want her number, just ask her for it next time you see her.”

Spencer nodded slowly, absorbing Derek's words, but a hollow feeling lingered. Friends. It was supposed to feel like a step forward, but instead, he felt more uncertain than ever. Was she thinking about him, wondering about the possibilities, or had her life simply moved on while he was here, caught in a web of memories and what-ifs? The thought weighed on him as he returned to his desk, wondering if he’d ever get the courage to ask for more than just friendship.

Derek clapped a reassuring hand on Spencer’s shoulder, giving him a grin that held both pride and encouragement. "But hey," he said, his voice warm and steady, "I'm proud of you, kid. Sounds like you killed it. Y/N was singing your praises afterward."

Spencer’s eyes widened a little, a spark of hope igniting at Derek’s words. "She... she was?"

"Yeah," Derek chuckled, nodding. "Said you were charming, funny—even used the word 'dapper,' I think," he added with a smirk.

Spencer couldn’t help but let a small, pleased smile tug at the corners of his mouth. The knot of worry in his chest loosened just a bit. Knowing that you had spoken well of him, that you’d enjoyed the time together, made him feel like maybe, just maybe, this new beginning wasn’t such a long shot after all. 

“Thanks, Derek,” he murmured, his voice a little softer, the gratitude evident in his gaze. 

“Anytime, man,” Derek said, giving his shoulder a final pat. "Just keep being yourself. That’s the guy she was talking about."

—

Spencer’s patience was wearing thin. It had been weeks without a word, and he couldn’t shake the thought that friends should talk more often than this, right? The silence gnawed at him, pushing him to take a chance. After a moment of hesitation, he sought out Penelope to get your number.

With his heart pounding, he carefully typed out the message, fingers hovering over the screen before he finally hit send.

Hi, this is Spencer Reid. I hope it’s alright that I’m reaching out. I was wondering if you’d like to grab a coffee this weekend? Take care.

He stared at the screen for a moment, feeling the weight of vulnerability in those words, hoping he hadn’t overstepped but needing to take the swing. Now, all he could do was wait and hope you’d respond.

I'm sorry… who is this? you typed back, unable to resist a playful grin as you sent it. Then, before he could panic, you quickly added.

I only know a Professor Reid. But if you know him, could you tell him I would love to get coffee with him?

You hit send, giggling to yourself, picturing the look on his face when he read your teasing reply.

Spencer’s heart nearly stopped when he saw your response. For a split second, panic coursed through him, wondering if he’d gotten the wrong number. But then, as he read further, a grin broke across his face, and he shook his head, chuckling to himself. You hadn’t changed one bit.

Ah, I see you’re familiar with my more… scholarly persona. I’ll be sure to pass along the message to Professor Reid. He’ll be delighted to know you’re interested in coffee. Saturday at noon work for you?

As he hit send, he could already picture you laughing on the other end, and for the first time in weeks, the anticipation didn’t feel so heavy—it felt exciting.

—

You kept telling yourself this was just coffee. You’d agreed to be friends, and you were determined to honor that. But as you got ready, meticulously adjusting every detail of your outfit—a chic matching top and bottoms paired with Doc Martins—you couldn’t ignore the flutter in your chest. Deep down, you knew that with Spencer, the feelings you harbored were anything but platonic.

When you arrived at the coffee shop Spencer had chosen, you realized you’d never been there before. The place was an eclectic mix of books and cozy seating, and the scent of old paper mingled with freshly brewed coffee. It was the perfect spot for Spencer, practically radiating his energy, and you couldn’t help but smile, feeling like an 18-year-old college girl all over again, swooning over the man with his nose buried in a book.

As you approached, you took a moment to admire him. Spencer looked effortlessly dapper in a dark blazer over a burgundy sweater and dress shirt, his usual disheveled curls slightly tamed but still charmingly unruly. The sight of him made you feel breathless, as if no time had passed since those days in the library.

“Do you mind if I sit here?” you asked with a grin, echoing the very first words he had spoken to you all those years ago.

Spencer looked up, his eyes lighting up as he recognized the callback. “Of course, go ahead,” he replied, his voice warm with shared memories.

You giggled as you sat down. “What are you reading?” you asked, genuinely curious but also trying to ground yourself in casual conversation.

Spencer turned the book toward you, revealing the cover. To your surprise and delight, it was one of your favorite novels. “Good choice,” you grinned, giving him an approving nod.

Noticing his lack of coffee, you raised an eyebrow. “Do you want me to order you something when I go up?” you offered.

He shook his head, a shy smile playing on his lips. “I, uh, already ordered for us. They’re going to bring it to the table when it’s ready.”

“Oh?” You tilted your head, curiosity piqued. “What did you get?”

Spencer’s cheeks flushed, his expression sheepish. “Your regular... you know, from back in the day.”

“You remember?” You couldn’t help the slight blush creeping onto your cheeks, touched by the thoughtfulness of it.

“Eidetic memory,” he shrugged with a small smile, “but I’d remember it regardless.”

Before you could say more, the waiter arrived with your drinks. Spencer smiled in recognition. “Thanks, Andy,” he said, clearly a regular here.

“No problem, Dr. Reid,” Andy replied with a friendly grin. They glanced at you with a hint of mischief. “And who is this beautiful lady you have with you today?”

Spencer’s cheeks turned a deeper shade of red as he fumbled for words, but you chuckled, stepping in with a playful smile. “Just an old friend,” you said, giving Spencer a teasing look.

“Well, if you’re just a friend…” Andy grinned, a glint of charm in their eyes. “Could I get your number?” they asked, leaning in with a playful smirk.

You saw Spencer tense across from you, his expression a blend of flustered annoyance and barely concealed jealousy. His jaw tightened slightly as he tried to keep his cool, but the look in his eyes was unmistakable. 

“Um, su–sure,” you replied, holding back a grin as you took the napkin Andy handed you and scribbled your number on it. You probably wouldn’t text them back, but the idea of Spencer squirming just a little was too tempting to resist.

As Andy walked away with a wink, you turned to find Spencer still watching, his lips pursed and a faint pink coloring his cheeks. He fiddled with his cup, glancing down, then back at you, clearly trying to play it cool but not quite succeeding.

“Making friends, are we?” he asked, a playful edge in his voice, though the slight edge of jealousy was hard to miss.

You gave him a sweet, innocent smile. “What? I thought we were just friends,” you teased, raising your cup to your lips and taking a slow sip.

Spencer’s lips quirked up in a reluctant smile, his eyes softening as he watched you. “Touché,” he murmured, unable to hide his amusement—or, perhaps, his relief that you were still here, sharing this moment with him.

Spencer leaned forward, resting his elbows on the table, a spark of newfound confidence in his eyes that you hadn’t seen back in your college days. He tilted his head slightly, studying you with an intensity that made your cheeks warm.

“So, you’re giving out your number to just anyone now, huh?” he asked, his voice laced with a teasing tone. His eyes never left yours, the hint of a smirk playing at his lips.

You let out a small laugh, trying to brush off the heat rising to your face. “What? I’m allowed to have friends,” you replied, aiming for casual but knowing you were failing miserably under his gaze.

“Friends…” he mused, his eyes drifting down to the way your fingers fidgeted with your cup. “That’s interesting, because I don’t remember you ever giving me your number back in college.”

The implication in his words sent a rush of butterflies through you. You tried to keep your composure, but the way he was looking at you—with that quiet, calculated confidence—made it impossible.

“Maybe you didn’t ask,” you countered, raising an eyebrow in challenge, though you felt your own heartbeat quicken at his proximity.

Spencer leaned in even closer, a mischievous glint in his eyes. “Well, maybe I’m asking now.” His voice was soft, his gaze lingering on your lips before flicking back up to meet your eyes. He was clearly enjoying this, watching you get flustered in a way he’d never seen before.

You opened your mouth to respond but found yourself momentarily speechless. This wasn’t the Spencer you remembered—he was more self-assured, and the way he was looking at you made it clear that he wasn’t the same shy, awkward boy from college. You couldn’t help but glance down at his hand on the table, inches away from yours, and you felt the urge to close that gap.

He seemed to notice where your gaze had drifted, and his fingers brushed yours, sending a jolt of electricity through you. “So,” he said, his tone lower, almost daring, “if I asked for your number now, would I have to compete with Andy for your attention?”

You managed a breathless laugh, feeling your face heat up. “You clearly already got it from somewhere, but I think… maybe I could make an exception for you,” you replied, trying to match his confidence but failing as your voice wavered slightly.

Spencer’s smile widened, clearly pleased with himself. “Good,” he murmured, his thumb grazing the back of your hand for just a moment longer before he finally leaned back in his chair, giving you a little space to breathe.

But that look in his eyes remained, a silent promise that he wasn’t done teasing you just yet.

As the coffee moment faded, Spencer looked down at his cup, gathering his thoughts before asking the question that had been lingering in the back of his mind. He glanced up at you, a little hesitant but determined, his gaze soft yet intense.

“So… have you, um, been seeing anyone?” he asked, trying to keep his tone casual but failing as his voice took on a hint of vulnerability.

The question surprised you, and you couldn’t help but smile at his attempt to mask his curiosity. You met his eyes, shrugging slightly as you considered how to answer. “Not really. I’ve gone on a few dates here and there, but… nothing serious. No one really stuck, you know?”

Spencer's shoulders visibly relaxed, and he nodded, a small, almost relieved smile appearing on his lips. “Yeah, I get that,” he replied, his voice soft, as though he was processing your words.

You tilted your head, curiosity getting the better of you. “What about you, Spencer? Anyone special?”

He shook his head, a slight flush creeping up his neck. “No, not really. There were a few… attempts, well more like one I guess, but nothing meaningful. I think—” He hesitated, his eyes flicking back to yours, more serious now. “I think I was always… comparing them. To you.”

Your breath caught, and for a moment, you didn’t know what to say. His confession hung in the air between you, as heavy as it was tender, and you felt the warmth of his words settle into your chest.

“Spencer…” you began softly, not sure if you wanted to press further or just let the moment be.

He cleared his throat, shifting in his seat but not breaking eye contact. “I don’t mean to make things uncomfortable,” he added quickly, a little nervous laugh escaping. “I just… I don’t think anyone else ever really understood me the way you did. And I don’t know if anyone ever will.”

Your gaze softened, and without thinking, you reached across the table, letting your hand rest gently over his. “Spencer, I… I understand.” You could feel his fingers tense slightly under your touch before he relaxed, his hand turning just enough to hold yours back.

Neither of you spoke, but the quiet admission in his words, in the shared look between you, seemed to bridge the gap that had been lingering all these years. This wasn’t about the past, and it wasn’t about unfinished business—it was about the connection you both still felt, and maybe even the hope that there was more to come.

The silence stretched, not awkward but full, as if both of you were finally coming to terms with what had always been there, waiting. Spencer’s thumb brushed against the back of your hand, his gaze lingering on your intertwined fingers.

“Do you think… we could try again?” he asked softly, his voice barely above a whisper, his eyes searching yours with a mixture of hope and uncertainty.

Spencer’s face fell as your words hit him, the gentle hope in his expression dissolving into something more resigned, almost apologetic. “Spencer… no,” you said softly, each word a mixture of reluctance and finality. You took a steadying breath. “Or—I don’t know. We’ve only just started being friends again, and I need you to respect that.”

As you stood, gathering your bag, the emotions bubbling up inside were too much to process here. The vulnerability, the confusion, the lingering affection—all of it weighed too heavily. You needed space, a moment to breathe away from him and the swirl of old feelings coming to life.

“I need to go,” you murmured, almost to yourself. Then, louder, “I’m sorry.”

Spencer shot to his feet, reaching out as if he might stop you, his voice strained with a sudden desperation. “Y/N! Wait—please!”

But you couldn’t bear to look back, not with the uncertainty clouding your heart. You turned and made your way out of the café, each step feeling heavier than the last, his words echoing in your mind even as you slipped through the door and out into the open air.

Spencer’s heart broke as he watched you leave, the door chiming softly behind you as you stepped out of the coffee shop. He remained seated, staring at the spot where you’d been, his heart sinking with regret and longing. He’d overstepped, pushed too soon, and he knew it. The rush of seeing you again, the glimmer of hope, had clouded his judgment.

He ran a shaky hand through his hair, berating himself for his impatience. He’d waited years, and yet he couldn’t manage a few more months to let you feel comfortable, to let things develop naturally. All the lessons he thought he’d learned, the promises he’d made to himself to be careful, had crumbled the moment he was alone with you.

Taking a deep breath, he rose from his seat, leaving his unfinished coffee behind. He stepped outside, half-hoping he might see you down the street, but there was no sign of you. The crisp air bit at him, making everything feel sharper, clearer—he’d have to be patient. He’d have to show you he respected your boundaries and that he was capable of being your friend without expectation or pressure.

As he began his walk home, he took a deep breath, silently resolving to make things right. Next time, he’d wait. He’d listen. And he’d let you set the pace.

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[dixons-sunshine]

A/N: I've finally started working on chapter 4 of Yielding Isn't My Middle Name! It's gonna be my main focus this week. I should have it up by this weekend. Sorry for the long wait!

“Jesus, this thing is heavy. How the hell do you lug this thing around with you all the time?”

Daryl chuckled at you and shrugged. “Years'a practice, I guess.”

“Or you're just freakishly strong,” you mused while shifting the crossbow in your arms, trying to hold it like you've seen Daryl do countless times before. However, you knew you were doing it wrong. “Fuck me. Tell me why I can't just use my gun? Because using a crossbow seems like it's gonna be impossible for me.”

Daryl chuckled again. “Nah, yer already over halfway there. I believe in ya. Ya got this.” He walked up to stand behind you, his body pressing close to yours. “Bolt's already pulled back and ready to be shot. All ya have to do is line it up and focus on yer target. C'mon. Ya got this.”

Choosing to trust his judgement, and determined to not let an inanimate object get the best of you, you attempted to line up the shot. You raised the crossbow and held the target—the head of a not-dead walker, which was gross, but you chose not to comment on your partner's choice of target—in your line of sight.

Daryl's hand ghosted over your elbow, helping you guide the crossbow higher. “Yeah, jus' like that.” When the crossbow was adequately lined up with the target, Daryl's voice whispered close to your ear. “Now, keep it in yer sight. Relax yerself.” When he felt the tension leave your body when you let out a deep breath, he continued. “Now, all ya gotta do is...” His hand left your elbow, but he stayed planted behind you. “Pull the trigger.”

Your finger curled around the trigger. The arrow left the crossbow with a silent ‘whoosh’ sound, and it found its target right between the walker's eyes. The walker's growls were effectively silenced, and you felt a small smile spread across your face. “I did it.”

“Atta girl,” Daryl praised you with a small smile of his own, stepping back when you turned around to face him. “Told ya that ya could do it.”

You smiled at him, a rush of giddiness filling your body. “That felt amazing.” You shifted the crossbow in your arms and handed it back to your partner, who slung the weapon over his shoulder and across his back. “Maybe I can do it on my own next time.”

Daryl sent you a small, playful smile. “What, ya dun' want my help no more?”

You rolled your eyes at him, before looping your arms around his neck. “What's wrong, Dixon? Afraid that if I try and figure it out myself, I'll become a better archer than you?”

“Oh, I fully expect ya to become amazin' at it, but better than me? That's jus' impossible,” Daryl joked, his hands resting on your hips. “M'the best there is. Ya won't get much better than me.”

You simply laughed at him. “You're amazing, you know that?”

“Yer the amazin' one. I can't wait for ya to kick my ass at archery.”

You giggled and pulled him into a loving, tender kiss. When you pulled back, you rested your forehead against his. “You really think so?”

“Yer already halfway there. S'only a matter'a time,” Daryl agreed.

“I love you so much, Daryl.”

“Nah, I definitely love ya more. That's the one thing ya'll never win me at.”

[kwanisms]

Of Hellfire & Saints 02 — k.hongjoong, k.yeosang

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➮ incubus!Hongjoong × fem!Reader wc: 22.9k (in this part. 50.2k total) summary: After the death of the love of her life, Y/N runs away from the village only to be caught in a heavy storm but she manages to find refuge in Hongjoong's hut in the forest. While waiting out the storm, someone knocks on the door, prompting her to answer the door. genres/themes/au: angst, slight fluff, smut; fantasy, horror, supernatural, biblical & demonic; non idol au, historical setting, demon warnings: adult dialogue, female reader, historical period setting (think Puritan or like Salem witch trials but fantasy and with more creative liberty lol), mentions of: alcohol & food consumption, witches & witchcraft, religious text & ideology, harm against animals, pregnancy; attempted SA, major & minor character deaths (heed this warning, i’m not playing around. This shit is DARK), sexual content (18+ mdni), see smut warnings under the cut!

a/n:  the word count on this got away from me and so to make it all fit because i really don't want to edit it down, I've split it into two posts. I had really hoped to keep the word count down after what happened with part one but I really could not stop writing. as I said in the author notes of the first part, read with care and caution. Do NOT ignore the warnings. They are there for a reason, a lot of people die. It’s not fun. It’s gruesome. Also keep in mind that every action has a reason. Now that’s out of the way, please enjoy this sequel and keep an eye out for the next part which will be Seonghwa’s backstory. Thank you so much for reading and as always, this is a work of fiction and all characters are not reflective of their respective irl counterparts. for entertainment purposes only.

smut warnings: smut warnings: there are multiple scenes in this so I will list the warnings for each one here but all of them involved unprotected sex. You do not do this. Use protection, this is fantasy. MAIN SCENE: fingering (f receiving), use of pet names (love, sweetheart, darling, etc), love-making (again because they’re in love~), cum inside, and that’s also it on this one! SMALLER SCENES: mentions of oral (f receiving, m receiving) and other elements of foreplay as well as table sex but nothing mentioned in great detail.

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The next morning you woke up before Yeosang and got up, grabbed your nightgown from your things, and pulled it on. Normally you would get dressed but as this was now your marital home, you didn’t feel the need to follow your parents rules. Instead, you made breakfast, collected a few eggs from the chicken coop and prepared a nice breakfast as well as some tea.

Once breakfast was ready, you carried the plates into the bedroom where Yeosang was still asleep and sat on the edge of the bed. You set the plates down and leaned over, pressing a kiss to his cheek and watched as he slowly came to.

He opened his eyes, blinking away the sleep and looked up at you sleepily, a smile crossing his face as you came into focus. “Morning,” he murmured and you smiled back, pressing a kiss to his lips. “Good morning, husband,” you said softly.

Yeosang’s eyes opened again as the realization sank in, his smile growing wider. “Oh, right,” he said as he reached up, caressing your cheek. “We got married,” he whispered to which you giggled and stole another kiss. “We got married,” you repeated.

Yeosang pulled you into a kiss, lips parting yours but you pulled back before he could escalate any further. “We can always spend the morning in bed,” you said softly as you sat up. “But you should eat breakfast first,” you added. You turned, grabbing one of the plates and holding it for him. Yeosang glanced at the plates and then back at you.

“Shouldn’t we get up and eat at the table?” he asked, to which you chuckled, kissing his confused face. “Who said we have to?” you asked as you handed him his plate and utensils. Yeosang sat up, leaning against the headboard as you grabbed the other plate and carefully climbed over him, taking the spot next to him with a giggle. He laughed as you settled in next to him and started eating.

“This is our home,” you said as you looked up at him. “And we make the rules here.”

You both ate breakfast, sipping the tea you had made and when you both finished, you took the plates and cups into the kitchen and set them aside to wash later before returning to the bed. Yeosang started to get up but you removed your chemise, letting it fall to the floor. Yeosang looked up at your naked form as you approached him.

“If this is what it’s like to be married,” he started, taking your hand and guiding you onto the bed as you pulled the covers back. “I’m glad I asked you to marry me.”

The next couple hours were spent in bed, Yeosang learning your body and you learning his, exploring each other more thoroughly. He took the lead, having picked up quickly what you liked and that you preferred him on top of you.

You introduced him to other aspects of the marital bed, learning very quickly what he liked and what made him weak in your hands. He wasted no time exploring your body and reciprocating the things you had learned from Hongjoong.

He learned that he really liked the way you tasted and how he could make you come undone with his tongue and fingers. He learned there was more to sex than just procreating and after multiple orgasms and coming inside you numerous times during your sessions, there was no doubt in your minds that one of them had to take.

You lay on the bed after hours of lovemaking, Yeosang on top of you, his head resting on your chest as you relaxed. Without warning, he raised his head and looked at you, pressing a kiss to your lips. “I know we’ve only been married for less than a day but I honestly think I —” his words were cut off by a sharp knocking at the door.

Yeosang glanced in the direction of the front door before turning to look at you. “Hold that thought,” he said as he got up, hastily grabbing his clothes and dressed quickly. You pulled the covers up as he walked over to the door, throwing you a grimace before closing it.

You sat up, holding the sheets to your chest as you listened to his footsteps approach the front door followed by the sound of it opening. “Oh, Jonas,” you heard your husband say and fought the urge to burst into laughter, knowing full well that Yeosang probably looked less than presentable.

“Is everything alright?” you heard Jonas ask. You stifled a laugh as Yeosang stammered out a yes. He admitted the two of you woke up late and it took everything inside you not to burst out laughing at Jonas’ next question.

“Did the missus keep you up all night?”

You could imagine the look on Yeosang’s face and that his cheeks were probably bright red but he did sound embarrassed as he cleared his throat and spoke.

“Is there a reason you’re visiting me?” You shifted on the bed, straining your ears to hear the next words.

“The priests have started to arrive. The ones you sent for from the neighboring villages.”

Your eyes widened. ‘Priests?’ you wondered as you listened in. “Oh! I’ll just get dressed and meet you at the church,” Yeosang replied, sounding slightly flustered. You couldn’t see Jonas but imagined he nodded as his response was delayed for a moment.

“I think that would be best. I’m sure your wife could use the time during your absence to attend to her household duties.” Your smile fell but you let the comment slide. You heard the sound of footsteps heading for the door and Yeosang bid Jonas farewell before shutting the door.

You heard his steps shuffle towards the bedroom door and it opened. You looked up, meeting his eyes and finally the laughter you’d been holding in sprang free and you erupted into a fit of giggles as he entered the bedroom, moving to the bed and climbing onto it.

“How much did you hear?” he asked and you managed to choke out you heard enough. A grin spread across his face and soon your laughter came out unabashed as he started to tickle your sides. “You find it funny?” he asked as he continued to tickle you, laughing at your attempts to stop him. “He knew! He knew what we were doing!” he added.

You threw your arms around his neck and pulled him down. “Of course he knew, Yeosang. We’re a young married couple. We just married yesterday. Of course we’re going to consummate our marriage.” Yeosang looked mortified but could help smile as you continued to giggle and pulled him into a kiss.

He leaned into you, deepening the kiss before he pulled back. “No,” he said as you kissed down the side of his neck. “I have to go. I can’t stay here in bed with you, as tempting as it is,” he added, thumb brushing over your bottom lip. “After I meet with this priest, I will return and then we can resume, all right?”

You pouted up at him which only made him chuckle and tap the tip of your nose gently. “I promise, sweetheart,” he added, the sound of the name on his tongue making a flutter erupt in your stomach. “I have to meet with these priests and explain the situation and afterwards, I’ll come back.”

He pressed a few short kisses to your lips and you sighed. “Oh all right,” you finally conceded. “How long will you be?” you asked, taking his hand and nuzzling into his palm. “A few hours maybe,” he replied, caressing your cheek with his thumb.

You nodded slowly before sighing again. “Then I shall have lunch ready when you get back.” Yeosang smiled, pulling you into another kiss. “I look forward to it,” he said before getting up and starting to dress and make himself presentable.

Once he left, you got up and dressed finally and went about your chores, cleaning the used dishes and starting a fire to make lunch. You worked diligently as you hummed to yourself. You cut up potatoes and other vegetables from the pantry and added them to a pot with some beef stock as well as a cut of beef.

As it simmered, you went to work cleaning and putting away your things. You also hung up your painting, the one you had made of the wildflower field. As you stared at it, your mind wandered, a bittersweet feeling filling your chest.

Things had changed so drastically in the last few weeks since Hongjoong’s death. Before, you had planned to run away with Hongjoong, marry elsewhere, and start a life near the sea. That seemed like a distant memory now as you stood in your new home where you would live with your husband.

You had never imagined you would marry Yeosang as he was not the man you had fallen for but as the events unfolded, you couldn’t see yourself with anyone else. Hongjoong was the love of your life but you knew with Yeosang, you could be happy. You would be.

As promised, Yeosang returned but later than lunchtime as while he was meeting with the first priest, another arrived making it two he needed to speak with. When he returned for dinner, you sat at the table this time, listening as he told you about the priests, one named Yunho and one named Jongho.

That night as you were cleaning up after dinner, Yeosang joined you and despite your insistence that he leave the work to you, he helped you anyway. Initially you thought it was odd but as soon as the dishes were done he pulled you into a kiss which led to him guiding you to the table where he made you lie back as his kisses traveled down your clothed body, pulling your skirt up and burying his head between your thighs.

He had you on the brink of orgasm in no time and instead of letting you fall over the edge, he pulled back, wiping his mouth as he undid his pants and pushed them down, freeing his cock which he then pushed into you. It was raw, carnal and passionate as he made love to you on the table.

You seemed to have awakened a sexual beast in him after the first night and the next few days consisted of the same schedule. Meeting the priests who arrived, giving a brief explanation of the situation and taking them around the village to introduce them to the villagers before returning home for dinner and spending a good portion of the night making love to you.

His stamina and strength surprised you, as well his ability to pin you down against the nearest flat surface and make you moan his name over and over again. It was almost more than you could bear but bear it you did, because you would be lying if you said you didn’t enjoy every moment of it. Yeosang all but worshiped your body and any chance he had to show you that, he took.

His sexual appetite did not diminish even when the misfortunes of the village continued with the odd goat or pig being slaughtered in the night. Yeosang continued to show you physical love every night and even some mornings before you could pull yourself out of the tangle of sheets that was your marital bed.

Whether or not your attempts had gotten you pregnant didn’t matter to you. You enjoyed the physically intimate relationship between you and your husband immensely and that was more important than some religious texts telling you to have children. If a child came as a result of your union, then you would cherish that but it was not the goal.

For Yeosang, he was conflicted with his sexual urges because of the teachings of the church but he also knew that you were not exactly a godly woman but that didn’t bother him in the slightest. He knew this when he agreed to marry you. He wanted to protect you from the villagers' wrath should things go south but he also felt that by marrying you, it would also offer another layer of protection against the demon.

Surely Hongjoong would become enraged if he learned of the relationship between the two of you but that was a risk Yeosang was willing to take. He’d grown to love you before your wedding and while he hadn’t had the chance to tell you just yet, he still wanted to show you.

The day the final priest showed up was a quiet morning. A flock of chickens had been slaughtered in their coop the night before and the aftermath had been a slew of wails, cries, and calls for action. The last priest to arrive, a man named Mingi, was from the next closest village on the other side of the mountains. He arrived in the middle of the night so Yeosang was already in for the night. 

Jonas had offered him shelter and promised to rouse Yeosang in the morning which Yeosang would come to be eternally grateful for as he was deep in the throes of passion with you, tangled in the sheets as he made love to you again and again.

The next morning, Yeosang finally met with him to explain the situation and introduce him to the other priests. Mingi was a soft-spoken but highly intelligent man with an interesting history with witches. Yeosang had asked you before leaving to prepare a dinner large enough for all the priests so you planned to go foraging, stopping by your parent’s house to meet with your mother who agreed to go with you.

As you walked into the forest not too far from the village, you found the small section where you usually collected mushrooms from.

“How is married life?” your mother asked as you knelt down to start unearthing the mushrooms. “It is good,” you replied as you worked, handing her the mushrooms to put in the sack. “And how is your husband treating you?”

You looked up at her to see that she had a knowing look on her face. “He’s wonderful,” you answered truthfully. You handed her a few more mushrooms before getting up to move to another section, searching for more.

“And will we be expecting any new additions to the village soon?”

You glanced up at her, taking note of her smile before a smile spread over your face and you turned away in an attempt to hide it from your mother. “Y/N! Don’t you try to hide it from me!” your mother whispered, gently hitting you with the linen sack.

“We’re not trying exactly,” you explained as you dug up mushrooms. “We’re just… enjoying the marital bed,” you continued. “If a child comes from our… activities, we will gladly welcome it. Right now, Yeosang’s focus is the demon,” you added. 

Your mother stepped forward and knelt beside you, taking your hand in hers. “Becoming a mother is the greatest honor God can bestow upon you, Y/N,” she said gently. “It is your duty to give your husband children.” You nodded and looked up. “I know,” you answered. “I will welcome one if it comes but if one doesn’t…” you trailed off as a high pitched whistle rang out.

You turned to look around, noticing how the forest seemed to grow darker around you. Your mother stood without a word, looking into the trees, a look of dread and horror etched on her face. “Mother?” you asked, getting to your feet.

“Run,” your mother whispered, not taking her eyes off a particular spot in the trees. “Mama?” you asked, gently placing a hand on her shoulder. “RUN!” she screamed, pushing you away. You fell back from the force and looked over in time to see a dark smoke billow out from the trees, heading for you and your mother.

You watched in horror as the smoke started to envelope your mother and she turned to look at you one final time. “It’s going to be okay, Y/N,” she said, her voice panicked as the smoke shrouded her. “Run and don’t look back!”

Before you could get to your feet, the smoke turned black, obscuring your mother from view and her anguished screams of pain filled the air, sending the birds in the trees into a flight, squawking as they did.

When the smoke dissipated, all that remained of your mother was a charred, skeletal corpse. You heard a twig snap and turned your head to see a black, shadowy figure with glowing red eyes watching you with a wide, crooked grin full of sharp teeth.

Your breathing came in heavy pants as you tried to scramble backwards, the figure floating towards you. As it drew closer, you could see the face come into view and let out a whimper of fear to see Hongjoong staring back at you, his skin blackened and cracked.

“Run little lamb,” he said in a deep, demonic voice. Before you could act, he lunged forward and you let out a scream, sitting upright. There was a shuffling from the other room and the door opened. You turned, cowering away as a figure entered the room and rushed over to the bed where you lay.

“Shh, shh,” a familiar voice said and you looked up as Yeosang sat down, taking your hand in his. “It’s alright, love,” he added. “I’m here.” He pulled you into a hug, stroking your back as you calmed down. “Wh-what happened?” you asked.

Yeosang pulled back and turned to look at the door where your mother stood, a wet cloth in her hand and worried look on her face. “You fainted,” she said without hesitation. You looked from her to Yeosang and back. “When?”

Your mother stepped forward. “When we went into the forest to get mushrooms. You were digging some up and took ill, fainting out on the ground.” You stared at her, trying to wrack your brain but all you could recall was the horrid dream you’d had.

‘It was a dream, right?’

You looked up at Yeosang who gently took your face in his hands, caressing the apple of your cheeks. “It’s all right, love,” he said softly. “Just take it slow,” he added as you pushed his hands away and attempted to sit up.

“Have you been feeling faint or taken ill in the mornings lately?” your mother asked, drawing your attention. You shook your head as you looked at her, watching her exchange looks with your husband. “What is going on?” you demanded.

“Your mother thinks — ” Yeosang started but your mother interrupted him, stepping forward to speak over your husband. “You might be with child,” she announced. You stared at her in stunned silence before turning your gaze to Yeosang who sighed and looked back at you.

“It’s highly possible,” he admitted, caressing your cheek with one hand and taking your hand with the other. ‘With child? Now?’ You fell silent as your mother and husband both talked at the same time until you finally snapped. “How can we know for sure?” you asked.

Both fell silent, looking at you. “How can we know for sure that I am with child?” Yeosang turned to your mother who hesitated before clearing her throat and speaking. “There are ways to check,” she admitted. “Specific… test we can perform.”

Yeosang glanced at you before speaking to your mother. “What sort of tests?” he asked. Your mother hesitated, wringing the cloth in her hand nervously. “Well, the barley and wheat test,” she said softly. “She would need to urinate on barley and wheat seeds over the course of several days. If the barley seeds sprout then it will be a boy. If the wheat seeds sprout, then you’ll be having a girl.”

“And if neither sprout?” you asked, breaking your silence. “Then you are not with child,” your mother answered. You saw Yeosang’s shoulders visibly relax and he turned to look at you, giving you a small smile. “It’s worth a try,” he said softly, giving your hand a gentle squeeze. You nodded in agreement.

“Just to be sure,” you stated to which both your mother and Yeosang nodded.

The next day, Yeosang managed to secure the seeds and buried them behind the house, marking their placement so you would be able to find them even at night. Each time you went out to do your business, your cheeks burned, although you knew no one was watching.

And each time, you returned to the house feeling more embarrassed than before and returned to the bedroom. Over the next few days, you continued to go outside to urinate over the spot where the seeds had been planted and your mother came by to help you with your daily chores. She insisted you rested and while she did your tasks before leaving to head home and prepare dinner for your father.

You ignored Yeosang’s insistence to stay in bed and got up to finish dinner. As you were checking the potatoes in the stew, there was a knock on the door. Yeosang answered it and you kept your head down as he let the visiting priests enter the house. It went from two to seven and soon your modest house was crowded.

Thankfully, there were extra chairs for the table in the second bedroom and Yeosang had the foresight to pull them out before and set the table up in the living room. He cleared his throat and crossed the living room to peer into the kitchen where you stood by the hearth.

“They’re here,” he said softly and beckoned you over. You shook your head. “Oh, no, it’s alright,” you said softly, waving your hand. “I’ll just serve them dinner and stay in here while you meet with them.” Yeosang glanced back before entering the kitchen and crossed the room to where you stood. He placed a hand on your waist, the other moving to tilt your head back to look at him. “I invited them here to meet you,” he explained.

“They want to meet you.”

Your eyes widened as you stared back at him. “They do?” Yeosang nodded, a smile spreading across his face. “Of course,” he said softly, leaning into nuzzle his nose against yours in a display of affection before he placed a chaste kiss to your lips.

“So come out here and meet them, love.”

You placed the wooden ladle down, wiping your hands and smoothing down your apron. Yeosang took your hand and led you towards the door and into the living room. There were five men sitting around the table, a couple of them chatting amongst themselves.

When you entered with Yeosang, they all looked up in mild surprise. Your cheeks grew warm under their gazes as they watched you with your husband. “These are the visiting priests from the nearby villages,” Yeosang explained, gesturing at the group.

He gestured at the closest one, a man with cat-like eyes and broad shoulders. Even sitting down, you could tell this man was tall. He had hair like fire, a yellow that faded into fiery orange at the ends. “This is Song Mingi, he knows a lot about witches and sorcerers.”

Mingi nodded his head, bowing in a sign of respect, a gesture you returned. Next to him was a man who despite the thick black robes he wore you could tell was muscular and strong. He had dark brown, almost black hair, and gave you a small smile when your eyes met. “Choi Jongho, the youngest of his order and has performed a record number of exorcisms.”

Beside Jongho was a much slimmer looking man with bright red hair that took you by surprise. “Jung Wooyoung,” Yeosang said, as your gaze passed over  him. “He travels the countryside with his partner,” he explained, gesturing to the man sitting on the other side of Wooyoung. You nodded and felt your cheeks burn as Wooyoung smiled and sent you a wink. The man beside him, his partner, elbowed him harshly. 

Either your husband didn’t notice or chose not to address the wink, for he moved on. “Choi San,” he said and the man who had elbowed Wooyoung gave you a warm smile, his black hair shorter than Mingi’s but cut the same as Wooyoung’s and pushed back off his forehead.

“San is a demon hunter,” Yeosang explained. Sitting beside San was the last priest. “This is Jeong Yunho,” Yeosang introduced. “He has experience performing exorcisms and banishing rituals. He was the first to arrive,” Yeosang said, reminding you of the morning after your wedding night.

You smiled politely, bowing your head. “It’s nice to meet you, Misses,” Yunho said politely with a sweet smile. “This is Y/N,” Yeosang said, gesturing towards you. “My wife.”

There was a low chorus of greetings passed around by your guests and you returned them with as much politeness and grace as you could muster. You looked up at Yeosang and leaned in to whisper in his ear. “I’ll go get the stew,” you explained.

“Let me help,” he said, turning to follow but you waved your hand, urging him to take his seat. The last thing you wanted was him to appear as anything other than the man of the house before your visitors and so you returned to the kitchen, grabbing a cloth to protect your hand as you grabbed the handle of the hot pot hanging over the hearth and the wooden ladle.

Your mother had already set the table, bowls, plates, and cups set for each person. Yeosang had filled the cups and pieces of bread were already set on the plates as you moved to place the pot on the table. It was much heavier than you initially thought, as you made more than you usually did.

Noticing your struggle, Mingi got up to help you and despite your protests, he took the heavy pot and set it on the table. You thanked him profusely and started to spoon a helping of stew into each bowl, serving your husband after each guest and before picking up the now much lighter pot.

“What about you?” you heard a voice ask and turned to find six pairs of eyes on you. With a smile you bowed your head. “I don’t want to get in the way,” you answered. “I will just eat in the kitchen and stay out of your way.” Yeosang’s expression fell but as he moved to get up, Wooyoung beat him to it, rounding the table and grabbing the pot from you.

You followed him, trying to take it back but he gently nudged you back and spooned a helping into the seventh bowl before setting the pot in the middle of the table, took your hand and placed a gentle hand on your back, guiding you to the spot between your husband and San.

“Sit,” he simply said and moved back to his own seat. You glanced around at the table before your eyes settled on your husband and he nodded towards the chair beside him. “The cook should not be confined to the kitchen,” San added, gesturing for you to sit and after a moment, you took your seat, thanking them as Yeosang tried to fill your cup but you declined.

The smell of the ale was enough to make your stomach churn and you didn’t want to get sick before you ate. You stared at the stew while those around you ate and enjoyed the meal. You grabbed the wooden spoon next to your bowl but as you stared at the meat and potatoes, you couldn’t fathom even taking a bite, your stomach churning as the mere thought of eating made you sick beyond belief.

“Yeosang tells us you’re familiar with the demon,” a voice drew you out of your stupor and you looked up, meeting the gaze of Yunho who sat across from you. You glanced to your left, where your husband sat. He looked up to meet your gaze and nodded encouragingly.

“It’s alright,” he said softly. “You can tell them. Whatever is said here will not leave this house.”

You set the spoon down and took a deep breath before starting.

“I am. In life, he was my…” you trailed off, glancing at Yeosang, uncertain of how to continue. “Go on, love,” he urged. “Just tell them.” You glanced back at Yunho, who was watching you curiously. “He was my previous lover,” you finally said.

A silence fell over the table. “Your lover?” San asked from your right. You turned him and nodded. “Yes,” you answered. “He lived in a cabin in the forest by himself. His great grandfather built the cabin for his pregnant wife and all generations of Hongjoong’s family have lived there. It’s where Hongjoong was born.”

“So he wasn’t a member of the community, then?” Mingi asked, to which you shook your head. “No,” you replied. “He lived outside our community, outside our… rules.” Mingi sat back, arms crossed over his chest and you noticed he’d already finished his bowl.

“If you’re still hungry, please,” you added, gesturing to the pot with a smile. A small smile spread over Mingi’s face before he thanked you and helped himself to more stew. “Please,” San said. “Continue.”

You went on, explaining how you met Hongjoong when you were around 12 years old and that the two of you never really interacted except when he came to the village with his family. You went on to tell them how you met again when he was 17 and his mother had just passed and then again when he was 18 and his father passed, leaving him alone.

You explained the story of your friendship that grew into romance and how you fell in love with Hongjoong. As you told the story, you could see various looks on the faces of your guests ranging from concentration to adoration. It occurred to you that this was the first time you were telling this story in front of Yeosang and he was listening with rapt attention.

As you concluded that part of the story, Jongho spoke up.

“How did he become a demon? Surely someone who lived as you have described doesn’t just turn into a demon overnight,” he said. He’d removed his robe at some point and under it he wore a black fitted jacket and black pants.

You shook your head. “I don’t pretend to know the details,” you said softly. “He explained to me what he could remember. He said he remembered suffocating and being surrounded by darkness. He also recalled an intense burning pain and this awful laughter. He said it felt like he was being tortured for thousands of years and then he came to.”

Wooyoung finally spoke up, his chin resting in his hand. “He woke up in the grave the villagers buried him in and freed himself?” he asked. You turned to him, peering around San, and nodded. “That’s what he said. He broke out of the coffin and clawed his way out of the grave.”

A few sets of eyes turned to look at your husband who confirmed your story. “When Y/N came to after taking ill, she told Jonas and I of this and I was immediately sent to check the grave and it was indeed disturbed. We then had it dug up and found the coffin empty, the top of it caved in,” he added. “We knew then that Hongjoong had risen from his grave.”

“What happened after he got out?” Mingi asked, leaning forward and resting his elbows on the table. “He must have come straight back to the cabin,” you replied. “I was already there. I ran away from my parents house after…” you hesitated, glancing at Yeosang who gave you a quizzical look. You looked away and continued.

“After my father hit me and told me what he and the other villagers had done. They’d killed Hongjoong.” You could see Yeosang visibly tense next to you but pressed on, deciding not to address it right then.

“So Hongjoong returned to the cabin and I helped him clean up and we… got intimate,” you said, cheeks burning under the gaze of six priests hanging onto your every word. “The next morning, I thought I had dreamt the whole thing but then Hongjoong appeared and I knew it wasn’t a dream. I thought that maybe the universe had sent him back because it wasn’t his time. I thought he’d been given a second chance but then he started to… change.”

“How did he change?” Yunho inquired. You looked up at him. “He started to get… ravenous? I’m not entirely sure how to explain it. But it was like… he couldn’t get enough. Like his appetite couldn’t be satiated.”

“By appetite you mean his sexual desire?” San asked, tilting his head. You refused to meet his gaze, instead staring intently at the table, studying the pattern of the wood grain and nodded. “Yes,” you replied. “He soon started to lose control of himself. Almost like he was slipping and the demon was starting to take over. He would physically change, too. His eyes, his voice, the burn marks on his body.”

You hesitated, taking a deep breath. “One morning, I woke up to find the cabin empty so I went looking for him and found him by the stream in the forest. When I approached, he told me to stay away and when I didn’t listen, he lashed out at me. He ran and I tried to follow but I lost him in the forest so I went back to the cabin and waited for him to return.”

“And did he?” Wooyoung asked. You nodded wordlessly. “But he lost control again and I think this is when the demon finally took hold. He tried to attack me and so I ran back to the village where I ran into Yeosang. Since then, Hongjoong has been terrorizing the village and killing not only the livestock but also the daughters of the men who killed him. I’m the only one left now.”

You concluded your story to silence. Yeosang took your hand, giving it a gentle squeeze. You glanced up, resisting the urge to burst into tears. He gave you a comforting smile as the rest of your guests processed your story. “Thank you for telling us your story,” Yunho finally said. 

“Can I ask you something?” San inquired, drawing yours and Yeosang’s attention. “Of course,” Yeosang answered. “If Hongjoong was your lover,” he started, addressing you before looking up at Yeosang. “How did she end up marrying you?”

“Before Hongjoong’s death,” Yeosang started to explain. “Her father had come to me, asking me if I would consider marrying Y/N. His fear with Hongjoong being blamed for the village’s misfortunes, his relationship with Y/N might paint her as a target,” he continued.

“So he wanted to distance his family from that and save their reputation.” You felt your stomach churn as Yeosang spoke. “If it had been anyone else, I would have said no,” Yeosang continued, making you look up at him.

“I said yes because while I wanted to protect Y/N, another part of me had already grown quite fond of her and I would be lying if I said that part of me didn’t already love her.”

Your breath caught in your throat, heart skipping a beat as you stared at your husband. His eyes met yours and you suddenly understood, words from your wedding night replaying in your head. ‘I’ve always been yours.’

You tore your gaze from his, staring down at your uneaten stew.

“I see,” San answered softly. “So after Hongjoong’s death and Y/N came back,” Wooyoung started only for Yeosang to finish. “When Hongjoong was taken from the church and dragged to the tree, Y/N learned what happened and she ran away. I suppose her father decided that the agreement between us was no longer necessary since she was no longer in the village. No one expected her to come back. When she did, her father tried to reinstate the agreement but Y/N was in no state to marry anyone. She was catatonic, unresponsive —”

“An empty shell,” you interrupted, your voice soft. You could feel six pairs of eyes turn towards you. “What?” you heard Wooyoung ask. “An empty shell,” you repeated, a little louder. “When I came back, I honestly don’t even remember much. I remember running through the woods and I barely remember running into Yeosang and then after that, everything was just a blur. I don’t even know how long I was like that.”

“Sixteen days,” Yeosang answered. He looked up as you turned to look at him. “You were catatonic for thirteen and got sick. You were at death’s door for three days. Sixteen days total.”

A silence fell over the table as you and your husband looked at one another, a moment of understanding passing over you. “And then?” San asked, breaking the silence. Yeosang reluctantly tore his gaze away from you.

“And then, she woke up. She came back from the brink of death. Her mother nursed her back to health and when she was able to stay awake, Jonas and I came to get her account of the events that happened before she came back. She told us everything. Jonas left no stone unturned and you told him everything,” he said, addressing you at the end.

“Truth be told, I don’t think I could have told him everything if you weren’t there,” you admitted. “Jonas terrifies me.”

A look of confusion crossed Yeosang’s face but before he could ask you why, Yunho spoke up. “Now that we know all of this, we need to devise a plan of attack,” he said, earning a few murmurs of agreement from around the table. Yeosang glanced at your bowl and gestured for you to eat before he turned to join the conversation.

“I have to agree with you,” Jongho answered from beside Yunho. “The longer we sit around and do nothing, the more danger the village is in. “The more danger Y/N is in,” San added, looking at you as you finally took a bite of the stew which had since grown cold.

“So what do you suggest?” Wooyoung asked, looking at Yunho. “We could always try to exorcize the demon from Hongjoong?” Yunho suggested, turning to look at Yeosang who contemplated. Jongo spoke up again. “If Hongjoong’s soul is still intact, that could work but in exorcizing the demon, he could just be killed.”

“He’s already dead,” Wooyoung reminded him. “We don’t even know if his soul is in his body.”

You set your spoon down, a little harder than you meant to, drawing the attention of everyone in the room as you turned to look at the red-haired man. “His soul is in his body,” you said simply. Wooyoung and San exchanged worried looks before San turned to you, placing a gentle hand on your shoulder.

“We know you want to believe that, Y/N, but the chances are —”

“His soul is in his body,” you snapped. “Y/N,” Wooyoung tried to intervene but Yeosang held his hand up. “Let her speak,” he interjected.

“When he died, Hongjoong told me how he fell into darkness and felt like he was tortured for thousands of years,” you said, looking around at each one of the priests. “He also spoke of fire, brimstone, and burning. I think that maybe, his soul was sent to hell and when it came back it wasn’t because of his own determination. It was because something came back with him,” you explained. 

“Something not human.”

Several of the priests exchanged worried looks. “You think a demon latched onto his soul and came back with him and is now inhabiting his body?” Yeosang asked, making sure to clarify what you just shared. You nodded slowly. “And I think, if you try to exorcize the demon, it will pull his own soul out as well.”

Yeosang let out a sigh. “That could be possible,” Yunho said softly, looking at Wooyoung who seemed to be deep in thought. “Then an exorcism is off the table,” he said, sitting back in his chair. “There’s no way around that. If a demon is bound to his soul, there’s no way to save him.”

San elbowed Wooyoung before glancing at you. Giving him a warm smile you spoke softly. “It’s alright,” you said. “I know what needs to be done and I know that it’s not the same Hongjoong. There is no going back. Not that I would want to, anyway.”

You glanced at Yeosang whose expressions softened and he took your hand gently. “So then we must banish the demon,” Jongho stated. It wasn’t a question. The rest of the table nodded in agreement before Yunho turned his head to look at Mingi.

“What can you tell us about witches and their connections to demons?”

Mingi looked surprised at being addressed directly and took a moment to gather his thoughts before speaking.

“Witches are thought to be in league with Satan,” he started, leaning forward and resting his arms on the table before him, his fingers interlaced as he stared at his hands. “But that’s only partially true. Just as there is light and dark in the world, this dichotomy exists in humans and by extension, witches.”

Mingi cleared his throat before continuing.

“There are light witches, those who use their magic and powers for the good of humanity. They tend to draw their powers from nature and the world around them. It is a good and pure form of magic. They use it for growing and healing. Dark witches, on the other hand, draw their power from a darker source, usually from making a deal with a demon or by blood sacrifices. The most common form of sacrifice is that of a child or infant,” he continued.

“But animal sacrifices can also be made in lieu of a human.”

Your eyes widened as he spoke, recalling all the livestock that had been killed prior to Hongjoong’s death and the killings that continued. Whether or not the new ones were the work of the true witch or Hongjoong, you couldn’t be sure.

“The witch will offer a blood sacrifice to a summoned demon in exchange for powers far beyond the natural world. These powers can cause a wide variety of misfortunes should the witch place a curse. Crops can go bad, people can become sick, and demons can be summoned,” Mingi added.

“So Hongjoong was not one of these?” San asked, turning to look at Yeosang who nodded. “He was not,” you answered. “He used his magic for healing and growing. He had gardens that he used his magic on. Or whenever he found a hurt animal, he would heal it. He never consorted with the devil or killed anything unless it was for food.”

San nodded, accepting your answer before returning his attention to Mingi. “So then why would Hongjoong come back as a demon?” he asked. Mingi inhaled slowly before answering. “There are a number of reasons. Perhaps the villagers turning on him was part of the dark witch’s plan. Perhaps a curse was placed to make the villagers do so. If Hongjoong had a curse on him, it would explain why he not only came back but why his soul went to hell and a demon latched onto him. Perhaps…” Mingi trailed off, his focus shifting to you.

The others turned to follow his gaze as your eyes widened in realization.

“It was Hongjoong…” you whispered. Yeosang placed a hand on your back, leaning in closer. “Love? What is it?”

You looked back at Mingi. “It was Hongjoong!” you repeated louder. “Hongjoong was the human sacrifice!”

A look of realization drew over the faces of all six priests. “The witch used the animal sacrifices to create disturbances, turning the villagers against the one they perceived to be a threat to their lives,” Mingi explained sitting up. “The witch used the villagers’ hatred for Hongjoong against him, making them kill him for them to complete some kind of sacrificial ritual.”

San and Wooyoung exchanged looks as Yunho’s lips parted in shock. “And the ritual is now complete,” Jongho said softly as he looked at the table. “But what was the goal?” Yeosang asked, looking around. “What could the witch possibly gain by doing this?”

The wheels in your head were turning and you stood up abruptly, slamming your hands on the table and making a few of the priests jump. “The demon!” you all but shouted. “What if the demon is one the dark witch made a pact with?” Mingi’s eyes narrowed, brows knitting together until it clicked for him.

“The demon needed a body,” Mingi said quickly. “They made a pact. The witch would get their powers if they provided a human sacrifice in the form of a human body for them to inhabit! A binding ritual, of course!” Mingi hissed, hitting the table with his fist.

“A binding ritual?” Yeosang asked. “Is there any way to undo that?”

Mingi shook his head. “Not to my knowledge.”

Yunho also shook his head. “No,” he answered. “The only thing that can be done is to banish the demon.” Yeosang nodded, taking your hand without giving you a glance. “And how do we do that?” he asked.

“With a demon who has inhabited the body of a dead person, there’s only one way,” Yunho explained. “Bind the body of the possessed with a ritual, perform a banishing ritual and —” he stopped, turning his gaze towards you. “And removing the head of the possessed.”

You didn’t need to look up to know that all eyes were on you. “But before we get to any of that,” Wooyoung interjected. “We must first draw him out.” San nodded as his partner spoke. “And exactly how do we do that?” Yeosang asked, looking from San to Wooyoung.

“By offering the demon the thing it wants most,” Yunho answered.

You looked up, noticing the eyes that fell on you once more. 

“No.”

You turned to look at Yeosang who was shaking his head. “Absolutely not. We’re not using my wife as bait.”

You turned your body to face him and reached out to place your hand on his cheek, turning his head to face you. “We don’t have a choice,” you told him. “If we’re going to save the people of this village, we have to do this.”

“No!” Yeosang shouted, pushing his chair back and getting up from the table. You threw an apologetic glance at the table and got up, following Yeosang to the kitchen, shutting the door behind you. He stood by the hearth, one hand covering his mouth as he stared at the fire.

You approached him slowly, taking note of the way he tried to hide his face from you. “Yeosang,” you said softly, placing a hand on his arm. He shook his head, turning away from you. “No,” he said, his voice breaking. You grabbed his arm and turned him to face you.

His eyes were shining with unshed tears. “I’m not putting you in danger,” he finally said, shaking his head. You took his face in your hands and held him still. “If we don’t do something, the village will be in danger. Hongjoong will not stop until he’s killed or has killed me.”

Yeosang pulled you closer. “I don’t want to lose you,” he whispered. You pulled him into a tight embrace. “I know it’s terrifying,” you said in a soft, soothing voice. “But with six priests protecting me, I think I’ll be alright.”

Yeosang tightened his hold, hiding his face in the crook of your neck. “I can’t lose you,” he whispered, his voice muffled. “You won’t,” you replied, stroking his hair gently. “We’re going to overcome this,” you continued. “Hongjoong must be stopped and if this is the only way to do so, I will gladly help.”

Yeosang pulled back, cheeks wet to look at you through watery eyes. “And what if you do die?” he asked. “What then?” You held his face carefully as you looked into his eyes. “Then it will have been to protect the people of this village and you. I can die knowing I tried my best.”

Yeosang’s hands moved, taking your wrists and pulling your hands away from his face. “I couldn’t live with myself if you died,” he said quietly. “I wouldn’t want to live without you.” You pulled a hand free and pressed your fingers to his lips, shushing him gently. “We don’t even know for certain if I’ll die. Let’s talk with the others and I’m sure we can come up with a plan that keeps me safe while also drawing Hongjoong out, okay?”

Yeosang fell silent, cupping the side of your face and rubbing his thumb over the apple of your cheek. “Okay,” he finally said hoarsely. You pulled him into a kiss, taking care to wipe away his tears. “I’m going to be fine, darling,” you said softly.

Yeosang opened his mouth to answer when a distant scream rang out. His expression shifted in an instant and he turned his head in the direction of the scream. “What was that?” you asked softly. Yeosang took your hand and led you back to the living room where the priests had gotten up from the table and walked over to the door.

Mingi opened it and stood in the doorway, peering out into the darkness. Another scream rang out followed by a chorus of yells. “A house is on fire!” he announced, taking off into the night. San, Wooyoung, and Jongho followed as Yunho got up from the table and walked over quickly. 

You followed your husband to the door and as you stared into the distance you realized the house the third from the forest was ablaze. Your heart sank as your stomach churned. “That’s my parents’ house!” you gasped, trying to run out into the night but Yeosang grabbed you and pulled you back into the house. “No!” he said as he shut the door.

You tried to fight against him but he held you still. “Hongjoong could be out there. Stay inside this house and do not come out for anything. I will go.” You tried to protest but he held your face, staring into your eyes. “Please, Y/N. Please just stay here.”

You stared at him for a moment and decided he was right, conceding. “Fine,” you answered. “But please hurry! Make sure my parents are alright!” Yeosang pressed a kiss to your lips before he rushed the door, throwing it open and running outside. You moved to the door, peering out before shutting it and stepping back towards the table.

Footsteps pounded against the ground as Yeosang followed the others towards your parents house. The rest of the village had gathered, some shouting for help while others helped hold people back at a safe distance. Yeosang’s eyes scanned the crowd and relief washed over him as he saw your parents in the crowd, staring up at the house that was now engulfed in flames.

Yeosang squeezed through the crowd as he made his way over. Your mother’s tear stained face turned as he approached and she could only cry softly while your father stared up at the blaze with a dumbfounded look. “Are you alright?” Yeosang asked softly.

Your mother nodded. “We made it out okay,” she admitted. “But…” she looked up at the inferno. “We’ve lost everything.” Yeosang felt his stomach churn. He had an extra room in his house, he could offer it to your parents but he would of course wish to speak to you before he made any decisions as it was as much your house as it was his.

Before he could say anything, one of the neighbors nearby moved, wrapping an arm around your mother’s shoulders. “You are more than welcome to stay with us for the time being. We have plenty of room.” Your mother thanked her profusely and Yeosang sent the woman a knowing look, thanking her silently.

Yeosang turned and walked back to where the priests were huddled, Yunho and Mingi breathing heavily while Wooyoung and San were whispering to one another and Jongho studied the burning house. Yeosang noticed the smears of soot on both Yunho and Mingi, asking what happened.

“The burst into the house,” Jongho answered without taking his eyes off the fire, the dancing flames reflecting in his eyes. “They were able to get your in-law’s out along with some of their important artifacts…” Yunho gave Jongho a peculiar look.

“Artifacts,” he muttered as he stood up straight, waving Mingi away as the latter attempted to brush soot off his clothes, and moved towards Yeosang. “The fire started upstairs,” Yunho said in a low voice. “When we went in, it was just the entire upstairs that was in flames.”

Yeosang looked up at him, eyes wide. “Upstairs?” he whispered. “Seems odd, does it not?” Yunho asked, looking from the fire to Yeosang. “For a fire to start upstairs and move down?” Yeosang nodded, turning to look at the house. “Very odd indeed.”

After the crowd dispersed with only a few remaining behind to make sure the fire didn’t spread, Yeosang walked with the priests back towards the church, bidding them goodnight before returning to his own home.

He turned the knob, exhaustion taking over his mind as he opened the door. He knew you were waiting for news and he would give it to you without hesitation. As he entered, he saw you sitting at the table. You looked up as he entered.

“Are my parents okay?” you asked as Yeosang closed the door behind Yunho and turned to you. “Yes,” he answered. “They’re staying with a neighbor. They’re fine, just in shock.” Yeosang walked over to the table and took a seat, sighing as you sat down next to him.

“What happened?” you inquired. Yeosang raised his head and met your gaze. “I think the demon set fire to your house in an attempt to lure you out,” he said. You stared at him, a look of confusion etched onto your face. “But I don’t live there anymore,” you replied.

Yeosang nodded and sighed again, running his fingers through his hair. “I don’t think he knows that,” he explained. “Hongjoong must have thought you were still at your parents’ house which means he doesn’t know you’ve left or that we’re married.” You fell silent, looking down at the table before back up at your husband.

“You could have easily been in that house,” he continued. “And the moment you left the house to escape the fire, he would have snatched you.” You swallowed thickly. “You cannot let your guard down until he has been dealt with.” You nodded, taking Yeosang’s hand.

“So we will deal with him. Let me join this plan. Yeosang pulled his hand from yours, getting up from his seat, and started to walk towards the kitchen. You got up, following him. “Y/N, no,” he said. “It’s too dangerous.”

You followed him as he entered the bedroom and sat down on the bed to remove his boots. “It will be dangerous for me until he’s gone,” you answered. “Until he is dead, I will always be in danger. What if he learns that I am here? How long until he tries to lure me out of the house and kill me?”

Yeosang looked up at you, exhaustion present on his face. You placed your hand on the back of his head and pulled him closer, resting his head against your stomach. His arms encircled you, holding your close. “What if I’m pregnant?” you whispered.

Yeosang opened his eyes, leaning back to look up at you.

“You think he would spare me? Never. We’re not just doing this for the village,” you continued. “We’re doing this for us. For our future.” You placed a hand on Yeosang’s chest, pushing him back against the mattress as you climbed onto the bed and over him.

“I want a future with you, Yeosang,” you continued, leaning down to press a kiss to his lips. He tried to follow as you pulled back. “I want to have your children,” you added, kissing him again. “But we have to safeguard our future and the only way to do that is to kill the demon.”

Yeosang placed a hand on the back of your neck and pulled you into a much more passionate kiss before rolling you onto your back and pinning you underneath him. “If we do this,” he said once he broke apart from you. “Then you have to promise me that no matter what, you will listen to and do as I say.” You reached up to stroke his cheek, thumb tracing over the red mark near his eye.

“Of course,” you replied. “Promise me, Y/N,” Yeosang said, his thumb brushing over your bottom lip, watching as you pressed a delicate kiss to the pad of his thumb. “I promise,” you whispered, looking up at him with expectant eyes. “Say all of it,” Yeosang ordered, his hand sliding down your neck to your chest, pausing before sliding down past your navel and pulling your skirt up slowly.

You stared up at him with wide eyes as his hand ducked under your skirt to find your already slick center. “Say that you will do everything I say.” You let out a small gasp as his fingers started to work your clit slowly.

“I—I will! I will listen to you and do whatever you say,” you replied, thighs spreading as Yeosang’s fingers dipped lower, finding your hole and gliding into you, slowly pumping in and out of you. “I promise!” you concluded, back arching as he curled his fingers.

Yeosang wasted no time, peeling your clothes off one layer at a time until he had you bare under him, removing his own shirt and pants before moving between your hips. He was in no mood for lengthy foreplay as he guided the head of his cock to your aching hole and pushed into you, slowly, until he bottomed out with a deep groan.

Instinctively, your legs wrapped around his waist as he began to rock into you, the tip of his cock hitting deep inside you, your nails scratching at his back as moans slipped past your lips, mixing with Yeosang’s name like a mantra.

“Yeosang, I—” you started but he pressed his fingers against your lips. “It’s okay,” he said breathily. “I know. Just let go for me, sweetheart. Give into it.” Your eyelids fluttered shut as you allowed the feeling of your physical connection take over, a warm sensation building inside you. You felt a prickling in the corners of your eyes as tears threatened to spill.

You opened your eyes, blinking away the tears to look up at your husband only to find him already looking at you, eyes searching your face. He slowed his motions, reaching up to cup your cheek, thumb brushing away a tear that had escaped.

“What is it?” he asked softly. “Have I hurt you?”

You shook your head, wrapping your arms around his neck and pulling him down, burying your face in his neck. “I’m fine,” you sobbed softly. “Please, don’t stop.” Yeosang hesitated, stilling inside you as you cried softly.

Instead of resuming, he held you, arms secure as he let you cry. “It’s all right, love,” he whispered. “Let it out.” Your cries grew harder, muffled by his shoulder as he rolled you both onto your sides and stroked up and down your spine soothingly.

“What’s wrong?” he whispered into your ear. “What’s bothering you?”

You shook your head, pulling back and trying to wipe your tears away but he beat you to it, taking your face in his hands. He carefully wiped your cheeks and under your eyes before leaning in to press a chaste kiss to your lips.

“I’m alright,” you said softly, sniffling. “I was just overwhelmed.”

“Overwhelmed?” Yeosang asked, letting out a soft chuckle when you nodded. “I wasn’t expecting to open my eyes and find you looking at me like that,” you replied. Yeosang stroked your cheek gently, a smile on his face. “Like what?” he asked.

“With so much… Love,” you answered. Yeosang let out another low chuckle before leaning in to kiss you again. “Well, why wouldn’t I look at you like that?” he asked, rolling the two of you over so you were on your back against the mattress.

You opened your mouth to respond but only a moan came out as you felt him push back into you, setting a slow pace that gradually picked up again until he was thrusting into you just as he was before your emotional outburst, leaving you breathless.

“M-more,” you mumbled. “More?” Yeosang asked, breathlessly as he stared down at you. You nodded quickly. “I can take it. H-harder.” Yeosang let out a sound that you could have mistaken for a laugh but all the same, he obliged you, thrusting into you hard but at the same pace as before.

Your walls contracted around him as your moans raised in pitch, bordering on cries of pleasure. Yeosang slid an arm under you, cradling your head as he rested his forehead against yours. “I don’t know how much longer I can keep going,” he admitted.

You moved quickly, pushing him as you rolled him over, settling on top of him without his cock slipping out of you. You took over, keeping the same pace as his hands moved to your thighs. You resisted the urge to giggle as Yeosang let out a string of curses as your hips rose and fell, his cock sinking into your cunt repeatedly.

“That’s not very becoming of a priest,” you joked, leaning over to press a kiss to his cheek. You felt one of his hands move up your back before grabbing the back of your neck. “I don’t fucking care,” he hissed, pulling you in for a passionate but sloppy kiss, his tongue slipping into your mouth and muffling his own moans of pleasure.

You broke the kiss after a moment, needing to breathe, and rested your forehead against his as he grabbed your hips, thrusting up to meet you, matching your pace. The sudden intense movement had you gasping, fingers curling into the sheets under your husband as your climax drew closer and closer, rapidly

You felt him tremble under you, signaling he was close to his own climax. Your walls fluttered around him as he let out another slew of curses, ranging from “oh fuck” and “shit.” Praises slipped out of his mouth between moans of your name. Your head rested against his shoulder, letting him take over and guide your hips down to meet his as he thrust into you passionately. 

“Oh fuck, I love you,” he gasped, his voice barely audible over the sound of his skin slapping against yours, the bed creaking under your bodies. His confession spurred you on, pushing you over the edge of passion and you came unexpectedly with a whine, fingers curling into his hair as his hips continued to move, driving his cock repeatedly into you as he chased his own high. “I love you, too,” you panted, pulling back to look down at him, meeting his gaze. “So, so much,” you added.

Yeosang’s eyes fluttered shut as his orgasm rolled over him, his hot cum filling you as his hips thrusted a few more times, making sure he emptied everything into you. “I love you so much, Yeosang,” you repeated, pulling him into a messy kiss, your tongues dancing together. He pulled back slightly, caressing your cheek. “I love you more than all the stars in the sky,” he whispered. You felt a small sob build in your chest but held it back.

“I have never loved anyone as much as I love you,” Yeosang continued. “I will never love anyone as much as I love you. You’re my entire world.” You leaned down into a hug, burying your face in his shoulder and let out a soft cry. 

Yeosang rolled onto his side, lowering you to the mattress. “Hey,” he said softly. “Don’t cry,” Yeosang whispered, gently lifting your head. “They’re not tears of sadness,” you admitted as he wiped said tears from your cheeks. “They’re tears of—”

“Joy?” Yeosang asked, his expression softening as he caressed your cheek. You nodded, leaning into his touch. “When you saved my life,” you started. “And stayed with me while I was on the brink of death, I realized something,” you said softly.

“What?” Yeosang asked, eyes studying your face. You looked up to meet his gaze. “That I’ve loved you for some time,” you replied. “I just didn’t realize it because I was so deeply connected to Hongjoong but there was always love in my heart for you.”

Yeosang couldn’t stop the smile that spread across his face. “It just took me almost dying to see it,” you added with a dry laugh. “I have a confession of my own to make,” Yeosang said softly, drawing your attention as he continued to stroke your cheek.

“I’ve loved you since before everything that has happened. Since…” he trailed off, hesitating under your curious gaze. He swallowed the lump in his throat before continuing. “Since before Hongjoong’s death.”

A silence fell over the two of you and Yeosang feared he might have crossed a line but when you reached up to run your fingers through his hair, a smile crept onto your face. “I guess that makes two of us, then,” you whispered.

The following morning, you woke up early, getting dressed in silence as Yeosang lay tangled in the sheets. You exited the bedroom, shutting the door behind you and started to get started, making breakfast. After last night, you didn’t feel like going out to gather eggs or cook anything that would take too much time. You would rather just make something simple and get started on the day.

Today, Yeosang and the visiting priests were going to inform the village of the truth about the demon and Hongjoong’s return. The entire village was already aware of the demon’s existence but none knew that it was Hongjoong.

You heard the door behind you open and soft footsteps make their way towards you until you felt arms enveloping you as Yeosang wrapped you in his warm embrace. “I thought we might sleep in,” he murmured in your ear before pressing a kiss to your cheek.

“I woke up and couldn’t fall back asleep,” you admitted as you stirred the contents of the pot. “So I thought I would just get up and start the day.” Yeosang hummed as he slowly started to sway, making you sway as well.

You placed a hand over your stomach as a nauseous feeling bubbled up. Yeosang noticed, placing his hand over yours. “Have you checked the seeds?” he asked softly to which you shook your head. “I’ve had more pressing matters,” you replied.

Yeosang pressed a kiss to your shoulder. “I’ll go check,” he whispered, pulling away and taking with him the warmth. You heard him move through the house, the front door opening and closing. In truth, you hadn’t wanted to check the seeds, for fear that one of them was growing which would mean you were pregnant and that was something you didn’t need at the moment.

You had enough going on.

Yeosang returned a couple moments later, shutting the door slowly and walked into the kitchen, stopping to lean against the doorframe, a look of shock on his face. You looked back at him, your expression morphing as you feared the worst. “What is it?” you asked.

Yeosang looked up to meet your gaze. The look in his eyes was all you needed to see for your heart to sink into your stomach. “No,” you whispered. Yeosang looked down and it was then you realized he had something in his hand. “What is that?” you whispered. He stood up straight and walked over, something clenched in his fist.

He looked up at you, a look somewhere between an apology and concern etched onto his face. “I know this is the last thing you need, but…” he said as he held out his closed fist. Your eyes traveled down to his hand as he opened it. Lying in his palm was a small seed with a tiny stalk sprouting from it.

Your mother’s voice popped into your head. ‘If the barley seeds sprout then it will be a boy. If the wheat seeds sprout, then you’ll be having a girl.’ You shook your head, tears pricking at the corners of your eyes as you looked up to meet Yeosang’s gaze.

“No. We… this can’t be happening…” you said, your breathing bordering on hyperventilating. Yeosang set the sprout onto the table and pulled you into a hug. “It’s going to be alright,” he said softly. “We’ll figure this out. I know the timing is wrong,” he continued. “But everything happens for a reason.”

You nodded slowly, letting out a sigh. “Look at me,” Yeosang said softly, tilting your head up. “We’ll face the things in front of us and once we’ve dealt with it, how about we leave? Go somewhere new and start over?” he asked. A small smile crept over your face.

“Really?” you asked quietly. Yeosang nodded, pressing a short kiss to your lips. “Of course,” he replied. “We can go anywhere you want. Another village, a larger town, the mountains, the sea,” he said, listing off different locations. “Wherever you want, my love, that’s where we’ll go. Start a new life for us and for them,” he added, moving a hand to your belly.

“For us.”

After finishing breakfast and getting dressed, you left the house with Yeosang, heading for the church to attend the meeting. Upon entering, you followed Yeosang to the front where the rest of the priests were already sitting, talking amongst themselves. As you approached, San and Wooyoung gave you warm smiles and greeted you.

Yeosang guided you to sit next to Yunho, leaving one seat for him. Instead of taking it right away, he excused himself to go find Jonas. “You look different this morning,” Yunho said softly. You turned to look at him and noticed the others looking at you.

“Do I?” you asked to which not only Yunho nodded, but so did Wooyoung, San, and Mingi. “Much different,” San noted as he exchanged a glance with Wooyoung. You hesitated to answer, wondering if they could tell the difference was due to you finding out about the child you were carrying.

Before you could answer, Yeosang returned with Jonas. Your husband gave you a smile as he followed the elder minister to the doors to open them and allow the villagers in. While Yeosang was preoccupied, Yunho glanced at the others before turning to you and lowering his voice. “It’s a good type of different,” he whispered before leaning up and giving you a smile before turning to speak to San next to him as the rows behind you filled with villagers.

Yeosang returned, taking his seat beside you and took your hand, giving it a gentle squeeze. You pulled your hand from his, locking your arm with his instead, giving you a sense of stability as you leaned into his side. Yeosang made no attempt to move for sake of propriety. He did not care what the others thought. All that mattered to him was your happiness and safety.

The villagers could think what they liked. You were his wife.

As the villagers took their seats, you looked around, noticing your parents a few rows back and sent them a smile, one they returned. Despite everything that had happened to them, you were glad they were still alive and safe.

The doors at the front of the church closed and Jonas walked down the middle aisle towards the stage, nodding at the members as he passed before he finally reached the pulpit and turned to face the congregation.

“I’ve called this meeting because Pastor Kang has requested to be able to speak with all of you on an urgent matter related to the demon plaguing our village,” he started. He turned his gaze to Yeosang and nodded, stepping down. Your husband stood up and you wrapped your arms around yourself as he walked up, stepping up to the pulpit.

“As you all already know, a demon has been terrorizing the village since the death of Hongjoong,” he started, ignoring the hisses at the mention of the name. “You might also be aware that I sent word to neighboring villages, asking for the help from their clergy and as a result, five priests have come to help conduct an investigation as well as potentially help banish the demon.” 

Yeosang stopped, looking towards the front row as whispers rang out behind you. “We have come to learn after carefully investigating that the demon who haunts our village is Hongjoong, returned from the grave.”

There were several gasps and a new rush of whispers before Yeosang called for attention. “To explain further, I invite Pastor Jeong up here. He has experience with banishing demons and investigating their origins,” Yeosang said, gesturing at Yunho seat beside you. Yunho got up as Yeosang stepped down and returned to his seat.

Yunho took his place and murmured a greeting before starting his explanation.

“When Hongjoong was killed, his soul was sent to Hell,” he started. “Because he was a witch!” someone said and Yunho narrowed his eyes at the person who spoke. “No,” Yunho replied. “Not because he was a witch,” he continued. “But because the real witch made a deal with a demon in exchange for power.”

The congregation fell silent as Yunho’s words hung in the air. “I do not presume to know everything there was to know about Hongjoong, only what I’ve been told by someone who knew him very, very well,” he added, eyes glancing at you and giving you a warm smile.

“Nor do I pretend to know anything about witches or witchcraft as that is not my area of expertise and I will let Pastor Song speak on that in due time,” he continued. “What I know is that the demon the witch made a deal with was offered Hongjoong as a sacrifice and it took that. When Hongjoong was killed, the pact forced his soul to Hell where the demon latched onto him and came back to inhabit his body. This was the demon’s goal. It wanted a human body to inhabit so it could walk this Earth.”

You felt a chill run up your spine and shivered. Yeosang immediately wrapped an arm around you, pulling you closer. “The only reason Hongjoong’s soul was allowed to even return in the first place is because of something known as a witch’s box. Again this is not my area of knowledge and I will let Mingi explain when it is his turn to speak, but what I do know is that by creating one of these boxes, it connects a witch’s soul to the earth so if they were to die by accident, they could come back. It is a means to cheat death, so to speak.”

“The demon took advantage of this, which was probably communicated by the real culprit who summoned the demon,” Yunho pressed on. “We believe that there is another witch, the one responsible for the misfortunes that have befallen your village. This witch made a deal with a demon in exchange for more power and offered Hongjoong’s soul and body in exchange of their own, since they likely knew Hongjoong was also a witch.” 

“Who is the other witch?” a voice called out. “We do not know,” Yunho answered. “We don’t have that information yet.” This answer caused an uproar of discourse from the congregation. “How can you not know?!” one person shouted. Yunho looked overwhelmed by the sudden chorus of questions being hurled at him.

Yeosang stood up and turned to the crowd. “Dealing with the demon is much more important than dealing with the witch,” he said earnestly. “In time, we will uncover the true identity of this witch and see that they are brought to justice for their actions,” Yeosang said calmly.

“Who’s the witch!?”

“It could be any one of us!”

“It’s Y/N!”

Your eyes widened and you looked up at Yeosang in a panic as a look of pure anger crossed over his face. Before he could say anything, Jongho stood up, crossing to the pulpit, and motioned for Yunho to step down before stepping up.

“Pointing blame without any evidence to back up your claim will not only not help, but it will paint you as suspicious,” he sat calmly and clearly in a voice you had not expected to come from him. “Y/N is being actively pursued by the demon as it wants to kill her. She cannot possibly be the other witch. One more outburst of the sort and I will start taking names for a list of suspects.”

He then stepped down and returned to his seat as Yunho stepped up once more. Yeosang turned his gaze to Jongho and the two shared a look of understanding before he sat back down beside you, taking your arm in his as Yunho continued.

“As I was saying,” he started. “And as Pastor Kang has stated, we must deal with the demon first. This concludes what I know and I will now pass the torch, so to speak, to Pastor Song.” Yunho stepped down and walked back to his seat between you and San as Mingi got up and walked to the pulpit.

You watched as he paused briefly, looking at Jonas sitting against the back wall. He tilted his head as if he was studying the elder minister for a moment before he finally turned and stepped up into the pulpit to speak.

“Witchcraft,” he started. “Is not at all what you think it is. There are many types of magic in this world. The witchcraft of this witch that has been plaguing your village is what is known as dark magic. It is used to harm nature and people. It relies on blood sacrifices to work. Most dark witches use these sacrifices to make deals with demons in exchange for more power.”

“Light witches on the other hand,” he continued. “Rely on the natural world to create magic. They use their powers to heal and grow things. Which means,” Mingi said, pausing to look around at the villagers. “You killed the wrong witch.”

There was a silence that fell over the congregations before Mingi continued to speak.

“Hongjoong was a light witch, using his magic for good and the dark witch took advantage of this to use him as a bargaining chip to gain powers from the demonic entity that now inhabits Hongjoong’s body,” he added, taking his spectacles off. 

“This dark witch used smaller animal sacrifices to create curses and disturbances within the village, turning you all against Hongjoong so you might eventually rise up and make him pay for the crimes you perceived as his. By killing Hongjoong, you completed the human sacrifice necessary for the dark witch’s deal to work. Giving the demon what it wanted and by extension, giving the witch what they wanted.”

He fell silent as he turned to look back at Jonas. You couldn’t understand the look between them but the way Jonas looked at Mingi made you feel uncomfortable, almost as if he was… mad at him for what he was saying. Jonas looked past Mingi, meeting your gaze and for the briefest moment, you could have sworn his eyes changed.

You let out the smallest of gasps, barely even audible but Yeosang heard you, as did Yunho. Your husband turned, leaning over to look at your face. “Love?” he whispered. “Are you alright?” You nodded slowly, eyes wide as you continued to hold Jonas’ gaze, afraid if you looked away, you would forget everything.

Jonas was the first to look away as Mingi stepped back, apparently having been done speaking. Next up was San and Wooyoung. Mingi returned to his seat beside Jongho and you kept your eyes on Jonas as the priest and demon hunter spoke, laying out their plans to lure the demon in, using you as bait.

Your attention waned as you stared at the elder minister, waiting to see if his eyes changed again but they did not and he did not look your direction again for the rest of the meeting. As San and Wooyoung wrapped up their part, several members of the congregation started asking questions. Yeosang stood up, joining San, Wooyoung, and Mingi on stage with Jongo with Yunho staying glued to your side. While they answered questions, Yunho leaned over.

“You saw something, didn’t you?” he asked softly so no one would hear. You nodded, keeping your eyes on Yeosang. “I think we saw the same thing,” Yunho continued. “We’ll talk about it after the meeting.”

As the questions wrapped up, the meeting ended and Jonas addressed the congregation one last time before dismissing them. The doors to outside opened as the priests returned to the bench you currently sat on, Yunho standing up. You stared at Jonas whose gaze swept over the crowd before finally meeting yours.

The moment your eyes locked, a wave of fear washed over you. Having been standing, waiting to exit the church, your knees went weak, legs giving out on you and you fell back onto your seat, letting out a gasp.

“Y/N?” Yeosang asked, worry laced in his voice. “What is it, love?” he asked. Your vision went unfocused as you tried to gain control of your breathing which had become rapid and unsteady. “Y/N?” Yunho asked, kneeling down before you. You felt one of his large hands take yours. “What is it?” he asked. “What do you see?”

“See?” Yeosang asked, his voice sounding far away. Within the blackness of your vision, you could see images of a hidden altar, line with animal bones and skulls. Blood stained the wood and a ceremonial knife sat nearby. Behind the altar, a hooded figure stood before a ring of candles on the floor, blood smeared in the middle into a crude sigil you’ve never seen before.

As the vision came, it went and your own vision returned, Yunho’s face coming back into view. “What did you see?” he asked softly. You looked up, searching for Jonas as he disappeared into the back hallway, the door shutting softly behind him. “I—” you hesitated. “I don’t…”

“Are you alright, love?” Yeosang asked, kneeling beside Yunho to look up at you, his face full of concern as he reached up to feel your cheek. “Air,” you gasped. “I need air.”

Yeosang stood up quickly, as did Yunho and they led you through the crowded church as more people spoke, trying to make sense of the information given to them. Outside only a few members had managed to make it down the steps. As Yeosang led the way to the door, the sky darkened. He looked up as he started down the steps. His eyes widened. Outside the church, littering the ground and amassed into a pile were what looked to be hundreds of corpses of crows.

Stand atop them was—

“It’s Hongjoong!” one person announced, turning tail and heading back into the church as others started to follow. Yeosang stood firm, blocking you from sight as the other priests also joined the line in front of the church. Hongjoong’s appearance had changed slightly. His hair was a little longer now and a slightly different color. Lighter now.

The horns protruding from his forehead had grown longer, starting to curve back over his head almost like a goats. His eyes were the same black with fiery, mismatched irises. He smiled a wicked smile, showing off his sharp canines as he hopped down from the pile of dead birds.

“Holding a village meeting without the guest of honor?” he asked as he approached Yeosang, a hint of amusement in his voice. He gestured at the other priests. “And I see you’ve already invited the entertainment,” he added with a chuckle.

“I take it this is the demon?” Yunho asked, turning his head to glance at Yeosang who nodded. Hongjoong looked up at Yunho. “Oh you’re a big one,” he said as he sauntered over. “Might be a little hard to digest,” he joked. As he turned, his eyes met yours and froze, the smile on his face widening. “Ah, there she is,” he said.

The priests closed in around you, shielding you from Hongjoong, making him look at them peculiarly. “Gentlemen, gentlemen,” he said, chuckling. “Relax,” I’m not about to try and kill her in front of an audience,” he added with a snicker as he started to walk in front of Yeosang and peered around at you from the other side. “As fun as it would be.”

“I tried to visit you,” he said, chuckling. “But you weren’t home. I even tried to… smoke you out,” he added with a chuckle. You felt your blood run cold but anger bubbled up inside you. You tried to step forward but Yunho grabbed your arm, keeping you still.

“You almost killed my parents!” you shouted angrily. Hongjoong made a mock look of sympathy. “Awww,” he cooed. “How unfortunate. I meant to kill them.” You tried again to lurch forward, all love you had felt for Hongjoong evaporating in an instant. “No, Y/N,” San whispered from beside you. “That’s what he wants.”

“Why weren’t you at your parents’ house, Y/N?” Hongjoong asked, drawing your attention away from the demon hunter. “Because I don’t live there anymore,” you answered simply. “I was with Yeosang.” Hongjoong’s eyes studied you as his smile fell, being replaced with a look of curiosity. His eyes shifted to look at Yeosang before he glanced down and noticed something, clicking his tongue before he looked up to look at you.

“I see. You married him.” It wasn’t a question. It was more of an accusation. “After everything you promised me?” Hongjoong asked. You resisted the urge to scoff, knowing it would probably just anger him. “Aren’t you trying to kill me?” you asked, changing the subject.

Hongjoong sighed. “Now why would I want to kill you?” he asked. “Why would I want to kill my guiding star? My little… Starlight?” A chill ran up your spine. “Don’t call me that,” you snapped. Hongjoong laughed loudly. “Why not? Strike a nerve?” he asked. “Does it remind you of our love?”

“Love?” you asked. “You died, remember? The rope snapped your neck. The Hongjoong I knew and loved died that day.” The demon chuckled again. “The rope didn’t snap my neck, Stella,” Hongjoong said, using another nickname. “I said don’t call me that,” you snapped.

He ignored your words and continued. “He suffocated,” the demon said, its voice masking Hongjoong’s. “He hung from that branch, struggling and kicking for minutes as he was strangled. Until the breath left his lungs and the life left his weak, defenseless body!” Yeosang moved to block you from sight.

“Stop it,” he said. Hongjoong glared at Yeosang before he spoke again. “You want to know what his dying thought was?” he asked, raising his voice slightly. Yeosang glared back at the demon. “Don’t,” he warned. “It was of you,” Hongjoong said. “Of the night you gave yourself to him for the first time.” San started forward but Jongho put a hand on his chest, pushing him back in line.

“That was a night he thought about often,” the demon continued. “He loved you so much. And this is how you repay his love?” it asked, looking at Yeosang. “By marrying this… priest?” he spat. Hongjoong peered around Yeosang to meet your gaze, noticing the tears in your eyes. “I’ve thought about it, Y/N,” he started. “Long and hard and I’ve decided something.”

He glanced at the sky before speaking. “I don’t want to kill you,” he explained. “I’ve changed my mind. Instead, I want you.” A shiver ran through your body at his words. “For what?” Yunho asked, drawing the demon’s attention briefly. “For myself of course. I’d like to keep such a succulent little morsel like her nearby. So I can ravage her whenever I want —”

“You will not touch her!” Yeosang interjected as you pressed into his back, hiding from view. Hongjoong let out a sigh. “Tell you what, Y/N,” he said, raising his voice. “I will give you three days. Three days to come to me on your own,” he continued. You felt Yeosang’s hand grab yours, giving you a reassuring squeeze.

You peeked over Yeosang’s shoulder to watch as Hongjoong walked back to the pile of birds, climbing up to the peak and turning around to face the church. “And if in three days, you still haven’t come to me, I will kill every single man, woman, and child in this village,” he added, ignoring the gasps of the villagers.

“Starting with your new husband.”

Your knees threatened to give out as Hongjoong vanished in a cloud of black mist. The sound returned to the area and immediately the villagers started to protest. “Get her home,” Yunho said in a low tone to Yeosang and the priests attempted to hold the crowd back as they demanded to hand you over to Hongjoong. Yeosang wrapped an arm around you, guiding you away from the church and back to the house with San and Wooyoung in tow for additional protection.

For a brief moment, you considered doing it but Yeosang reminded you of the plan already set in motion and that the demon would most likely kill you anyway.

“I’m not leaving the fate of my wife and unborn child up to fate,” Yeosang said as Yunho finally filed into the house behind Mingi and Jongho. “You’re pregnant?” San asked, turning quickly to look at you. You glanced at your husband briefly before nodding. “We just found out this morning before the meeting,” you admitted.

“I knew there was something different about you,” Yunho said as he moved to sit beside you. 

“So,” San asked, turning to look at Yeosang. “What’s the plan? Do we proceed?”

“Yes, of course we proceed,” Jongho interrupted. “We don’t know what else the witch promised the demon in exchange for power and they could demand more sacrifices for more power, we can’t be too careful. The demon must be stopped.”

There was a murmur of agreement and you let out a sigh, reaching up to pinch the bridge of your nose, your vision swimming again. “Y/N?” Yeosang asked, moving to kneel before you. “Are you alright, sweetheart?” he asked.

You felt the urge to vomit but managed to push it down. “I’m okay,” you whispered. “I’m just tired.” Yeosang cupped your cheek. “She should probably rest,” Yunho offered. “Lie down for a bit.” Yeosang nodded and stood up, holding out his hand. You took it, thanking him and saying a brief farewell to the others as Yeosang led you through the house to the bedroom.

He shut the door and walked you over to the bed, sitting you down and moving to untie your boots and remove them. “Here,” he said softly, pulling the covers back and helping you lie back before pulling the covers back over you.

“We’ll be right outside,” he said softly. “If you need anything, just call for me,” he added. “Don’t worry about dinner. I’ll make it tonight.”

Sleep came quickly for you the moment he left and shut the door behind him, leaving you to a restless slumber full of nightmares.

—————————————————————

The following morning you woke up, wrapped in Yeosang’s arms, the blankets pulled up around the both of you. Blinking sleepily, you started to settle back into a slumber, wondering when he had come to bed the night before when a sour feeling in your stomach started to bubble up. You knew the feeling all too well and were awake in an instant.

You scrambled to get up, waking Yeosang in the process as you hurried to get out of his hold and the blankets without falling. “What’s wrong?” Yeosang grumbled as you ran for the door, throwing it open and running to the front door. 

You managed to get it open, stepping out into the cool dawn, frost crunching under your bare feet as you ran to the outhouse, throwing open the door just in time to retch and violently throw up into the bowl.

Moments later, you heard footsteps and a sigh as you continued to spit up. After you felt you were finished, your stomach finally settling, you sat back, groaning as tears burned the corner of your eyes. You felt something warm drape around your shoulders.

“It’s alright,” you heard Yeosang whisper as he gently rubbed your arms. “Let’s get you back inside.” You allowed him to help you up and guide you back inside, ignoring the freezing cold ground under your feet. Once inside, Yeosang guided you back to the bedroom and sat you down, kneeling to wipe the bottom of your now wet feet before guiding you back to lay down.

Yeosang brought a cup to your mouth. “Here,” he said softly. “Rinse and spit. I know if you don’t you’ll wake up and complain about the taste,” he added as you obeyed, taking a sip of the water and swishing it around your mouth before spitting it back into the cup. “Well done,” he complimented as he stood up, grabbing the sheets.

“I’m fine,” you promised as he pulled the blankets up. “I know,” he replied. “It’s the baby,” he added as he leaned down to press a kiss to your forehead. “I’ll heat up something for you to eat,” he whispered before you heard his footsteps take him away and the bedroom door shut.

You must have fallen back asleep because soon, Yeosang was shaking you awake. “It’s time to get up, love,” he whispered. “You need to eat and get dressed. We have a long day ahead of us.” You whined in protest, making him chuckle as he leaned down and pressed another kiss to your forehead. “Let’s get this done. Then we can come back here and sleep all night and all day tomorrow,” he said. “Sound good?”

You opened your eyes slowly, meeting his gaze and hummed in approval. “I really won the prize by marrying you, didn’t I?” you asked, your voice sounding groggy. Yeosang let out a loud laugh, shaking his head before he cupped your cheek.

“I think it was I who won, my dear,” he replied. “Now come,” he said as he got up. “Get dressed and let’s eat.” You sat up slowly as he retreated, shutting the door behind him. Pulling back the covers, you shivered slightly as you pulled off your nightgown and started to dress.

Once your clothes were on, including your boots, you exited the bedroom to find Yeosang at the hearth, checking the contents of a pot. “We have company,” he said softly as you walked over. You peered through the doorway to find Jonas sitting at the table which had not been moved from the living room back to the kitchen yet.

You walked over to where your husband stood. “What’s he doing here?” you asked under your breath. “He’s come to congratulate you on your journey to motherhood,” Yeosang whispered. You glanced towards the doorway before turning to Yeosang, clearing your throat.

“Yeosang, I don’t want to speak to him,” you started as Yeosang set the spoon in his hands down and took your face in his hands. “I know,” he replied. “I spoke with Yunho and he told me what you both saw,” Yeosang whispered. “But let’s not talk about that now,” he continued. “We’ll go out there together.”

He took your hand and guided you towards the door, entering the room with you in tow. Jonas sat at the table, looking out the window but as soon as the two of you entered, he turned his head, offering a smile. It looked pleasant enough but after what you’d seen, you felt it was out of place and chilling. Yeosang sat you down one seat away from Jonas, taking the seat between you as a sort of shield.

“News has spread of your addition to the village,” Jonas started, looking past Yeosang and directly at you. You glanced at Yeosang who nodded, speaking for you. “Yes,” he said. “It comes as a shock to us,” Yeosang said in a polite voice. “A shock?” Jonas asked, taking his eyes off you momentarily to look at Yeosang. You felt relief for a moment.

“I’m sure as newlyweds, you’ve been very…” he trailed off, his eyes wandering back to you. “Vigorous in your new couple activities.” His words sent a chill up your spine, the sour feeling back in your stomach. You could feel the bile rising up.

“Oh, uh,” Yeosang’s words failed him as he tried to think of some sort of response. “Well, I suppose,” he tried again but faltered, glancing at you. “Pastor Kang, could I have a word with your lovely wife. I could use a glass of ale. I’m quite thirsty and in her delicate condition, I’m sure she should be resting right now. Especially when you have such a big night ahead of you.” Yeosang hesitated, glancing at you.

Words failed him again and reluctantly, he got up, walking into the kitchen. The moment he was gone, you tried to get up, the sour feeling rising in your stomach, but Jonas grabbed your wrist, holding you down as he leaned forward to speak.

“If you think you saw something in the church yesterday,” he started, his grip on your wrist starting to hurt. “Then you are gravely mistaken, indeed. It was a trick of the light. Something conjured by that fanciful imagination of yours. But what you saw was nothing, am I understood?” he asked in a low voice.

You tried to pull away from him, the contents of your stomach threatening to spill any moment. You heard a door opened quickly and you turned to see Yunho walk in from the spare bedroom, making a beeline for Jonas who quickly let go of you, clearly not expecting to be interrupted. Yunho towered over the man as he sat back in his chair.

“If you ever lay a hand on her again,” Yunho started, not bothering to keep his voice down, drawing Yeosang out of the kitchen in a hurry. “I will not hesitate to expose you for what you are, snake,” Yunho continued. Jonas stared up at Yunho with a murderous rage.

“Please make sure our guest leaves, Yunho,” Yeosang said as he moved to your side, grabbing your wrist to inspect the marks of irritation that had started to form. Yunho made to grab Jonas by the jacket but he slapped the larger man’s hand away.

“Don’t touch me, you fool,” Jonas hissed at Yunho who narrowed his eyes. Quick as a snake, Yunho’s hand closed around Jonas’ throat and he pulled him up. Jonas choked and struggled against Yunho’s grip. “You will leave this village or I will expose you and leave you to the villagers’ wrath,” he said as he turned the knob for the door before shoving Jonas out.

Yunho glared at the elder minister as Yeosang checked your face. “Are you feeling alright?” he asked. You shook your head. “I feel sick,” you moaned. You heard the door slam shut and turned your head to see Jonas marching back towards the church.

“What about the other priests?” you asked, looking up as Yunho moved to sit across from you. “They stayed with other families last night,” Yeosang explained, inspecting your face once more. “Turns out all the protective charms that Jonas made weren’t protecting anyone,” he explained. You turned your gaze to Yunho. “We discussed this yesterday while you were sleeping,” Yunho said, looking at Yeosang. “But we believe Jonas is the witch,” he continued.

“Or at the very least, aiding them,” Yeosang interjected. Yunho let out a dry laugh. “I know you want to believe in him, Yeosang,” he started. “But you didn’t see what I saw. Or what she saw,” he added, nodding towards you. “Ask her.”

Yeosang turned his head to look at you. “It’s true, his eyes—”

“No,” Yunho said, shaking his head. “Not his eyes. The vision.” You stared at him as it came back to you. “W-what vision?” you stammered. Yunho leaned forward, looking into your eyes. “I know you saw it,” he said, ignoring the way you shook your head in denial.

“Because I saw it, too. Last night. The witch, the altar, the summoning circle. All of it,” Yunho explained. “Everything makes sense now. It was all Jonas’ doing.” Looking at your husband, you could tell he was at a loss for words. He wanted to believe his mentor was incapable of such atrocities but you knew what you felt when you looked at Jonas yesterday and again today when he touched you.

Jonas was the witch. The one responsible for everything. 

“What are you doing? We need to warn people!” Yunho smiled, shaking his head as he looked down at the table. “We’ve already done that,” he answered. Yeosang turned to look at Yunho. “What?” he asked. Yunho looked up. “The church is being searched now by the villagers. I instructed Jongho, Mingi, San, and Wooyoung to mention something to the families they were staying with in passing. Of course, it might have taken some persuasion,” Yunho continued, shrugging his shoulder

“But at this time, I imagine the villagers are conducting a very thorough search of the church and Jonas’ room,” he concluded. He looked up to meet your gaze. “He will be forced to run and when we banish the demon tonight, he will lose his powers and won’t be able to hurt anyone else,” he added. A small smile spread across your face.

Yeosang sighed, bringing a hand up to cover his mouth before he finally relented. “Alright,” he said. “So we’re still going through with the plan?” Yeosang asked and Yunho nodded. “Of course,” Yunho answered, turning to look out the window. You followed his gaze in time to see a mob of villagers exit the church, dragging Jonas out with them. You turned away from the window, meeting Yunho’s eyes. “This village’s trouble ends,” he said softly.

“Tonight.”

As the sun began to sink lower in the sky, the plan was set into motion. You took a lantern, intent on leaving to head into the woods. Yeosang pulled you into a very tight embrace before kissing you. “Please be safe,” he said softly. “I’ll see you at the stream.”

You leaned forward, resting your forehead against his, taking one of his hands and placing it over your stomach. “Us. You will see us at the stream,” you replied, correcting him. Yeosang let out a small huff that sounded like a mix between a laugh and a cry. He cupped your cheek and nodded. “I love you,” he whispered.

“I love you, too,” you replied as you pulled back. “Alright, Y/N,” Wooyoung said as you raised your hood. “It’s important that you guide him to stand in exactly the right spot,” he explained. “I know, Wooyoung,” you said softly, giving him a smile. “I know the mark.”

San gave you a smile as you turned to him. “If he tries to grab you, tie this to his wrist. It’ll hurt him enough to let go of you and you should be able to run away. We won’t be far,” he said, handing you a small garland. You tucked it away, thanking him.

“I’ll be fine,” you said as you looked around at them. The village was empty save for the priests and yourself. You were ready to play your part in the trap and the villagers had agreed to stay out of the way, keeping inside their homes with new protective charms over the doors and windows of their homes.

After another round of farewells, you headed for the woods, walking over the yellowed grass and dirt. You hadn’t been into the forest since Hongjoong chased you out and so going back felt intimidating. You’d never been afraid of the forest before but now you had a very real reason to fear it which had once been the reason you loved it.

Yeosang watched as you stepped into the forest, disappearing into the trees quickly and let out a soft sob. He felt a hand on his shoulder and looked up to find Yunho standing beside him, looking to the forest where you had just disappeared. “It’s going to be alright,” Yunho said reassuringly. “She’s going to be alright.”

“Come,” Mingi said, turning to look at the others. “We have work to do.”

The sun was low enough it was filtering through the trees, elongating the shadows and bathing everything in a golden glow.

‘Golden hour,’ you thought as you walked through the woods, making your way to the cabin. Hongjoong rarely showed himself when the sun was out and so it felt like this was the best time to go into the forest and find his witch box.

Instead of following the path, you tread over the broken branches and fallen logs that littered the forest floor knowing it would get you to the cabin much faster. As you trudged further into the forest, you felt less and less safe. A stark contrast to how you used to feel.

You reached the cabin in no time and saw before you a scene you hadn’t been prepared for. The goats that once greeted you were lying in a pile in their shed, blood and feathers bathed the garden as you stepped over the mess and carefully pushed open the cabin door.

Inside the cabin was a mess. Furniture had been thrown around, destroyed and splintered wood littered the floor. There was blood all over the door and walls and feathers all over the floor. You walked further into the cabin and found the hidden panel. Pushing it open, you knelt down and peered in, finding it empty. 

You crawled into the small space, setting your lantern down and producing a small trowel. Looking around for any sort of marked spot, you found a small symbol carved in the wood of the cabin. Taking the trowel, you started digging under the spot for a few minutes until the tip of your trowel hit something. You unearthed a small wooden box and grabbed the lantern.

Carefully, you dusted the top off and found the carving in the top matched the amulet Hongjoong used to wear. You carefully opened it and found what looked to be a lot of small trinkets. You closed it, knowing you couldn’t waste any more time. You grabbed the lantern and scrambled out of the crawlspace. 

Once back in the cabin you made for the exit and froze in the doorway. Hongjoong was standing outside the garden gate, watching you. You took a deep breath and exited the cabin, walking towards the gate. He didn’t move, instead, watched you curiously.

As you started to walk past, he stepped in front of you, blocking the path. “What are you doing here?” he asked, in a soft voice. You looked up, not expecting that. His eyes were no longer demonic but back to the warm brown you had grown accustomed to and fell in love with.

“I’m doing what you asked me to do,” you replied. “You told me if anything happened to you that I should take this box from its hiding place and bury it deep in the forest.” You gestured at the box cradled in your arm. Hongjoong glanced at it before his eyes met yours.

“Why didn’t you do it before?” You stared at him. “Well it was storming that night and so I planned to do it the next morning but then you came back that night and things just got… confusing,” you said softly. You glanced towards the setting sun. Hongjoong seemed to take notice. “Are you in a hurry?” he asked, sounding genuine.

You nodded. “Yeah, the woods aren’t safe at night,” you said softly. An idea crossed your mind. “I’m going to bury this now. Do… Do you want to come with me? See where I put it just in case?” Hongjoong’s eyes lit up, a smile crossing over his face as he nodded.

You swallowed the lump in your throat before holding your hand out for him to take. He hesitantly took your hand and you walked, pulling him along as you headed for the stream. As you walked, hand in hand, you noticed how his hand was warm and it almost was as if he was himself again but you knew it was dangerous to think like that.

“You don’t have to do this, you know,” he said softly as you walked. “I do, though,” you said, nodding, seeing bits of the stream through the trees. “Why?” he asked. “Why do you have to do it?” You glanced up at him as you walked.

“Because I promised you I would and I keep my promises.”

Hongjoong studied your face before he looked down, noticing the ring on your finger. “Like you kept your promise to love only me?” he asked, sounding heartbroken. “You died,” you reminded him. “You died and became something else. I had to think of myself,” you explained. “I needed to get away from my parents. I just wanted to feel happy again,” you said softly. 

Hongjoong stopped, keeping a firm grip on your hand. 

“We could be happy,” he said as you turned to look at him. “Hongjoong,” you said, shaking your head as he let go of your hand and moved forward, closing the distance and taking your face gently in his hands.

“We could leave this all behind. Run away like we planned and live a life by the sea,” he continued. You pulled back, feeling your conflicting emotions swirling inside you. “No, we can’t,” you replied. “You’re dead, Hongjoong.” 

He looked at you in both pain and confusion. “You said you would always love me,” he whispered, voice cracking. “And I will,” you replied. “I will always love Hongjoong,” you repeated. He looked up at you. “But you are not Hongjoong.”

He stared at you until his form shifted, the fiery eyes coming back, horns reappearing. “You’re a very smart woman,” he said, Hongjoong’s soft cadence gone, replaced with this more confident and arrogant sound one. “We could be happy,” he repeated, his hand moving to your cheek. “I could be him,” he added.

His hand slid down to your throat, fingers brushing your skin. “I could be Hongjoong for you,” he whispered. The thought of a demon masquerading as Hongjoong made your skin crawl. It was bad enough he had latched onto his soul and possessed his body. “I could build you those cabins. What was it? A hundred of them? I could do that.”

You backed away from him, shaking your head. “No,” you answered. “You are a demon, pretending to be the man I loved. You’ve killed people. You wanted to kill me,” you continued. The demon took a step forward. “I wanted to,” he said, emphasizing the past tense.

“I don’t want that anymore,” he pressed on. “All I want is you now. I wish I could kill you but he would fight. He might force me out and I can’t have that. I worked too hard to get this body.” You stared at him in disgust. “He’s powerful. His thoughts. He wants you more than anything. More than life itself. I have never experienced such intense longing like this.”

“I have to have you or else the thoughts won’t stop.” You took a step back.

“You’ll never have me,” you replied. “You’re not Hongjoong. You’re a disgusting, vile demon who has killed good, innocent people. Hongjoong would be disgusted by what you’ve done with his body. You will never be Hongjoong!”

The demon lunged for you but you dodged his attempt and turned, heading for the stream, jumping over the sigil on the forest floor. The demon gave chase, running through it and just like that he was caught.

“Got him!” Wooyoung yelled. At once, the priests appeared from the brush and attached ropes to Hongjoong’s wrists and neck, holding him as Yunho prepared the banishing ritual.

“Y/N,” Yeosang said as he turned to look at you. “Head back to the village!” You looked at the ropes binding Hongjoong as he fought to free himself and shook your head. “No,” you whispered. “It’ll take too long,” you said back. “I’m going further!”

Before Yeosang could stop you, you had turned and ran across the stream, following the path you’d look at, wondering where it led. 

Tonight would be the night you would find out.

As you ran through the trees, you followed the twists and turns of the dirt path as the sun sank lower and lower towards the horizon. As you rounded the bend, an old stone building came into view. You ran towards it, stepping over the threshold and looked around. It was a round room with three open doorways and a smaller room opposite where you entered. It seemed to be structurally sound.

You approached a small round platform and stepped onto it, looking up at the stone ceiling before kneeling down and setting the box down. You drew a circle with a sigil inside, following Mingi’s instructions and carefully set the box in the middle, grabbing the firestarter Yeosang had given you and quickly lit a fire before lighting a small piece of loose fibers and dropping them into the box.

You quickly surrounded the entire circle with a protection circle, like Mingi has shown you and took a step back, looking at the small inferno before you. “Now no one can stop it,” you whispered as you sat back and watched it burn.

“We can’t hold him much longer,” Yeosang said as he watched Hongjoong struggle against the ropes. “It’s just so Y/N can burn the contents of the box,” he said, turning to look in the direction you had run. Hongjoong let out a roar, pulling at the ropes. Yeosang looked as the individual threads started to snap.

“Perhaps we better start,” he said, turning to look at Yunho who nodded. “Yes,” he answered. “Jongho,” he added, turning to look at the monk. “You’re up.”

Mingi and Wooyoung tightened their grip on the ropes as did Yeosang. Yunho took Jongho’s place, allowing the youngest to approach Hongjoong from the front, reaching into the bag slung over his shoulder and pulling out a small leatherbound book.

He looked up at the demon as it snarled and attempted to lash out. Jongho glanced around at the others as he opened the book. “Let’s begin.”

Jongho cleared his throat before speaking in a clear, unwavering tone.

“In nómine Pátris, et Fílii, + et Spirítus Sancti. Amen.” A chorus of affirmations rang out from the others before he continued.

“Exsúrgat Deus et dissipéntur inimíci ejus: et fúgiant qui odérunt eum a fácie ejus. Sicut déficit fumus defíciant; sicut fluit cera a fácie ígnis, sic péreant peccatóres a fácie Dei. Júdica Dómine nocéntes me; expúgna impugnántes me,” he continued. Yunho glanced at the setting sun before turning to look at the demon. The ropes were becoming more and more frayed as the strength of the demon grew.

“I think we might have to skip formalities, Jongho,” Yunho said as he looked at the young priest. Jongho looked up, eyes examining the ropes before he lowered his eyes and started flipping through the pages of his book.

“Exorcizámos te, ómnis immúnde spíritus, ómnis satánic potéstas, ómnis infernális adversárii, ómnis légio, ómnis congregátio et sécta diabólica, in nómine et virtúte Dómini nóstri Jésu et Chrísti,” he continued, reading from the new page. “Eradicáre et effugáre a Dei Ecclésia, ab animábus ad imáginem Dei cónditis ac pretióso divíni Ágni sánguine redémptis. Non últra áudeas, sérpens callidíssime, decípere humánum génus, Dei Ecclésiam pérsequi, ac Dei eléctos excútere et cribráre sicut tríticum. Ímperat tíbi Deus altíssimus, + cui in mágna tua supérbia te símile habéri ádhuc praesúmis; qui ómnes hóminess vult sálvos fíeri, et ad agnitiónem veritátis veníre.”

San looked at Wooyoung with a quizzical look. “Does it always take you this long?” he asked, to which Wooyoung glared at him. “You can’t just recite a few words and then lop his head off,” Wooyoung answered. “It’s much more complex than that.”

At his words, the demon let out a roar, pulling at the ropes even more. “We don’t have time for this!” Yunho yelled at the two. “Jongho, I apologize, I know you have a penchant for doing this properly but we really cannot waste any time. We have to speed this up before we lose control of the demon!”

Jongho’s brows furrowed in annoyance as he flipped a few pages further and reached into his bag, pulling out a small vial of what looked to be blood. “What is that?” San asked, wrinkling his nose in disgust. “Blood,” Jongho said simply. “The order Jongho comes from uses blood instead of water for rituals. They bless it the same way you do water,” Yunho explained.

Jongho flicked the vial towards the demon and immediately, a reaction occurred. The blood hit the demon’s face and started to sizzle, the demon letting out a demonic screech. “Váde sátana, invéntor et magíster ómnis falláciae, hóstis humánae salútis,” Jongho said in a loud, clear voice. “Da lócum Chrísto, in quo níhil invenísti de opéribus tuis; da lócum Ecclésia Uni, Sanctae, Cathólicae, et Apostólicae, quam Chrístus ípse acquisívit sánguine suo!”

He turned to look at San. “Ready yourself,” he instructed. San nodded, reaching over his shoulder to grab the handle of the sword that rested against his back, keeping his eyes on Hongjoong. “When I tell you, swing and swing hard.”

“Humiliáre sub poténti mánu Dei; contremísce et éffuge, invocáto a nóbis sáncto et terríbili nominé Jésu, quem ínferi trémunt, cui Virtútes caelórum et Potestátes et Dominatiónes subjéctae sunt, quem Chérubim et Séraphim indeféssis vócibus láudant, dicéntes: Sánctus, Sanctus, Sanctus Dóminus Déus Sábaoth,” Jongho recited the passage from his book.

“You know this next part. Recite your parts,” Jongho instructed, directing his words to San.

“Ab insídiis diáboli,”  Jongho said, not looking up from his book as a strong wind started to swirl around them.

San’s grip tightened on his sword. “Líbera nos, Dómine,” San said, keeping his voice steady as fiery eyes turned their gaze upon him.

Jongho pressed on. “Ut Ecclésiam tuam secúra tíbi fácias libertáte servíre.”

San’s look of determination did not waver as he spoke. “Te rogámus, áudi nos.”

Jongho looked up from his book as he recited his last part. “Ut inimícos sánctae Ecclésiae humiliáre dignéris.” He snapped the book shut as San pulled the sword from its sheath on his back, taking the handle with both hands.

“Te rogámus, áudi nos,” San repeated, bringing the sword up.

Jongho hit the demon with one more shake of the vial of blood but before San could bring the sword down, the ropes broke, sending Mingi, Wooyoung, Yeosang, and Yunho flying backwards. Jongho stumbled backwards from the force as the demon lunged at San. A choke scream of pain rang out as the demon grabbed San’s weapon, ripping it from his hands and plunging it into the hunter’s chest.

Mingi got up, grabbing the snapped end of the rope in an attempt to gain control of the situation but the demon was quicker, grabbing his arm. Mingi tried to pull his arm away but the demon was too strong.

Yeosang looked up as Mingi started to let out a scream of pain and before his eyes, Mingi’s arm caught fire, spreading quickly throughout his body. Mingi fell to the ground, screams piercing the air as he rolled around. Yeosang attempted to get up, Yunho helping him up as the demon turned its attention on Jongho, leaping onto him and knocking them both to the ground. 

In a matter of seconds, the demon was able to take out three of them but Yunho was determined. He grabbed one of the ropes, fashioning a noose quickly before throwing it over the demon’s head and pulling as Yeosang grabbed another rope. Wooyoung, instead of helping, pulled out a dagger. “Wooyoung, no!” Yeosang yelled as the younger man went for the demon, driving the dagger into his side, managing to hit between two of his ribs.

Hongjoong turned, grabbing Wooyoung by the throat and squeezing. Yeosang watched as the demon lifted Wooyoung with ease, lifting him off the ground so his feet were dangling. Without wincing, he pulled the knife out of his side and stabbed it into Wooyoung’s abdomen, twisting the knife with a malevolent grin. He harshly pulled the blade out at an angle, slicing sideways into Wooyoung’s stomach before dropping him to the ground.

Yeosang’s eyes widened as Hongjoong stalked forward, Wooyoung’s dagger in hand. Yunho dropped the rope, getting to his feet, and rushed the demon. Everything that followed seemed to happen in slow motion as Hongjoong reached Yeosang. 

There was a sting in his stomach, just to the left of his navel followed by a burning sensation. Yeosang’s eyes traveled down as all sound seemed to be muffled, noticing the blade of the knife had been driven into his skin, through his shirt. He looked back up to meet Hongjoong’s gaze, the two staring at one another before Yunho tackled the demon to the ground.

Yeosang let out a cry of pain as the knife was ripped from his stomach, sending a fresh wave of pain throughout his body as he covered his stomach, blood beginning to soak his shirt. Yeosang fell to his knees, looking past Hongjoong and Yunho wrestling on the forest floor to the still bodies of San and Jongho. Wooyoung was still gasping for breath as he lay, bleeding out. 

Mingi’s charred body lay several paces away still smoldering. Yeosang heard a sickening snap and Yunho went limp, falling to the ground as Hongjoong stood over him. The demon turned to Yeosang, panting with effort. He grabbed the knife and walked over slowly, grabbing Yeosang by the hair and forcing him to look up at him.

“I could finish you right now,” Hongjoong said, pointing the bloodied tip of the blade at Yeosang. “But I have unfinished business with your wife. If you’re still alive when I come back,” he added, pushing Yeosang to the ground. “I’ll kill you then.”

Yeosang was unable to see which way Hongjoong went, but knew without a doubt it was the same direction you had gone. Despite the agonizing pain, Yeosang pushed himself up, keeping his hand over the wound in his stomach as he stumbled after, following the path just beyond the stream. He needed to get to you before something happened.

You sat motionless, watching the box burn, each item either turning to ash or charring. The small fire popped and crackled, providing a surprising amount of warmth as you rested a hand over your stomach. You looked down, feeling a small amount of triumph at what you had accomplished and could only hope the priests had been able to do the rest.

There was a small whoosh behind you and a gentle breeze. Your eyes widened as a chill went up your spine and slowly, you turned to look at the doorway behind you, finding Hongjoong standing in the only means of escape, hands covered in blood and a bloodied knife clenched in one hand.

Your eyes traveled up to his face, noticing the specks of blood all over his shirt, neck, and face. You scrambled up, backing away until your back hit the wall. “No,” you whispered as he looked up from the burning box. He started forward and you screamed at him to stay back.

He looked down at the knife in his hand and back up at you before tossing the blade aside, ignoring the clatter of the steel hitting the stone floor as he crossed the room to where you stood, caging you in as he grabbed your throat. “You’ve been a very bad, bad girl, Y/N,” he said as he pinned you against the wall.

You struggled against his hold, fingers slipping over the blood that coated his wrist. “Let me go,” you squeaked out, making him laugh wryly. “Let you go?” he asked in an almost hysterical tone. “Did you not hear me earlier, Starlight?” he asked, leaning in until his face was inches from yours, lips close to yours. “I. Want. You.”

You tried in vain to pry his hand off you, kicking as he slid your body up the wall, lifting your feet off the ground. “Whether you give in to me willingly or fighting doesn’t matter. I will get what I want in the end Starlight.”

You slid the garland San had given you from your pocket and quickly wrapped it around Hongjoong’s wrist. The effect was instant and he threw you to the side as he screamed in pain, the materials burning his skin.

You landed on the stone, hitting your head with a crack but tried to scrambled up and make for the archway. Hongjoong recovered quickly, crossing the distance and grabbing your ankle, making you trip and fall before he started dragging you back towards him.

“Please, please, please!” you screamed, trying desperately to grab onto the stone blocks of the floor. Hongjoong pulled you under him, rolling you onto your back as he pinned you against the stone floor. “Now you want to beg for your life?” he asked, laughing mockingly.

“After every stunt you’ve pulled. Luring me into that trap, burning that box, and then using that little trick with the garland? You think after all this, I’m going to show you mercy? You’ve been helping them all along, you slippery, little minx.”

You tried to kick him off but your efforts were in vain. “Please,” you said tearfully as his eyes traveled down to your throat. “I’m pregnant,” you whimpered, tears falling freely. Hongjoong looked up to meet your gaze. “Another trick?” he asked, his voice barely above a whisper. You shook your head. “No,” you said breathlessly. “I’m with child. Please,” you continued. 

“Don’t kill me.”

Yeosang stumbled along the path, one hand covered in blood that continued to seep out of the wound on his stomach. He leaned against a tree, the tips of his fingers growing cold as he pressed on. His breath was growing shorter, he knew he didn’t have long and he needed to get to you before Hongjoong did.

As he rounded the bend in the path, he noticed an abandoned stone building with a flickering light inside. ‘That must be where Y/N is.’ He continued forward, hobbling towards the building. As he reached the open doorway, he stumbled, falling to his knees, letting out a pained groan as more blood painted his hand. He let out a couple deep breaths before forcing himself up and through the doorway.

Across from him, perched atop a small platform, stood Hongjoong. At his feet, a ruined, burned box surrounded by a circle of protection. Yeosang looked back up and noticed you pinned against the wall behind Hongjoong, vines holding you up. You let out a gasp at the sight of your husband as he lost his balance and fell to his knees.

“Let me go, please!” you begged. Hongjoong glanced over his shoulder before he sighed, waving his hand. The vines retreated, slithering away like snakes and releasing you from their hold. You rushed past him to Yeosang, dropping to your knees to look him over, only noticing his bloodied hand as you looked down.

Hongjoong stepped around the box, stepping down from the platform as he watched as you fretted over Yeosang. You turned to look at him, tears in your eyes. “Please,” you begged. “Save him. If Hongjoong is still in there, please save Yeosang!”

The demon let out an exasperated sigh. “He can’t hear you,” he said, shaking his head. “Hongjoong is buried deep inside. And besides,” he said, starting to pace the room behind you. “I doubt he would willingly help the man who stole you from him.”

You turned to look at him. “He didn’t steal me!” you argued. “Hongjoong died, you tried to kill me, and Yeosang saved me. I owe him everything. I love him.” You felt Yeosang grab your arm, looking up at you wearily. “Run,” he panted. “Leave me and save yourself.”

You shook your head, taking his face in your hands. “No,” you replied. “I’m not leaving you behind!” You heard Hongjoong stop pacing behind you and turned to look at him. “He’s right, you know. You should run. I’ll even cut you a deal,” he said with a smile as he crossed his arms over his chest.

“You run now, I’ll focus all my attention Yeosang. Draw out his suffering before I kill him and when I’m done, I will hunt you down and do the same to you. Think of it as a head start,” he said with a wicked grin, a malicious glint in his eye.

You stared back in horror. “You said you didn’t want to kill me,” you reminded him. Hongjoong smiled, laughing to himself before it subsided. “Yeah,” he said with a sigh. “I lied.”

Yeosang started coughing and you turned as he coughed blood into his hand. “Oh,” said Hongjoong in mock concern. “That doesn’t look too good.” You turned to glare at him, tears streaming down your face. “Now is your perfect chance to run, cause if he dies before you get very far, it won’t take me that long to hunt you down.”

You shook your head. “You’re a monster,” you spat. “How charming,” Hongjoong said in a monotonous voice as he stared back. “I’m offering you a chance to live just a little bit longer and you’re calling me names for it.”

“I’m not leaving!” you shouted. “I’m not a fucking coward, like you!” You turned to look at Yeosang who was shaking his head. “I’m not running.” You pressed a kiss to his lips. “Do what you have to,” you whispered. “I’ll buy you some time.”

Hongjoong’s smile widened. “I was hoping you’d say that,” he said before crossing the distance and grabbing you by the back of the neck and pulling you from Yeosang’s grasp. “No! Don’t. She’s pregnant!” he yelled as Hongjoong dragged you back, making you face Yeosang as he forced you to your knees. “She already tried that,” Hongjoong scoffed.

He produced the knife taken from Wooyoung and brought the edge of the blade to your throat. “No, no, no!” Yeosang shouted. “It’s not mine!” he yelled, drawing Hongjoong’s attention. “What?” the demon asked. “It’s not mine,” Yeosang whispered. “She was pregnant before we were ever intimate. She got… so sick before we got married. She was sick for days. Throwing up blood and I thought maybe she’d been poisoned,” Yeosang explained quickly.

“But I think she was pregnant.”

Hongjoong’s eyes narrowed as he looked at the priest before looking down at you and back up to Yeosang slowly. “And there’s only one other man she’s been with,” Yeosang added. You sobbed silently as Hongjoong lowered the knife, pointing it at Yeosang. “Do you take me for a fool?” he asked. 

Yeosang shook his head. “No,” he answered. “But you must have known when Hongjoong came back, they were intimate. You were already inside his body. Did you not take control sometimes? During the act?” The demon stared at him. “And what if I did?” he asked. “What would that change?”

“That could be your child,” Yeosang answered. “It wouldn’t be mine,” the demon answered. “It would be Hongjoong’s.” Yeosang shook his head, holding a hand out as he rushed to buy some time. “No, not if you were in control when you climaxed. It would be your child.”

The demon looked back up. “You think I’m stupid, don’t you?” he asked, letting out a humorless laugh. “This changes nothing. You’re both going to die.”

You let out a sob as Hongjoong grabbed the back of your head. “Look at him!” he ordered. “I want his dying face to be the last thing you see,” he added as he brought the blade back to your throat. “Y/N, look at me,” Yeosang said suddenly as you gasped between sobs. “Look at me, sweetheart.” You blinked the tears away, meeting his gaze.

You swallowed the lump in your throat. “Do what you have to,” you added. “I love you, Yeosang. So much.” His eyes widened as you glanced down at the box before you turned, lunging at  Hongjoong and knocking the both of you backwards, the knife falling from his hand with a metallic clang. Yeosang dropped his hand to the stone, quickly drawing a small sigil as you and Hongjoong wrestled on the floor, both of you grunting in effort.

“Fortress of stone, hear my words and hold this creature of evil at bay. Let him not travel from this place for eternity as long as the stone endures. Hide him away from the world and keep him imprisoned,” Yeosang whispered as he finished the symbol.

With a loud snap, Yeosang looked up as Hongjoong sat up, staring down at your lifeless body. A sob left Yeosang’s lips as the demon got up, stumbling backwards as he stared, wide eyed at your corpse. The fiery eyes had returned to Hongjoong’s warm brown ones and in a cruel joke, the demon forced Hongjoong to look on in horror at what he’d done. “I’m…” Hongjoong whispered as Yeosang dragged himself over to where you lay.

Hongjoong looked up as Yeosang reached you, pulling you up to cradle your shoulders. “I didn’t mean to—” Hongjoong said as Yeosang looked up at him. “I know,” Yeosang answered. “It wasn’t you. It was the demon.” He looked back down, caressing your still warm cheek. “It was one last cruel act of the demon to break your spirit and I daresay it worked.”

When Yeosang looked back up, the warm brown eyes of Hongjoong were gone, the demon’s eyes were back and he looked down at him. “Very observant indeed,” the demon said with a sneer. “I was going to kill you,” he continued as he started to walk past. “But I think I’ll just let you bleed out. It’s more fun that way.”

Yeosang let out a humorless chuckle. “You’ll have to stay and watch,” he said, looking up. Hongjoong turned at the doorway to look at him. “I’ve bound your demonic soul to this building and now you’ll never be able to leave,” Yeosang explained, pointing at the sigil which was now etched into the stone and no longer written in his blood.

“As long as any part of this building stands, you will be stuck here for eternity,” Yeosang gasped, as his grip on you lessened, the strength leaving his body. He was able to give the demon a smirk of his own as those fiery eyes turned to look at him in a murderous rage. “My parting gift to you.”

Yeosang slowly succumbed to his wound, slumping over your body as he finally passed out. Hongjoong turned to the doorway and attempted to reach past it, finding an invisible barrier keeping him from leaving. He tried again only to be forced back. He let out a scream of frustration, kicking the stone wall as he tried in vain to break the stone and free himself.

He threw himself against one of the walls and screamed in anger towards the stone ceiling, the sound reverberating off the stone. He sat in silence, breathing heavily as he stared at yours and Yeosang’s lifeless bodies and then the burnt box. He looked away, anger still coursing through him until he saw the three open doorways, staring at them for what felt like hours.

Finally, he got up and walked over, peering into each one before he started to inspect the walls more closely. He turned about the room a few times before he walked over to the small platform and stepped up onto it, looking around before raising his gaze to the ceiling, noticing the small open circle in the middle.

He looked down and took a seat at the edge of the platform, looking at you and Yeosang once more before scoffing. “Well,” he said, admitting defeat. “You certainly got the last laugh in,” he continued. “And since I’ll be stuck here for the foreseeable future,” he added.

“Let’s have some fun, shall we?”

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