#this fic has been plaguing my thoughts

[obsessedwhyyes]

A Tale of Fools and Tricksters (1)

Chapter 1: Whispers of Hope

Summary: The Festival of Fools - a carnival of magic and illusions which shall set your heart ablaze and bring your dreams to life. Legends say that the Festival of Fools will grant one wish to those pure of heart and soul - for a price. Seeking a cure for the Curse of Stone which plagues her people, Elysia Thorne seeks the aid of the festival's enigmatic ringmaster, Astarion Ancunin, whose charm is as dangerous as it is irresistible.

But as their fates intertwine, it becomes clear that all is not as it seems...

Rating: M Chapter Word Count: 5479 Pairing: Astarion x Fem!OC Content: Alternative Universe (Circus), Ringmaster Astarion, mild horror elements, eventual smut, eventual romance, basically a big whimsical (slightly dark, slightly trippy) fairytale of an AU.

A/N: And here we have my first ever longfic! I'm actually a teensy bit nervous about this one! While the direction and story are different, I was actually inspired a lot by Hunchback of Notre Dame for this. I always loved how it managed to be both incredibly dark and beautifully whimsical. So, going into this, I knew that's the vibe I wanted to go for. Hopefully you enjoy!

The applause faded like dying stars, yet the dream remained, vivid, unyielding.

The Ringmaster stood alone at the heart of his stage with ivory skin almost luminescent under the spotlight. His audience gazed up at him in endless wonder, their faces reflecting the ethereal lights that twisted and pulsed at his command.

He was beautiful, he was powerful, he was–

A flicker disturbed the edge of his vision - shadows slipping through shadows. The silver filigree at his throat seemed to tighten and, for a heartbeat, the lights dimmed, casting the stage into near darkness. In the breath of shadow, he glimpsed threads of starlight descending from above; felt the phantom touch of something cold against his skin.

Then came the voice, sliding through his mind, honeyed and ancient, sweet as poisoned wine. The words themselves faded into the dark, but their essence lingered, reminiscent of promises forged in moonlight and bound in blood.

But the Ringmaster’s smile did not falter. It did not waver, even as those shadows moved closer, ever closer…

But then, suddenly, he awoke.

He gasped, his hand searching for his neck.

There it was, as always. That collar of silver filigree, beautiful and confining.

Reality bled back as the dark, shadowy remnants of his dream made way for the vivid colours of his tent.

Yet, within his mind, soft as silk, sharp as teeth, he still heard them, hooking beneath his skin.

Whispers.

Whispers…

It began with whispers.

Hushed voices carried on the evening breeze, tales of wonder and magic that danced through the village of Starfall like autumn leaves. The Festival of Fools was coming, they said. A carnival of dreams and wishes, of laughter and light.

Elysia Thorne paid the gossip little mind at first. Her world had shrunk to the confines of sickrooms, providing whatever healing comfort she could to her people. A hopeless endeavour - everyone knows that halting the Stone Curse is impossible once it takes hold. 

First, you noticed your fingernails turning brittle, cracking like sun-baked clay. Then came the hardening - a creeping sensation that begins at your fingertips, as if you've dipped them in cement that never quite dries.

The transformation was slow, methodical in its cruelty. Day by day, the stiffness crawled up your fingers, turning flesh to granite, joints to unyielding stone. Your hands became living sculptures, beautiful in their horror - each line and wrinkle preserved perfectly in stone, a monument to what was once warm and alive. The curse inched up your arms with inexorable patience, claiming territory finger by finger, joint by joint, until your limbs become too heavy to lift.

Some said the worst part is watching it spread across your chest, feeling your lungs strain against the weight of stone ribs. But Elysia knew, from countless deathbed vigils, that the true horror comes when the curse reaches your heart. She had held too many hands - some warm, some already stone - as that vital muscle struggled against its rocky prison, beat by weakening beat, until finally... silence.

Thus, the art of healing the Stone Curse, such as it was, lay not in false promises of cure but in small mercies. A salve to ease the grinding sensation in solidifying joints. Warm compresses to comfort flesh not yet turned to stone. And, perhaps most importantly, a gentle presence in those final moments when the heart begins its last, laboured beats against walls of granite.

That was Elysia’s true role, here in this quiet little village. A sanctity of calm, of empathy in the face of certain death.

Elysia had planted countless herb gardens, seeking new combinations that might slow the curse's advance. She had filled her medical journal with careful observations, tracking the curse's progress through generations. She had even learned to weave dried flowers into her patients' hair - a reminder that beauty could exist alongside suffering. But for all her knowledge, all her careful studies and gentle ministrations, she couldn't halt the curse's inexorable march toward the heart.

These days, Yenna's case consumed most of her attention. The girl was twelve - far too young to face such a fate, though Elysia had learned long ago that the curse cared nothing for age or circumstance. It had already claimed Yenna's mother three months past, leaving the girl in Elysia's care more often than not. The father, overwhelmed by grief and the demands of a dying child, rarely visited anymore. 

The curse would visit Elysia one day too. It was only a matter of time.

In her small sickroom, Yenna lay caught in the curse's embrace, her left arm now completely transformed. The stone had a peculiar beauty to it - smooth and grey as river rock, with veins of lighter crystal that caught the lamplight. If you didn't know better, you might think it an artist's masterpiece. But Elysia did know better. She saw how the crystalline patterns were creeping past the girl's shoulder, advancing with each passing day.

She had perhaps a month before the curse reached her heart - two, if they were fortunate.

Yet Yenna seemed to bear her fate with a grace that Elysia could scarcely fathom, delighting in the little things - in fairytales, in the company of others, in the flowers that had been carefully weaved into her hair.

"Tell me a story, Elysia," Yenna whispered, her voice as fragile as spun sugar. "Something happy."

Elysia's heart clenched, but she summoned a smile as bright and warm as summer sunshine.

"Once upon a time," she began, "there was a beautiful nightingale with feathers as white as moonlight. But this nightingale had a terrible secret - it couldn't sing."

As she spoke, her hands worked with practiced grace, checking Yenna's pulse at her throat, adjusting pillows with the kind of gentle efficiency that came from years of tending to the cursed.

"The other birds mocked the nightingale, so it fled deeper and deeper into the forest, where the shadows grew thick and the moonlight barely touched the ground. There, it met a fox who offered to teach it a new kind of song - one that would make others marvel, one that would make them stare in wonder. The nightingale, desperate to belong, accepted."

Her fingers worked methodically as she spoke, applying fresh herbs to the boundary where flesh met stone.

"Its new song was beautiful, but strange - not quite natural, yet enchanting all the same. Other creatures came from far and wide to hear it, never knowing the price of such beauty. Night after night the nightingale sang, its voice growing more captivating, more otherworldly, until even the stars seemed to pause in their dance to listen."

She smiled softly, tucking a strand of Yenna's hair behind her ear, careful to avoid the grey patches beginning to show at her temples.

"One night, a kind traveler heard the nightingale's song. But while others were entranced by its haunting melody, the traveler heard something else - a loneliness beneath the beauty, a yearning for something real. With patience, the traveler showed the nightingale that its worth wasn't in any song, borrowed or natural, but in its spirit.

"Slowly, the nightingale found its own voice - softer than its enchanted song, perhaps, but true. And though some missed its otherworldly melodies, others were drawn to this new sound - one of resilience and hope. The forest, once so dark and lonely, became a place of honest beauty.

"And so, the nightingale learned that sometimes our greatest weaknesses can become our greatest strengths, if only we're brave enough to be true to ourselves."

Yenna's eyes, heavy with sleep, fluttered closed. A soft smile played on her lips as she drifted off, the story's gentle magic working its spell.

It was a fairytale she had told many others, and would do so again, granting a moment of reprieve to those for whom hope had faded like ink in water. But the whisper of hope in her own heart refused to be silenced. There had to be something more she could offer, some way to break this curse that had haunted her people for generations.

As if in answer to her unspoken plea, the wind outside began to change. Yes, there was something new on the breeze - the faint tinkling of bells, the creak of wheels, and... music?

She couldn't deny her curiosity.

As Elysia drew closer to the window, she saw something that made her breath catch.

A carriage unlike any she had ever seen rolled into the village square, wheels turning with an otherworldly grace that seemed to defy the rutted earth beneath them. It seemed a masterwork of impossible architecture - wood carved into flowing curves, painted with deep purples and midnight blues that shifted like oil on water. Golden filigree traced patterns across its surface, forming images that Elysia could have sworn moved when caught in the corner of her eye - acrobats frozen mid-leap, mystical beasts with jewelled eyes, masked figures dancing eternally.

Lanterns swayed from the carriage’s eaves, casting an otherworldly glow, lighting the way for the four horses that pull it. At first glance, they appeared to be made of living shadow, black coats seeming to absorb all light that touched them.

Atop this magnificent conveyance stood a figure dressed in a riot of blues and golds. A gold half-mask, matching his blonde, perfectly permed hair, obscured the upper half of his face, leaving visible only a pair of startlingly intense eyes and a practised smile. When he spoke, his voice carried across the square with an unnatural clarity - projected, maybe, to reach every ear in the village.

“Ladies and gentlemen, esteemed citizens of Starfall!” The man swept his arms wide, rings glinting on his gloved fingers. “I am Petras - herald of wonders and marvels beyond your wildest dreams!”

Elysia watched as curious faces, young and old, peeked out their doors and windows to catch a glimpse of the spectacle. Others were bold enough to approach the stranger, drawn to him like moths to a particularly enchanting flame.

“Behold!” Petras continued, his gestures grand and sweeping. “The Festival of Fools approaches - a carnival of wonders where the impossible bows to your imagination, where a realm of dreams and magic awaits, only a tenday’s travel away!” His smile widened, showing teeth that gleamed perhaps a touch too bright. “And where wishes might just come true for those brave enough - or desperate enough - to seize their chance.”

Wishes coming true… Elysia had heard rumours of the festival’s magic. But to see this otherworldly spectacle before her eyes… The very air around the carriage and its herald seemed to shimmer around them, as if reality itself knew this creation didn't quite belong in the waking world.

It couldn't be real…

Could it?

"Elysia." Jenevelle's voice cut through her wonder, sharp and practical as ever. "Whatever you're thinking, stop."

Elysia turned to find her fellow healer standing in the doorway, arms crossed. Where Elysia favoured flowing dresses and dried flowers, Jenevelle preferred practical robes in dark colours, her silver hair pulled back severely from her face. They were as different as summer and winter, yet somehow had forged an effective partnership in their shared calling.

"You haven't even heard what I'm thinking," Elysia said, though a smile tugged at her lips. It was an old dance between them - Elysia's hope and Jenevelle's scepticism, constantly at odds yet somehow balancing each other.

"I don't need to," Jenevelle moved to check on Yenna's sleeping form. "That look in your eyes says enough. And before you ask - no, I don't believe in magical festivals that grant wishes. Neither should you."

The crowd gathering in the square didn't share Jenevelle's doubts. They pressed closer as Petras continued his performance, his gestures grand and sweeping.

Elysia found herself leaning further out the window, her heart quickening. There was something in Petras’s voice - something that spoke to the ache of hope she'd carried for so long for her people.

“But how?” called a voice from the crowd. “A tenday’s travel, right as winter approaches. It's impossible.”

Petras’s laugh rang out like silver bells. “Ah, but that's the beauty of it!” With a flourish, he gestured to the carriage below. “This magnificent conveyance doesn't merely transport - it transcends! Space itself bends to its will. It will carry the worthy directly to the festival’s gates.”

The side of the carriage unfolded like a blooming flower, revealing the plush velvet seats within.

“But choose quickly, my friends,” he continued. “For the Festival of Fools is as fleeting as starlight, and far more precious. Miss your chance, and you may wait lifetimes before it graces your humble shores again.”

Elysia's hands curled against the windowsill. Hope, that dangerous flower she thought she'd learned to uproot, bloomed fresh in her chest. "What if it's real, Jen? What if there's a chance to break the curse?"

"And what of your patients while you chase fairy tales?" Jenevelle's voice was sharp, but her eyes were concerned when they met Elysia's. "What of Yenna?"

"You could tend to them," Elysia said softly. "You're as skilled a healer as I am."

" More skilled," Jenevelle corrected, with a touch of her usual dry humour. "I don't waste time weaving flowers into their hair."

Elysia turned to face Jenevelle fully. "We both know our treatments only ease their passing. The curse continues to spread, and nothing we do can stop it. I have to try. Even if it's just a chance, the smallest possibility... don't our people deserve that?"

Jenevelle was quiet for a long moment, studying Elysia with those sharp green eyes that seemed to see through all pretence. 

Finally, she sighed. 

"You're going regardless of what I say, aren't you?"

"Yes," Elysia admitted.

"Then at least let me help you prepare." Jenevelle moved to Elysia's workbench, gathering supplies with practised efficiency. "Take your medical journal. Your grey cloak - it's getting cold at night. And for gods' sake, try not to trust everyone who smiles at you."

Elysia felt her heart swell. "Thank you, Jen."

"Don't thank me yet," she replied. "Just... come back. These people need their gentle healer." A ghost of a smile touched her lips. "I'm not very good at telling stories."

Outside, Petras's voice rose in a final call. "Time grows short! Who among you dares to chase their dreams?"

Elysia quickly gathered her supplies, tucking them into her pack. She paused at Yenna's bedside, pressing a kiss to the sleeping girl's forehead.

"Go," Jenevelle said quietly. "Before I remember my common sense and try to stop you."

With one last look at her sleeping patient and her friend, Elysia slipped out into the night.

The air was thick with possibility and the sweet scent of hope - dangerous, and intoxicating as wine.

The crowd had thinned somewhat when Elysia approached the carriage. The hesitant had retreated to the safety of their homes, leaving only those whose desperation or curiosity outweighed their fear. The shadow-horses turned their luminous silver eyes toward her, and she felt a shiver run down her spine. Up close, she could see the way starlight shifted beneath their dark coats like veins of quicksilver.

Petras’s gaze settled on her with a calculating intensity. His smile softened, but something in his eyes remained sharp, assessing. He leaned forward, his voice dropping just low enough to draw her attention.

“Ah, another brave soul,” he said, the words honeyed but with a curious weight. He extended a gloved hand, as though welcoming her, yet there was an air of expectation behind it, an unspoken challenge.

“Step right up, my dear. Adventure awaits.” He held her gaze, then tilted his head. “But tell me, citizen of Starfall… What makes you wish to dance with fate?”

Elysia felt a chill, as though he had peeled back some layer of her heart to glimpse the wound within. “My people suffer from a curse,” she replied, lifting her chin. “If there is a chance I could find a cure, I would be a fool not to take it.”

Petras’s eyes gleamed, his smile widening. “Ah, a noble reason indeed. A healer’s heart, so quick to offer itself up for others.” He paused, his fingers tapping lightly against his chin. “But what of the risk? What if the price were steep, dear healer? What would you be willing to pay to end their suffering?”

The question echoed through her, stirring the depths of her own doubt. What would she sacrifice if it came down to it? Her life, her freedom? Or perhaps something else, something more intangible? 

She met his gaze, her voice unwavering. “Whatever it takes. I’ll pay it.”

Petras’s smile took on a strange satisfaction. “Good,” he said. “Then you are worthy indeed.” He reached out and grasped her hand, leading her to the carriage. His grip was firm, almost possessive, as though he were imprinting something unseen upon her.

“Come along, then,” he said, gesturing to the open carriage door with a flourish. “The Festival awaits, and the path to wonder is short for those who are ready to leave the known world behind.”

Five others had already claimed their seats in the carriage's velvet interior. Her healer's eye catalogued them automatically: a merchant whose fingers wouldn't stop counting invisible coins, nervous energy radiating from his thin frame; an elderly woman clutching a locket, her fingers twisted with age and arthritis; a young couple holding hands so tightly their knuckles had gone white, both bearing the telltale grey pallor of the stone curse's early stages. And a boy who couldn't have seen more than sixteen summers, his eyes bright with dreams of escape.

As Elysia settled onto the plush velvet, she found herself studying their faces more closely. How many were running toward something, and how many running away? How many carried wishes as desperate as her own?

The door swung closed with a deep, resonant sound - like the sealing of fate itself. 

And then, the world… shifted.

Colours blurred and bled into one another like wet paint, spilling from the edges of reality. The familiar sounds of the village - cricket songs, the faint bleat of distant sheep, the warm crackle of hearth fires - stretched and warped into something altogether unfamiliar, as if someone had pulled them apart like threads and woven them into a new, strange tapestry. Elysia’s stomach gave a lurch as reality folded around her, shifting in ways her senses couldn’t comprehend.

It was like being unmade and then reassembled in the space between breaths. Light fractured into ribbons of shimmering colour, winding around the carriage in a dance of prismatic splendour. Time lost all meaning; they could have been travelling for seconds or centuries.

And then, just as abruptly as it began, it stopped.

The door swung open to reveal a transformed world. Where once there had been the familiar, earthy confines of the village square, there now sprawled a fantastical landscape, too rich and strange for words, its beauty as alluring as it was unnerving.

The Festival of Fools stretched before them, a labyrinth of wonder that defied earthly architecture. 

And it was beyond anything Elysia could have dreamed.

Tents of midnight blue and deep crimson reached toward a sky caught in eternal twilight. Banners of silk and starlight rippled in the breeze, while lanterns of every hue bobbed and swayed overhead, their light catching on gilt edges and crystal chimes.

Elysia blinked, her gaze shifting to her fellow passengers as they tumbled out of the carriage, each one wearing a dazed expression. As dazed as she felt. She hesitated, instinctively reaching out to the elderly woman beside her - but her companion barely seemed to see her, her gaze fixed on a nearby tent. The woman’s fingers twisted around her locket, her eyes shining with something distant, as if already lost to the promise of whatever marvel lay within.

“Wait–” Elysia began. Her hand fell away as the merchant shuffled past her, eyes flickering to a tent entrance adorned with gleaming gold. Elysia opened her mouth to speak, but he had already drifted away, his body moving with a compulsion she could almost feel.

The young couple clung to each other, moving in perfect unison toward a stage where ethereal figures danced, their feet floating above the ground, defying gravity with languid grace. Their eyes sparkled with something strange and fierce, their fingers woven so tightly together that Elysia doubted she could have separated them even if she’d tried.

And the boy - the boy with his fierce, bright gaze - paused only briefly, sparing her a glance that was both curious and determined. Elysia raised a hand to him, but before she could even form a greeting, he turned toward a pavilion wreathed in veils of light, vanishing into the crowd with the others.

It was as if the festival itself had taken hold of them, plucking them away like petals from a flower and scattering them to its far corners. 

And so she stood. Alone.

The air buzzed with magic, thick and tangible, and Elysia felt it tugging at her too, inviting her to drift into its embrace, to forget herself in the allure of it all.

No, she thought, shaking her head. You’re here for a reason. Stay focused.

Her fingers brushed against the medical journal tucked safely in her pack - a small, grounding reminder of reality and purpose in this world that felt more like a waking dream.

With thoughts of her people, pained, with hearts pounding frantically against stone prisons strong in her mind, her resolve was surely immovable.

This was it now. No going back.

She took a deep breath, inhaling frosty air which carried the scent of mulled wine and honey, and took her first, tentative steps.

It was impossible not to stare in awe at all that surrounded her.

The festival sprawled in every direction, paths twisting and turning. Music wove through the air, sometimes near, sometimes far, always just familiar enough to be enticing. Each route beckoned with its own marvels - a path strewn with flowers that bloomed and wilted in heartbeats, another where the very ground rippled like water beneath her feet.

As she wandered, her trained eye couldn’t help but catalogue the details around her. Performers moved through the crowd with an otherworldly grace that was almost painful in its perfection, their bodies bending and twisting as if the bones within them were liquid: jugglers, acrobats, wandering magicians. Vendors offered sweets that sparkled like jewels and steamed with impossible colours.

Every sight, every sound, every scent seemed designed to overwhelm the senses, to make one forget the world beyond the festival's borders.

That's when she heard it - a voice that seemed to command the very air itself, echoing from the grandest tent she had ever seen. The Big Top stood at what seemed to be the heart of the festival, its peaks disappearing into the twilight sky.

The pull of that voice was irresistible. Elysia found her feet carrying her toward the Big Top of their own accord, drawn like a moth to flame. As she drew closer, the distinct sound of music grew stronger, wrapping around her like silk.

Elysia pushed through the velvet curtains that concealed the entrance.

And gasped.

Inside, row upon row of plush velvet seats surrounded a central stage, each filled to the brim with spectators who sat unnaturally still, their eyes fixed forward with an intensity that stirred something in Elysia's healer's instincts.

But it was the figure commanding the stage that truly stole her breath.

He moved with a grace that transcended mere performance, each gesture flowing into the next as though his very presence were an intricate, endless dance. His coat was black as a starless night, its fabric embroidered with shifting silver constellations that seemed to breathe with the light, stars woven into darkness. Beneath it, a deep crimson vest clung to his form, its subtle gleam catching the lantern glow like the first blush of dawn against shadowed cliffs. In his hand was a cane - a slender, polished rod of black wood that absorbed light, crowned with a silver star cradled within a crescent moon.

Around his throat, a high collar of delicate silver filigree encircled his neck, as beautiful as it was constrictive, its pattern like that of a spider’s web. His face was partly obscured by a half-mask of lace, its delicate, web-like design mirroring that of the collar, with tiny, glinting gems that sparkled like trapped stars. The mask framed his features, giving the sharp lines of his jaw and the hint of a smirk a more dangerous appeal.

But his eyes...

Gods, those eyes.

They glowed a fierce, unnatural red, like rubies held to candlelight, gleaming with a mix of mischief and promise. They swept across the crowd, capturing the gaze of every watcher with an intensity that bordered on hypnotic. 

And when they locked with hers, everything else faded into silence.

Time seemed to stop.

"Ladies and gentlemen!" His voice was like the richest of velvets. "Tonight, we transcend the mundane, we breach the veil between reality and dreams. But for our next performance..." His eyes remained fixed on Elysia, a smile curving his lips, "I require a volunteer."

Goosebumps flared across her skin.

His hand extended toward her, pale and elegant. "You there, my dear. Won't you join us?"

The invitation hung in the air like a challenge, but Elysia’s body had already betrayed her, rising before her mind could form a protest. The crowd seemed to melt away as she walked, her limbs light and unsteady, as though the air itself was enchanted. 

In this moment, it felt as though there was no applause, no noise - just the sound of her heart pounding in her chest and the soft, rhythmic pulse of the festival’s music humming through her bones. 

Up close… gods, he was beautiful. Beautiful in an ethereal sort of way that Elysia had never encountered: skin pale as moonlight, hair a shock of white.

But then he smiled, and his teeth… she could have sworn they seemed just a touch too sharp.

This man - this creature - radiated danger beneath his beauty, like poisonous flowers that tempt with their colours before they kill. 

Yet she had come too far to retreat now.

"And what's your name, darling?" he asked, his voice pitched for her ears alone despite the crowded tent. 

"Elysia," she managed, surprised by the steadiness in her voice. Years of maintaining calm at sickbeds served her well now, it would seem. "Elysia Thorne."

"Elysia," he repeated, as though tasting each syllable on his tongue. "I am Astarion, master of ceremonies and ringmaster of this humble circus." His head tilted slightly, studying her with those burning eyes. "Tell me, what brings a healer to our little festival of wonders?"

She started at that. "How did you-?"

"Your hands," he murmured, catching one of hers in his cool grasp. "They bear the telltale stains of medicinal herbs. And your eyes… they carry the weight of one who knows too much of suffering."

"My people are cursed," she said, lifting her chin. "They're turning to stone, and nothing I do can stop it. I've heard the festival can grant wishes."

A curious expression flickered in those crimson eyes before his smile widened, unreadable under that lace mask of his.

"Oh, you sweetheart." He turned to address the crowd, though his hand remained at the small of her back, cool even through the fabric of her dress. "Ladies and gentlemen, tonight we have something special indeed. A healer seeking to cure the incurable! Shall we show her what wonders await?"

Before she could respond, Astarion raised his cane with a flourish.

The stage erupted into light at the sweep of his cane, a soft shimmer that expanded and enveloped the space. Elysia felt the magic in the air, delicate as a lover's touch, winding between her fingers and across her skin.

Shadows and starlight blurred into a living tapestry as a phantom beast took form - a tiger, its body composed of silk-like darkness threaded with starlight. Its stripes glowed silver, each muscle rippling with a sensual grace as it prowled a slow circle around her, leaving faint trails of light that faded like a sigh.

"Beautiful, isn’t she?" he murmured near her ear, his voice like a low hum in the dark. Elysia felt her skin flush under the intensity of his attention. The cane twirled through his fingers with effortless skill, the silver star at its tip casting prismatic glints that danced over her skin, each glimmer a soft, fleeting caress.

"But that’s only the beginning," he continued. "Tell me, my dear healer, do you trust me?”

The responsible answer would be no. The safe answer would be no. 

And yet…

"Yes," she breathed.

He smiled something sinful. 

“Excellent.” 

With a flick of his wrist, he lifted her, magic making her as light as a feather. The tiger moved beneath her, and without hesitation, she found herself seated astride its back, floating through a dream woven of starlight. It was cool beneath her, a sensation like silk winding over her legs, tangible yet ephemeral, like liquid moonlight.

“You see, ladies and gentlemen,” Astarion’s voice echoed across the tent, his tone honeyed, “true magic lies not in the illusion itself, but in making you forget it’s an illusion at all.”

He lifted her higher, and as her feet left the ground, the phantom tiger began to dissolve, breaking into threads of light. It shifted beneath her, its form disintegrating into long, silken ribbons that spiralled upward, wrapping around her wrists, her waist, her ankles. Elysia gasped as the cool, weightless strands slid over her skin, binding her gently, lifting her further into the air, until she was suspended like a marionette in a web of pure magic.

The ribbons caressed her, sliding over her bare arms, tracing her collarbone, winding around her waist with an intimate, knowing pressure. They didn’t restrict her - they cradled her, their touch both tender and possessive, as though Astarion’s magic were wrapping her in the embrace of his own hands. She felt the shimmer of starlight against her skin, cool as frost yet stirring a warmth deep within her.

"You see," Astarion murmured, his voice close, dangerously soft, “true magic lies in the transition - that delicious moment between reality and dream.”

He extended his hand toward her, and the ribbons of light responded, lowering her gently until her feet nearly touched the stage, held in that intoxicating moment just before she could ground herself. She floated there, caught between the air and his spell, as though she had been pulled into the space between breaths.

“The moment,” he continued, catching her hand and pulling her close, “when one can no longer tell where the performance ends…”

He spun her, the ribbons of light tightening as he did so, sliding across her shoulders, down her back, encircling her waist in soft, twisting knots that bound her body to his magic. 

She was lost in him, in the power that flowed from his touch, in the way the silken light wound around them both like a lover’s embrace.

Elysia’s heart pounded in time with the pulse of the festival. And Astarion - he was the centre of it all, the master of this world, his every movement deliberate, calculated. She could feel it: the weight of his control, the way he led her without question, without hesitation.

And so, they danced. Deeply, intensely. Every step, every movement, every brush of his fingers across her skin was a command she couldn’t ignore. The ribbons tightened around her as he led her in intricate steps, each turn leaving trails of silver light in the air, shimmering like scattered stars. She could feel the texture of the magic against her skin, smooth and cool as it pressed into her, guiding her in a rhythm as old as desire itself.

“You’re beautiful when you let go, darling” he whispered, his voice low, dangerous. “So few allow themselves to surrender to the festival.”

The magic, and this bizarre, enchanted dance, reached its crescendo. Phantom stars whirled around them in dizzying spirals. The very air seemed to sing with power. And then...

He pulled her close, one final spin that ended with her dipped low in his arms. Their faces were inches apart, his cool breath mingling with her heavy breathing. The world beyond them had dissolved into a shower of starlight.

Time seemed suspended. Elysia could feel her heart pounding against her ribs. She could see her own reflection in Astarion's eyes. 

There was something she was supposed to remember, something important...

But it slipped away like smoke through her fingers. How could anything matter more than this moment, this magic, this man who held her as if she were something precious and dangerous all at once?

Remember …

Remember? Remember what?

Her heart beat wildly under the allure of his gaze, his power.

... Why am I here again?

Next Chapter

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[merakiui]

I’ve been trying to finish my assignments all day but your newest Sunday fic has corrupted my mind and I can’t finish SHIT 😭 the “think about me when fucking your wife if it gets you off” line has been plaguing me….what if he literally CANT finish at all with his wife and has to think of reader just to be able to stay hard but can’t cum…and his wife sends a letter back to her family and friends venting about it but it gets leaked and since it’s Sunday everyone in Penacony knows about it…the ego….the drama….reader is having the happiest day of her life over the news and the damage she knows he took to his ego…your fic is so good never stop writing😻

👁 👁 this is so delicious,,, oooooo sexually frustrated and pent-up Sunday with his damaged ego!!!!! What if he's so tired of being blue balled that he swallows his pride and books a private room with darling in the dreamscape......... omg maybe it isn't even anywhere fancy and instead it's this dingy love hotel in some filthy corner of Penacony (one with less eyes, less chances of being caught, etc etc very shady business). T_T and you only meet him there because you need to see just how desperate he's become (to fulfill your own ego).

Something something sex in the love hotel and it's not nearly as sweet and starved as it was when you were drunk. >:D Sunday who pushes your face into the pillows and fucks you like an animal while you're on your hands and knees, and he hates you for this because it's the first time he's able to get hard and cum in a while. >_< going through all the condoms the room offers,,, maybe even having to get more LOL. You're nice but not nice enough to let him enjoy your raw pussy.

Though he's your ex, he's a gentleman first. <3 he'll order sweets to the room so you can replenish on sugar,,, in fact, he'll order whatever you want. Maybe you can push him to order a sexy maid outfit and have him wear it just to test how far he's willing to go so that you'll hush up about this little meeting. :) humiliating the prim and proper Head of the Oak Family..... oooohhh he's so pathetic on his knees for you.

In conclusion, Sunday buying your silence with sweets and whatever else it is you want if you let him fuck all of his stress out into you... you tease and taunt him and he'll call you a greedy devil the entire time with his hands wrapped around your throat to keep you quiet, but then he's the one going through condoms like crazy. ^^;;; this is just a one-time thing. He'll go back to his wife and everything will be normal and he'll deal with his sins and guilt somehow...... (spoiler: it will not be a one-time thing.) He claims he'd never succumb, but he's weak when it comes to you. orz

[lyricalambrosia]

I think my current timeline is that im gonna finish can you feel the sun then participate in millionsummers week (which may or may not necessitate pausing cyfts if i havent finished it by then) and once both those things are out of the way i want to start working on "i never want to miss you again" like i said i would months ago

[luriluth]

Maybe i should draw again its been a week already

[coachbeards]

omg!! same jamie & beard anon again (sorry!) but scrolled further down your blog and saw your post of beard suffering from erective dysfunction and one more line to draw is that I saw exactly that being talked about re. jamie (I think it was on mitskijamie blog?) about it as a consequence of CSA

NO YEAHHHHHH. yeah!!!!!!!!!!!!

i think i just saw rose's posts on that on my dash and you're so right.

beard's erectile dysfunction is actually something so important to me, and it's very..........psychosomatic. especially with his sexual trauma of being a sex worker from college into sex work during his addiction (and there's a chance.....that it continued into his time in prison. offering his body to keep himself safe, or for trades from the commissary....offering the only thing he has and knows he has, his body),,,, not to mention that i really don't think jane is the first abusive relationship he's been in........i think beard has a Lot of sexual trauma and it really, really has impacted his self-worth and mental health.

so yeah,,,, yeah. ed as a symptom of csa/sa .... very likely.

[dilf-docs]

It Always Leads To You

joel miller x younger fem!reader

summary: it's been a year; now you're back. how can joel be so sure of those old summer feelings in your eyes when there's a new hand holding yours?

warnings: 18+ (minors dni), age gap, toxic relationship, cheating and infidelity themes, mutual pinning, kinda dark!joel, smut, p. in v., pussy pronouns, oral (f. receiving), fingering, manhandling, lowkey forced creampie, ANGST, the taylor swift evermore (2020) references go wild, happy ending cause y'all weak asses voted for it and i love to keep my citizens happy!

word count: 5,199 words

side note: my joel miller era is alive and breathing after this tlou re-watch i'm doing my brother swears it's for him but it's mostly me and my fic/womanly reasons, yes we love gaslight girlkeep girlbossing in here gotta say, finding inspiration for this amidst my wattpad duties and christmas movie marathon was harder than i thought lol. was it worth the wait? please like, comment and reblog to let me know! it's based on this request (they're still open btw!)

part: I / II

Holidays linger like bad perfume.

Your eyes wander through the streets: the roads you've got to call home, the ones where you grew up. They're familiar, but so foreign, it's hard to believe they're the same ones where you scrapped your knees at ten and kissed Joel just last winter. It's as if both timelines, your life, feels more like two separate lives, miles apart.

"Hey, you okay?" tender, from the driver's seat; you're still getting used to the soft.

There's a reassuring smile your way, his hand finding yours to give it a squeeze. You notice his palm is the same size as yours. It fits perfectly, but there's a ghost of what it feels like to have it all wrapped up, looming over your itchy palm like all the yearning's a joke.

You nod. "Just tired. That's all"

He sighs. "If I wanted you to lie to me, I would've just asked"

"I'm not lying" you defend yourself as his pickup truck parks on the sidewalk.

He makes a funny face, and you laugh.

"I'm serious, Nick" your lips purse, a thing you do when you lie, yet he still hadn't noticed, like Joel. "Don't worry"

He doesn't look that convinced, so you take off your seat belt and grab his hand.

"C'mon. Mom and dad must be waiting for us"

"Hey" Nick calls you out.

"Yeah?"

"Who lives there?" and he's pointing behind you.

It's his. Joel's house.

"A friend of my dad's" you answer, dryly.

It was last december when you stood there in his porch, begging. It feels like time has stopped ever since, and you're still right where he left you.

"So will he be here?" Nick asks. "You know, since he knows your dad"

"Don't think so" you shrug, "he's got better things to do anyway. Bitter old man" comes out, with more venom than intended.

"Oh! Alright, sorry for asking"

You come back to your senses, realizing you've shared more than you should.

"No, I'm sorry. It's not that important; let's just go inside"

Your mom and dad greet you as soon as you cross the door. Last year, you'd basically fled away before New Year's, with a poor excuse and a broken heart. They both greet you as if nothing happened, although you're sure they remember your tear streamed face coming back from Joel's house, where it all ended.

As your mom corners Nick with kisses and embarrassing questions, your dad whispers to you:

"Joel asked what happened" you quirk and eyebrow, "wanted to know why you left"

"Eh, it's not important" you try to dismiss. "Definitely not as important for a guy like Joel to know"

"What is that supposed to mean?" your dad inquires. You often wonder if they knew.

"Nothing" you laugh nervously. "Listen, why don't you go and meet Nick, yeah? Did you know he likes fishing too?"

The distraction works with your dad; the same can't be said about you.

There's conversation flowing, but through the snow covered window, your eyes keep glancing back to his own. The view is dark, and you ponder if he's fled as well, the town plagued with memories too painful to reminisce.

You can still feel his hands roaming your body, the lust filled gaze that hid warmth. Every time he touches you, you have to remind you he isn't there: that the lips that kiss you, don't taste like his, that the hands that hold you, aren't big as his, and that the face that looks at you like they'll never choose another, is one you haven't learned to love yet.

Joel's memory cuts like thorns: they sink their teeth into your heart, that bleeds with that blood-colored sadness you're all too familiar with. He's poisoned you. But-- isn't it his love also the antidote for this disease he's gave you?

You abruptly stand up, plate half eaten.

"I-I need some air"

It's cold outside, but you don't care. All you want to do is sit on the porch, and drop some tears, something you can do inside too, but the fear of your muffled cries being able to be heard stops you.

You walk towards the stairs, to sit there like you do on summer days, yet there's now a difference: the snow. So you end up slipping, falling with your butt on the floor.

You yelp, embarrased although no one can see you.

"Need help?"

That you're wrong, apparently.

You don't even need to raise your view to know who that voice belongs to: you know it like a record, spinning in circles on your head.

He offers his strong hand your way, and although the cold wind hits your face, you're back to spring on the cabin: wet feet, bright sun and beating heart.

"I can get up myself" you reject his help, pushing the hand out. You keep avoiding his gaze, so you don't see how he's reacted, yet you hope he feels bad about it.

You walk up to the front door, and it takes you a while to realize he hasn't left yet. On top of that, it seems like he's following you. Just what you needed.

"What are you doing here?" you question, but your tone sounds like you're offended.

"Your folks invited me over" Joel answers, "Says they got a special guest"

"Yeah" this time, you do look back, finding him to be much closer than you thought he'd be. Yet you stand tall, defiant even. "It's my boyfriend"

You savour the way his expression falters, before the stoic façade takes over again.

"Boyfriend?" Joel scoffs, as if you just told the funniest joke ever.

"Is that supposed to be funny?" you bite back. "What? Think a pretty girl can't get a new man?"

"Never said I'd doubt'it" he clicks his tongue. "Y'a could get any man you'd want, sugar"

Ironically, the only man you want stands before you.

"Right" you chuckle dryly, "I think it's kind of funny of you to say that"

Joel's eyes bore into yours, a clash of emotions circling in his chocolate orbs.

"Y/n-"

"Don't" you stop him. Then sigh, defeated. "Let's just go inside"

As soon as you both arrive on the dinning room, your parents both greet Joel. Then, they introduce him to their guest, just as promised.

"Joel, this is Nick, y/n's boyfriend" your father speaks. "Nick, this is Joel, a dear old friend of mine"

Nick, as the gentleman he is, offers his hand. Joel accepts, but you can see the barely desguised displease behind his eyes.

"Wow, strong grip" Nick comments before joking, "you can let go now, I'm not going anywhere"

The hidden meaning of his words, whether intentional or not, hit Joel in the face. It's obvious by the way he backtracks, letting go of Nick's hand.

As you sit again, Nick leans to your side and whispers.

"Is this the guy who lives in the house across the street?" you nod. "Thought you'd said he had better plans. But, see? I told you: no plan's more important than coming to your house"

He's always making jokes, trying to make you smile, but it's done the opposite now. The food has gone cold long ago, yet you cut through the meat with a violence so palpable, even your mom tells you to slow down.

The nerve of Joel, showing up to your house like it's nothing, talking to you like he's unaware of his spell on you, acting like Nick is some sort of competition when he pulled out of the race himself a winter ago.

"So, Nick. How did you two meet?" your mom adresses him, eager to know details.

"It was at a party, actually, through mutual friends. Not a very spectacular story, that I know. What's funny is, she asked me what hour it was. And what did I say?"

"He didn't answer my question. Instead, he said: For you, I'm available any hour" you answer.

Your parents laugh, but Joel remains quiet. You wonder what he's thinking.

"You know" looking at Nick while cutting the steamed vegetables a little too agressive, "y/n actually hates parties"

"Joel" you warn through gritted teeth.

"Really? I didn't know that!" Nick seems so genuine, Joel can't help but hate him. He looks at you, concerned "You didn't tell me"

You can't believe he would rat you out like that. The appropiate word isn't hate, and you don't know how to describe it, but parties aren't really your environment; if you can, you'd choose to be anywhere else.

He'll pay for that.

"Joel" you seethe, an ugly smile painted in your features, "did you know Nick knows how to fish?"

It's a direct jab at him. He feels stupid for letting you get to him. The inferiority complex towards some random guy he just met, years younger, is actually laughable.

"I like-" Nick wants to add on that.

"Well" Joel interrupts, looking at you. "You never taught me like ya' were s'pposed to"

"You never cared to learn" you reply, acidic.

He sips his drink, trying to hide the smirk that's formed on his lips. You can't shut up, and he loves you've stayed the same.

"That means I've got some classes to take" Joel leans back on his chair, relaxed like he's won this round. "Just tell me when"

The tension cuts like the storm that's just formed outside.

"You should stay over, Joel" your dad offers when he takes a peak at the climate, "it's too dangerous outside"

Joel seems indestructible, like not even a snow blizzard could pierce through the rough old man. But he agrees, much to your dismay.

It's probably midnight already, and all you've done is toss around the bed. Nick peacefully snores next to you, and you envy how easily he falls asleep. You've always find it hard to sleep, the nighttime plagued with too many loud thoughts that fill the silence.

You get up carefully, heading downstairs for some water. You sip with tranquility when a noise jolts you from your sit.

The wooden floor creaks, making you aware you're not alone anymore.

"Can't sleep?"

You don't answer, seeing his sturdy figure emerge from the shadows until the dim moonlight shines over his aging features. Silence settles in. Outside, the wind howls, bumping against the windows with violence, like your heart does now against your chest.

"Not much of a talker, are you?"

"There's nothing to talk" cuts your response through the thick tension, the air suddenly suffocating.

You take another sip, but the tremble of your hand doesn't go unnoticed by Miller.

"Right" Joel sits next to you, on the kitchen island. "Won't even look at me, sugar? You've got eyes" his voice drops, "use 'em"

"What are you doing, Joel?" you ask looking at him, tears threatening to spill, making your bright eyes shimmer with pain.

He gets up abruptly, like he's woken up from a trance. He's seen his own pain on your eyes, and he hates it.

"Joel?" you ask again, demanding but softly.

He can't answer. Instead, he leaves.

"Goodnight, y/n" voice raw, many emotions boiling, hidden on the inside. It hurts.

If you hadn't changed, Joel too stayed the same.

A goddamn coward.

Two days have passed since, and now it's Christmas Eve.

You kneel, putting the presents under the tree. Normally, your parents would have much more people around for the holidays, but thanks to the storm, it's just them, Nick, Joel and you.

"I'm gonna miss Mrs. Stone's cookies" you pout, "I wish she could be here"

"It's a big loss for tonight" your dad sighs. "Next time, yeah? Christmas will come again faster than you think"

You nod, still absent as he walks away.

"Hey" Joel pops up behind, seemingly from nowhere.

"Hey" you reply, voice laced with tiredness just at the sight of him. How will you manage to survive until New Year's? You have no idea, the task harder if he's staying in the same house as you are.

"Put this in there, will ya'?"

He hands you a box, neatly wrapped up. What stands out the most is the silver bow on top. Your stomach drops: it's your favorite color.

"Y-yeah" you stammer. When the present falls in your hands, you notice it looks like Joel did it himself.

"Didn't know you were capable of nice things" you whisper. There's no anger in your voice, only loss.

"I'm trying" is what he says, before leaving you alone. Until then, you realize he had been touching you, the skin where his hand was on your shoulder burning.

Dinner goes by swiftly, conversation flowing easily courtesy of Nick and your father, who both have in common the love for talking. It may be your brain messing with you, but his eyes never leave you, fixated on your every move, savoring when your lips open and take a bite; when you lick them afterwards, salt in your mouth he'd love to take off in a movement of his tongue. The ghost of your lips haunts him, cruelly playing with his yearning now that he's got you across the table. It's a few centimeters, really, but it feels like you're miles away: and it's his fault. You're no longer his, and he's reminded of it every time your boyfriend kisses what he once had.

Now it's time to open the presents, and you excitedly raise your hand to go first.

"Alright, sweetheart. You know I can't deny you anything" your father beams, "go ahead. Choose any present you'd like to open first"

Joel's eyes are on you, and you know he's desperately waiting for you to open his first. Maybe partly in courage, maybe partly in fear, but you choose Nick's first: something safe to start with.

"That's mine!" he chirps, and Joel mockingly imitates his kid-like joy under his breath.

You unwrap the present, finding a small box inside.

"Please, don't be another box" you joke, and he laughs.

"You think that low of me? Please"

You keep unwrapping and find a bag. The bag has a small tag that reads: Gotcha.

"Nick! God, you're so corny" you tease as you open the bag. Inside, there's a velvet box, and by the looks of it, you can tell it's jewelry. You gasp, pulling out a silver charm tied to a silver thin chain: it's a marlin fish. "Nick..."

"I know. Marlin isn't your favorite fish, but that's all I could find" you get up, wrapping him on a tight hug. Aware you've got an audience, he leans and whispers "I knew fishing was special to you, because of your dad and childhood. Maybe now" he takes it from your hands, carefully putting it around your neck, "it can also be our special thing"

Joel sees the scene unfold in front of him, his grip tight on the cloth of his jeans until it's white. His jaw clenches at the affection display; all he sees is red.

"What about that one?" your mom points out Joel's present. A pit of nerves forms in your stomach. "I don't remember seeing it there"

Before you can grab it, your dad moves faster, examining the box on his hands.

"It's Joel's" he makes a pause, "for y/n"

You pretend to be shocked, and you can tell Nick tenses at your side.

"You didn't tell me you were close"

"Used to" you correct quickly, despite the knot on your throat. "Not anymore"

"He still got you a present, though"

You don't get to answer because your dad leaves the box on your lap.

"Open it" it's soft but feels threathing for some reason, "I'm curious"

Joel's resting hands tremble as much as yours while you open the present. You reveal the simple white box under the wrap, opening it up.

Your voice comes out shaky as you call his name. And he can see it: the muffled laughters on the shed, the warmth of the cabin's fire, the fogged up windows of his car, the bruises on your tits and that voice, so vulnerable, he can see you on his porch, saying those three words that terrified him so much, his solution was breaking your heart.

"What is it?" your dad asks.

"It's a scarf" the fabric tickles your fingers that wander through the loose strands.

You remember it all too well.

"Oh, it's vintage!" your mom comments when she sees the worn-out aspect.

But just as your affair with Joel, you keep the secret of it's real owner.

"It's perfect" you mutter, remembering better times: ones where he'd wrap the scarf colored as the leaves on the ground around your neck, covering bruises he'd just made while you joked you'd steal it, and Joel would say he'd just let you, that it looked better on you anyway.

You've forgotten the good, so used to thinking of Joel at your worst, like a punishment to endure and sink your shipwreck even deeper. You felt lost, replaying memories that seemed stuck on a loop. Since last december, all you've known is pain; creeping up through the cracks in your fleeting happiness, one you've tried to find to no avail. One day, past the curses and cries, maybe there'll be happiness. But as for now, that day seems terribly far.

As he sees your teary gaze, Joel often wonders were it went wrong. When did hurt was all you had for him in that gaze of yours he can't bare to look that long, not before he's reliving all those seasons by your side, replaying his footsteps on the snow, grass, water and fallen leaves, trying to find the one where it all went wrong. The torture he now wears like a second skin, his agony painted words addressed to the fire of a house that feels so empty and alone.

"We should continue" your dad speaks over the silence, "there are still many presents left"

The night moves slowly, and the scarf you've chosen to wear is now suffocating around your neck. But you can't take it off. This is the closest you've been to Joel on a year; it still smells like him. As the presents run out, you excuse yourself early to bed, only to wake up again in the middle of the night. You want to pee, so you exit your room and walk to the bathroom, your bare feet against the cold wood sending shivers down your spine that only seem to augment when you walk past his door, next to the bathroom. After being done, you splash some water on your face, as if that would make some sense get to you.

"What are you doing?" you ask yourself in the mirror. Your tired reflection stares back at you, in silence.

You open the door, ready to go back to bed when a hand covers your mouth and shoves you inside.

"Don't scream" your cries go muffled against his hand, the calloused digits pressing against your soft skin, "wanna wake 'em up?"

You shake your head, so he lets your mouth free.

"Joel" you call out, but he's facing the door, his back all you see. No sound can be heard, aside from his uneven breaths.

"I'm sorry" he says, and then you hear the small click of the door's lock.

"What the hell?"

This time, he faces you, but his movements are so quick you don't register his lips on yours until it's too late. He kisses you like a starved man who hasn't had a meal in years, eating you out while your body acts up on it's own, the urgency embarrasing even.

"No" you pull back. Your mind screams in guilt at how much you want this, and that's all you can hear aside from his ragged breaths.

"No?"

"It isn't fair"

"To lover boy out there?" he teases, "I know he ain't treating you right, or ya' wouldn't look me the way ya' do"

"Don't, Joel" your tone is icy, "Nick treats me better than you ever could"

He laughs, darkly. "You know I ain't meant that" he corners you against the sink, the material cold against your bare legs; you don't sleep with nothing but an oversized t-shirt, despite the weather.

"Riddle me this, sugar: if he treats you so well, why are you so fucking wet?"

Your heart beats so fast you fear you'll die. He gets closer, his hot breathe prickling against your ear.

"It takes a man to please a woman" he tucks a loose strand behind your ear, "and I ain't leaving my baby displeased"

His fingers pull down the panties until your clit is exposed.

"Look at 'er" he traces a teasing finger over the puffy skin, coated on your slick "missed me, didn't she? Gonna treat 'er so good, she won't ever feel lonely again"

He softly kisses your neck, the trepidation and regret tying your stomach in knots.

Joel teases your needy core with his finger.

"Tell you somethin', sugar" Joel finds it hard to hide his adoration, "I missed 'er too"

He stares into your eyes while pushing two rough fingers inside your cunt. You bite your lip, holding back your moans.

"Need summ help?" he kisses you roughly, smirking when he feels your shaky breath against his lips. He pushes them in and out faster, making your walls squeeze tightly around his fingers.

"Did he ever have you comin' this fast? I'ont think so" he whispers against your neck. You whisper his name through labored breaths, making a smug smile adorn his features. "Good girl"

He proceeds to kneel down, despite the creak of his bones. You see him leave a trail of kisses down your thighs, your legs opening wider in response. His tongue gives rapid flickers against your sensitive bud, aware of the lack of time. He slurps the pulsing cunt, his head moving back and forth while he sucks, coating his moustache on your juices. Joel goes back to the quick movements, tongue knowing your spots and twisting fingers as aid, causing your back to arch.

"Fuck" you curse as you come, gripping the sink a bit too tight.

Joel then pulls away and places his fingers coated in your arousal in his mouth and licks them. He sees the obscene display in the fogged mirror, satisfied.

"Goodnight, sugar" Joel bids goodbye like it's nothing, kissing your lips that taste like you. "Still as sweet as ever"

It's New Year's Eve.

"You're leaving?" you sound so sad, Joel can't help but scoff. In the end, he'd stayed long after the storm had passed, your father arguing holidays weren't meant to be spent alone. So he stayed.

And now, Nick is leaving.

"I'm sorry" he apologizes for the millionth time, "but granny is sick. I don't know if she'll make it another year, so say the doctors. I would love to stay, really, but I have to be with her"

You understand, having lost your grandad years ago. But that doesn't mean you're okay with it: Nick leaving means a clear path for Joel, who didn't stop with him sleeping next room, and certainly won't now, despite not having interacted with you since he ate you out on the bathroom.

He pulls you into a long hug and a kiss that doesn't feel the same anymore. "Will you be okay?"

"Yeah" you nod, "I'll miss you though"

"Well, I'll be all yours when you get back"

You smile but it doesn't reach your eyes.

"See you, y/n. I love you"

Your lips purse after you utter those three words back.

Later at night, the house is filled with guests. The lively environment is restored, and you feel less confined to Joel's claws, so many faces to speak and distract yourself with, compared to Christmas and the past couple of days. You clutch the marlin charm tightly, mind busy wandering to places it shouldn't. Joel stares at you from across the room, eyes trained on you as he sips his drink calmly, like he's won; you don't know why he's keeping score if he already knows it. You wander off to the kitchen, and Joel follows you.

"You have to stop" you speak as soon as he enters, aware he would follow you.

"I ain't do shit"

You turn around, facing him. "Bullshit, Joel"

"Tell me, what'd I do?" he comes closer, and despite your erratic heart and fear, you stay still; challenging.

"You did this, Joel" his expression falters for a second, the weight of last december's crimes dawning on him. "Don't try to make me feel guilty"

"I ain't. That wasn't your fault" he sighs, breath dragging long like a cigarrette. "But this" he motions with his hands the reduced distance, "this it is"

Your breath hitches.

"We can't keep doing this, Joel. Nick doesn't deserve it"

He pins you against the counter with force, gripping the skin of your wrists until you're sure you'll get a bruise. Joel's eyes darken at the thought of your frail and soft body under his rough figure and belly, his strength and your weakness making the job of putting you under his will, so much easier.

"Don't say his name" he whispers, his breath laced with alcohol, "he ain't here anymore. Ain't nothing to stop me now, right, sugar?" Joel purrs as he steps towards you, taking your face in his hands before starting a heated kiss, making you stumble.

This was so wrong, but it felt so right, the missing pieces falling like dominoes.

He was your pain divine: you needed his hurt to bleed and feel alive again. Maybe the red of the blood and the blue of your sadness could paint your darkest grey skies with a happiness you've craved since you lost him.

"Tell me to stop" Joel whispers, tempting like a devil as he kisses down your neck, littering it with hickeys.

"Don't"

Next thing you know, you're excusing yourself upstairs and then Joel goes missing too, both inside of your bedroom.

Your dress was the first thing to go.

"Wear it for me?" you're about to answer, lips pursing, but he cuts you off, "and don't lie, sugar. Don't get too used to the bad girl schtick"

"I only wore this dress so you could take it off"

He kisses you desperately, legs wrapped around his waist while he carries you to bed, and the memories of your first flood you as he drops you down to your back, watching the way you bounce. He has you just like he wanted: moaning his name while he leaves tender kisses on the soft bare flesh.

"Joel-" you gasp. Despite the chatter downstairs and music, you try to remain low as he wraps his lips around your nipples. He then moves to your breasts, covering them with his kisses and hickeys. He hadn't touched a woman ever since you left, the feeling of the rosy innocent skin on his rough teeth making him loose all common sense, the real thing even better than what he would try to conjure when he fucked himself in the bathroom at the memory of you.

He groans when he feels your hands roaming over his back, nails digging on the scarred skin.

"Someone's eager" he teases, seeing your damp underwear. "Is this 'cause of me?" you don't answer, too busy removing the cloth, only for his strong fingers to grab you and stop you. "Don't be shy, answer baby. We got a whole new year, yeah?"

"I need you Joel" you whine, not laughing at the joke "cut the crap"

He pushes you gently back down to the bed. "So needy sugar, want me to help ya'?"

You eagerly nod, making him laugh. But there's no mock, only love behind the sound.

"Will you let this old man take care of ya', pretty baby? Just use your words, and I'll be all y'rs"

"Do it, Joel. Just do it"

You gasp as your folds begin to be prodded open by the fat head of Joel's cock. You curse, feeling him push in just the tip, the sweet burn of your walls welcoming his size making you grab his arms that stand at the sides of your body, caging you in.

His tummy pushes against your stomach as he adjusts himself, his weight sinking your body on the creaking matress.

"'S just the tip, ready for the whole thing?"

You needed him, all of him.

"Yes, Joel. I want you" You say and he pushes in slowly, feeling his cock fill up every empty space that craved for him.

You squeeze your eyes shut as his hips roll back pulling out about halfway before rocking back in. His sloppy thrusts pick up a familiar pace that makes you moan and beg for more, head falling against the sheets as his pace speds up until he's fucking you senseless.

Joel's brain goes blank at the sight of you creaming on his dick and the obscene sounds leaving your pretty mouth. Did he really give this up? He'd definitely go back in time and slap the fuck out of his past self, because there is simply nothing better than having you under him, screaming his name like that's all you can ever say.

"Does he fuck you like this, huh?" Joel angles his hips, resuming his brutal pace. Your body jolts with each snap. "Is he enough for you?"

"Yes" his stomach drops, dark eyes now hesitant, "but he isn't you"

He pushes himself back in, your eyes fluttering shut almost immediately.

"Tell me you'll leave him, y/n. Look me in the eyes and tell me who ya' really belong to"

Your eyes snap open at the possesiveness clashed with jealousy that drips from his sweat-soaked lips.

The confession falls easily, as meant to be. "Yours, Joel. Always was and will be"

He could cum just at the sight of your loving doe eyes.

Downstairs, the countdown begins, but in your room, all you can hear are his soft groans and your pathetic whimpers, and if the people would stop shouting, you could probably hear the squelch of your dripping cunt sucking in his girth with each thrust.

After a few more erratic thrusts, you feel his warm cum fill you up. Joel was always obsessed with how his cum seeped out of you and around his cock. Without thinking, his rough fingers push deep in you, making you yelp as he makes sure he isn't wasting a drop behind.

The countdown ends, and fireworks erupt outside as your head rests on the crook of his sweat covered neck.

"I love ya', sugar" those words you thought you imagined that one time, now real, so goddamn real his voice quivers and eyes get tearful with grief, "'S okay if ya' don't say it. I just wanted you to hear 'em. 'M just tired of wastin' my time"

He wraps your lips with his with tenderness you had only dreamed of. There is still a lot to talk and heal, but this time, his arms hold you like a promise. And you let yourself believe it.

Y/n's New Years' purposes: 1. Break up with Nick 2. Try to explain this seasonal mess to mom and dad 3. At last, try to be happy

[endlessdreamworld]

My Sinful Little Angel

a short AU fic featuring secret priest! Sunday of a small village x baker! gn reader

"Thank you again, Mr. Oak," you said as Sunday, the town's resident tailor finished repairing the frayed hem of your apron. "Here," you offer him a half dozen of today's special treat, powdered sugar shortbread cookies filled with raspberry jam.

"Thank you," he gave you a soft smile that made your heart melt. "Here," he offered you up some coins, more than he should but still a paltry amount the judgmental villagers would consider good and proper.

It was part of your little arrangement. You showed up one day out of nowhere, and the town's bakery took you in. You had a roof over your head and a belly full of food, but they paid you next to nothing.

"Tomorrow we're going to be maki--" a knock interrupted your sweet little announcement. It was the baker's son. Sunday didn't miss how your gaze fell to your hands clutching your newly repaired apron, how you seemed so very bashful in the presence of your peer. Oh God in heaven, please smite this wicked fool who dare intrude upon your shared sacred peace and tempt you so.

You gave him a small wave as you headed for the door, "I have to go Mr. Oak, duty calls." You were always so polite and sweet to him, so diligent, always doing more than you should. Sunday noticed the powdered sugar you had graced him with when he paid you for your work and brought it to his unworthy tongue. An ambrosia he didn't earn, one he didn't deserve. You were an angel made flesh, and far too good for a backwater place like this. One day, he swore, he'd do something about it.

As the sun set, he flipped the sign in the window from open to closed before heading off to his second job. Every flock needed a shepherd, and who better to play the role as he? And so the town's church offered a confessional booth service where he served as the confessor.

He settled in behind the screen and prepared his heart for the service. People always had such ridiculous things plaguing them so, but who was he to deny them salvation?

"Forgive me Father, for I have sinned."

It was the sound of your voice. He held his breath. He couldn't help but hear how nervous and deflated you sounded. What heresy could you have committed to feel so low? "Speak freely, child," he spoke in an unrecognizable drawl. Sunday preferred anonymity. It was better when people didn't know who they were speaking to.

You sigh inwardly and steel your resolve, "I've been having sinful thoughts about another. One of my fellow peers."

Sunday has heard those very words before, and he didn't like where this was going. He was quite fortunate to be able to steer you away from such an unholy sin. "What sorts of thoughts?"

He listened to the sound of fabric brushing against the confessional screen, the sound of you squirming from discomfort. "Carnal ones I'm afraid. Whenever I'm with him, I pray his hands linger more than they should. Every night, I dream of clandestine meetings -- of the perverted sort."

Sunday hears how very affected you are, and he isn't going to allow some degenerate sully your pure soul and infect your mind. He was almost certain it was that baker boy with the way you could scarcely look at him, but if he were to do anything about it, he would need to be sure. "Those are quite heavy sins, my dear, but the lord forgives all who wish to repent."

"Thank you Father." He can hear the smile in your voice and he has you right where he needs you.

"To repent, it would be best to disclose the name of this wolf in sheep's clothing that assaults your thoughts and faithful heart."

Yes, give me a name. This whisper campaign to your excommunication will be as delicious as it'll be unsurprising. It'll be my revenge for whoever dares touch you so frivolously, my sweet angel.

You got quiet, the sound of conflict. Sunday's chest tightened, anguished by your misplaced sense of guilt. You were trying to shield whoever this dastard was by the kindness of your soul. He knew you needed one final push. "The lord forgives all who sin, even the serpent who tempts you so."

"Well," you swallowed thickly. Agony permeated your words as you work up the courage to oust the blasphemer, "it's Sunday Oak."

[bratbby333]

i will possess your heart – satoru gojo

-this story contains very heavy nsfw content! please read at your own discretion!-

𓆩ᥫ᭡𓆪 content warnings dead dove fic- heavy stalking, violent obsession, manipulation, forced voyeurism, forced exhibition, drugging, mentions of blood, knives, use of restraints, plot twist, extreme dub-con 𓆩ᥫ᭡𓆪 synopsis for as cocky as Satoru is, it’s oddly fitting. in his mind, everything belongs to him, including you. 𓆩ᥫ᭡𓆪 word count 8k

Satoru fumbled with a tripod as he positioned his camera onto the stand and proceeded to hit record. He was thorough, making sure his chair was perfectly centered before he sat down, staring at himself in the viewfinder while he fussed with his hair, inhaling deeply. A wide grin cut across his face before dropping back into lackluster neutrality. He looked down at his lap, his fingers ran up and down his denim-clad thighs. He snapped back onto the camera blank-faced before a deranged smile pulled at his cheeks.

Click

January 16th, 4:06 AM

I woke up drenched in the feeling of lethargy again—another night of only an hour’s worth of sleep. Nothing feels real when you hit a certain point. I’m plagued by the shadows, my entire life enshrouded in darkness. I don’t remember what things were like before. Day by day, it’s all the same. I cannot escape it—this anchoring feeling of despair. The emptiness eats away at me. I’m in search of release…of some sort of freedom from this pain. I need to fill my life with meaning, to find purpose in this accursed world…I think I’ll go out for coffee today. People watching brings me so much joy. They seem to live much happier lives than me.

Click

January 16th, 6:38 PM

My daydreams must’ve blended into reality because there was no way I created someone as beautiful as she was outside my imagination. I’m certain of it. She was sitting at the bar of the cafe down the street from my apartment, dressed in business casual—she probably works nearby. How kismet. The coffee was bland, as were most things in my life, but she awoke something in me. I hope I see her again. She somehow managed to clear the cobwebs around my heart. I think my life has finally found purpose. She is my driving force. I wonder what her name is.

Click

January 19th, 6:11 AM

Feeling well-rested today. Four hours of sleep is my new record. I plan to go to the coffee shop again. Back to the place where my eyes were first blessed with the mirage of her…where I first fell in love. I hope she’s there. People are so fun to observe when they don’t think they’re being watched…it’s simple psychology. The Hawthorne Effect. When humans notice they are under observation, they change. So inauthentic. But her? She never notices. She sits so obliviously, allowing me to take her in with ease. So good to me. She’s a breath of fresh air. I hope to work up the courage to speak to her soon. My heart soars at the mere thought of being in her presence once again. It’s so refreshing to feel something after all this time. I’ve been numb for so long, but she has set my heart on fire. She is everything to me, my sole purpose for existence.

Click

January 19th, 8:27 PM

I saw her again today. She didn’t see me. Just how I like it. She typed away on her computer like normal…she’s a hard worker, it seems. Driven and strong. And here I was thinking such beauty was a thing of legend. It's refreshing to have been proved wrong–that rarely happens. Oh, how I crave her. I know she’d make me feel whole again. She can save me from all this, I can feel it. 

Click

January 23rd, 5:13 AM

Only two hours of sleep tonight. But, for some reason, I feel better than ever… I normally do when I find a reason for living, again. It’s her…it must be because of her. She keeps me going; my muse, my inspiration. She’s worked wonders on me already and she doesn’t even know it, yet. I’m going to the cafe again today, I cannot wait to see her. Maybe today I will finally speak to her.

Click

January 23rd, 9:53 PM

She never showed up today…I wonder what’s going on. Maybe she had other things to do. It’s fine, really. I’m annoyed, honestly. I waited around all day. I’ll keep checking until I see her again. 

Click

January 28th, 7:06 PM

My sweet girl has gone missing. I haven’t seen her in quite some time now. This is just ridiculous. The woman I love…is she avoiding me? No, no that cannot be. 

Click

February 2nd, 8:31 AM

I haven’t slept well in days. I’ve been awake for twenty six hours now…my mind feels like it’s filled with static and yet, I feel sharper than ever. I’ve gone to the cafe every day. Still no sign of her. I’m slipping back into my old ways, the darkness is going to return any moment. I’ve begun to hear the laughter in the shadows again. They’re making fun of me, I just know it. I need her…oh, I need her so bad. How could she do this to me? Does she not know how much I suffer when she’s not around? If I don’t see her again soon, I will never recover.

Click

February 5th, 6:21 PM

I finally saw her again today. My heartrate spiked and I nearly leaped from my seat to kiss her, to hold her, sway her side to side in a deep hug. Instead, I slipped a tracker into her purse as I walked by her chair. I must know where she works, where she lives, and what she enjoys in her free time. She slipped away from me so easily…can’t let that happen again. I need to know every little thing about her. She is my one and only after all. It would be ridiculous to love someone so deeply and know nothing about them. She is too beautiful, I cannot let her wander around unsupervised. There are some crazy people out there—you never know what could happen. I can’t lose her. I must keep her safe. I will possess her heart. No one else can have her but me. 

ₓ˚. ୭ ˚○◦˚.

Satoru observed her for months, shadowing her all around town. He knew the woman’s routine like the back of his hand, before he ever learned her name. Sunday’s she went grocery shopping, Monday after work was her pilates class, every couple of Thursday’s she was at the nail salon, and Friday’s were seemingly payday–he picked up on her pattern of going out to nice restaurants every other week. Satoru eventually got an upper-level management position at a company that shared the office building with her job–he is incredibly intelligent and overqualified, after all; they would be foolish to not hire him. Now he could really keep an eye on her.

That was when he finally learned her name–the two of them taking the same elevator. She didn’t recognize him as the man who seemingly had the same routine as her–it’s one of the many reasons why Satoru loved her so much: her naivety. She looked into his eyes for the first time that day, her voice was soft and angelic, and the name that fell from her lips sent waves through Satoru’s body, the same name that would now be coupled with his gasping moans every evening as he stroked himself to the thought of her. 

With Satoru’s new job that brought him one step closer to her, he knew he could no longer watch her in the way he used to. His movements had to be more calculated, putting more distance between them than he normally would or hiding behind the deep tint of his car windows. If she saw his face too frequently, she surely would have caught on. Satoru smiled at the possibility of her never catching on…how she’d greet him with a smile and a friendly hug each time they “coincidentally” bumped into one another, giggling about their lives' odd synchronicities. Such a sweet girl. If only she knew.

He stopped into her job, a small gift bag hanging off his slender fingers, desperate to watch her eyes light up with the sweet gesture of an unexpected gift. He asked to see her, only to be informed by the receptionist that she had the day off.

It was no worry, he didn’t let that dull his excitement. “I’m a friend of hers, brought this in to surprise her. Do you mind showing me to her desk, I’ll just leave it there for her when she returns to work,” he said kindly. The lady working the front desk blushed under his piercing gaze and handsome features, nodding shyly and walking him to his lover’s designated area. 

Satoru thanked her, stepping into the cubicle to place his gift by her computer. His eyes glazed over her workspace. It was decorated with trinkets and family photos. He picked one up, his thumb tracing over her face. His pretty girl. That smile could bring about world peace; it definitely quieted the angered voices in his head. He scanned her desk, a moment of envy shooting through him at the thought of her dainty fingers dancing over the keyboard rather than tangling in his hair. He groaned internally, looking over his shoulder to ensure no one was around, before ducking down, rummaging through his beloved’s drawers. Stowed away in the bottom of the unit was a fuzzy, white cardigan. He brought the fabric to his nose, inhaling deeply, stifling the filthy moan that nearly echoed through the cubicle. He quickly tucked it into his jacket, took one last look around, and headed toward the exit. 

In the safety of his vehicle, Satoru whipped the clothing out from under his wing, bringing it to his face once more. He undid his belt buckle with haste, shoving his dress slacks halfway down his thighs before his large fist swaddled his cock with the fuzzy white cardigan. He nearly sobbed at the contact, the smell of his car filling with her beautifully floral perfume. He brought the free edge up to his nose, taking another whiff as his hand worked furiously against his shaft. He had never finished so quickly in his life, staggered whimpers and choked moans fell from his parted lips as fat ropes shot up onto his abs and chest. His cheeks were flustered a violent red as he wiped his sticky shame away with her top. After he came, then did his clarity, and Satoru’s body ached with the thought of how good it would feel to finally be sheathed within her sticky walls, rather than her soft clothing. I’ll be with you soon. Soon, my love. 

These feelings were getting unbearable. His overactive brain had him teetering on the edge of insanity. He needed more. His imagination was no longer enough to satiate the hunger that gnawed so deeply in his core, the distanced watching and hopeless longing for the love of his life created jagged rifts in his already damaged psyche. He didn’t know how much more of this he could take. A few deep breaths and the promise he made to himself to take action soon quelled his burning desire. But for how much longer could Satoru repress the demon that clawed through his body?

Satoru surveyed her while she ran to the bank, walked her dog, or took her car to the wash. But his most favorite place to watch her was from the bench just outside her bedroom window, engulfed in darkness. Pretty girl lived on the second floor, her silly little brain assumed she didn’t need curtains. She never saw him, but he always saw her. All of her. Drinking in the way her clothes were delicately removed from her pretty little frame, the way she turned and posed in the mirror–so good to him. How her skin glistened after she got out of the shower, the water droplets running along her body in the same way Satoru wanted to. 

He fell into a state of bliss, feeling spoiled by the show he was getting tonight. The lotion that she worked into her body, the beautiful set of lingerie that she dawned. His eyes buzzed around his sockets, elation flooding through him. Gorgeous, gorgeous girl. But his body went rigid and his jaw locked tight at the appearance of another man behind the love of his life. He sat upright, shoulders stiff and heart pounding in his ears at the thought of his sweet being in danger, he cursed himself for not being more aware of her surroundings on her behalf. But when his darling girl turned to the unknown man with a smile, greeting him with a gentle kiss with the lips that were supposed to be just for Satoru, his heart shattered into a million pieces. 

Oh, no. This just won’t do, my love. You are mine. 

Jealousy coursed through his veins while he looked into her room, rage balled in his fists as he watched a random man have her in the one way Satoru couldn’t. Not yet, at least. He must’ve been new in her life, judging by the way his nervous hands explored every part of her skin. Satoru laughed at this–he knew he could please his woman so much better. But betrayal nipped at the back of his neck; how could she do this to him? Had his loyalty fallen on unappreciative shoulders? No, that couldn’t be. Satoru knew she was better than that, he picked her for a reason, after all. She was just playing hard to get. 

You rejected my advances and desperate pleas, and now you throw your relationship in my face. It’s punishment enough that I can’t have you, but I won't let you let me down so easily.

Feeling at a loss, swallowed whole by his hungered desperation, he did what any rational person would. He moved in next door.

ₓ˚. ୭ ˚○◦˚.

Satoru Gojo was your next-door neighbor. He moved in only a few months after you did. You were elated, chalking it up to a lucky roll of the dice that you had met by chance at your job; he had started working for the company that shared the office park with yours. It really seemed like things were on the come-up for you. He was kind, confidently intuitive, funny, and supportive. Mildly egotistical, but it worked for him. He always invited you over for dinner and movie nights and was a strong, dependable shoulder for you to cry on. You had just moved to the city, feeling utterly lost and absolutely gutted about being so far from your support systems now, and he was your first friend. You felt safe knowing he was just a wall away. 

On a random Sunday, you opened your front door to see all the food you loved sitting at your doorstep–weird, you were just about to leave for the store. You turned your head, seeing Satoru peeking out from his cracked door, grinning at you. 

“Was this you, Satoru? You didn’t have to…this is incredibly thoughtful,” you beamed, stepping over the grocery bags to give him a tight hug. “You’re the best, I don’t know how I could ever repay you.” But Satoru did, he knew exactly what you could do for him.

When you needed a ride to work, he jumped in to save you. The two of you worked in the same building after all. It was a crazy coincidence that your new neighbor turned best friend worked just a few floors above you. It’s such a small world, isn’t it? But it worked out perfectly for the two of you. 

There was a month where you were short on rent, and there was Satoru, paying the rest on your behalf. 

You weren’t catching on. Sweet, naive girl. Oh, how he loved you. I need to work harder to get her attention.

Satoru was not a patient man, but for you, he would do anything and everything to get you right where he wanted you, expertly playing the long game. It began with the fated sighting of you sitting in a cafe, and snowballed into something bigger. At first, he only ever observed you, maybe the minor occasion of overstepping, but as time went on, he couldn’t sit idly by. It was time to make his move.

His disruptions in your life started inconspicuously. Leaving for a date? You found your car tires slashed and windows shattered in the parking deck. Now there’s a police investigation. Bummer…gotta cancel the date. Had a guy over? Satoru’s apartment flooded. Weird… that was the second time this month. 

“You gotta talk to the landlord about this, ‘Toru,” you sighed. He had to stay at yours that evening. 

You cried on his shoulder, telling him that some guy stood you up on a date you had been anticipating for weeks. There was an electrical fire in that man’s apartment that night. Must’ve been faulty wiring...or something.

His apartment flooded again. He was back at your door. You welcomed him with open arms, of course. He’s so good to you, the least you could do is help him out, as well. 

Satoru, you’re slipping. That’s too many times in one month. Ease up or she’ll catch on.

Friday night, in a wild happenstance, he bumped into you while you were out with another man, enjoying a nice dinner together. He smiled warmly at the two of you, before politely dismissing himself. His cheery smile dropped into a demented grin once he stepped out of the restaurant as he anonymously called in a bomb threat to the establishment. You were so shaken up at the entire ordeal you practically begged Satoru to stay with you that night. He’d be a fool to turn you down.

Satoru got everything he wanted. You were just a tough nut to crack, is all. No big deal. He loved a challenge. After all, how could you not love him by now?

But nothing was working. You couldn’t catch the hint, even with everything he threw at you. He was always the one there for you, even when you weren’t aware of it. What more could he do to prove that he was the only person you needed? I’m reliable, witty, and loving… how can she not see this? He finally snapped. The last straw? Hearing your pleasure-filled cries while getting fucked by another man, your “boyfriend”. The lewd sounds ricocheted around your room, shooting through the thin walls of your apartment and straight into his listening ears.

Tsk, tsk. Now you’ve done it. Always been such a tease. 

For as cocky as he was, it’s oddly fitting. In his mind, everything belonged to him, including you. And with that, his demented plan was in full effect. He had hoped to spare you, prayed that you would fall in love with him before he lost his composure completely. But your sweet, naive nature had proved to be a difficult wall to break down. 

ₓ˚. ୭ ˚○◦˚.

Click

The sound of your front door’s lock disengaging echoed through the empty hallway. Satoru stepped in, inhaling deeply as he shoved your house key into his back pocket. It was far easier to gain access into your home than he had originally anticipated; he was fully prepared to break in, but all he had to do was tell your landlord you went out of town and you forgot to leave a key with him before you left. The manager of your apartment complex knew how close you and Satoru were, so it was an easy lie to tell. But it couldn’t have been further from the truth. You weren’t out of town, he wasn’t house sitting, and you had no intentions of having company this evening.

Seated at your desk, he opened your laptop and navigated his way to your iMessage settings, ensuring you could only send and receive texts from your laptop. Clicking on the messaging app, he stifled the gag that threatened to escape his throat as he clicked on the thread between you and your boyfriend, his contact name “my love” in your phone. He rolled his eyes, before drafting a quick text: 

-Hey, baby. I have a half-day at work today…dinner and wine at my place tonight? ;)

He grinned at the quickness of your boyfriend’s response.

-I would love that. What time, my love?

Satoru scoffed at the pet name. He doesn’t deserve to call you that. Poor bastard needed to learn his place. Heat rose in his chest, jealousy emanating through his skin as he crafted his response.

-3pm…Can’t wait to see you.

Everything was going according to plan. Satoru glanced at the clock beside him: 11:17 AM. It was time to get set up, he had a big day planned for you, and his first guest would be arriving in a few short hours. 

A knock rang through the apartment as Satoru finished lighting his final candle. He smiled wide, sauntering over to the door. He swung it open, grinning politely at your boyfriend. “...Hey, man…didn’t expect to see you here…” he said warily as Satoru stood to the side and gestured him in, a quizzical look painted on your partner’s face as he stepped through the doorway. The door shut and the lock was reengaged. “Where’s…” but before he could get his question out, his chin was met with Satoru’s right fist.

Satoru made quick work of dragging his body upstairs. He dug through the unconscious man’s pants, pulling out his cellphone. Satoru was disgusted to see that you were his lockscreen. This pitiful man wasn’t worthy enough to be with you. He rolled his eyes, unlocking the man’s phone and sending you a text: 

-Hey, beautiful. Come straight home tonight. I’m making dinner for us. See you when you get off work.

You smiled at the familiar ding of your phone, the notification effectively distracting you from your tedious paperwork. Your heart soared at the message, sighing deeply and shifting your weight around in your office chair. Your hand rubbed at your face in an attempt to hide your blushing cheeks. 

“What is it?” your coworker asked. 

“Oh, nothing. I thought my boyfriend forgot our anniversary cause I hadn’t heard from him all day…but he just texted me saying he’s at my place and is making dinner for us tonight.” A giddy smile couldn’t help but drag across your face. 

Satoru looked at the clock: 3:28 PM. You would be home in an hour or so. Just a few more things had to be done, everything had to be perfect.

ₓ˚. ୭ ˚○◦˚.

Your heart rate spiked as you got closer to your apartment door, keys jingling against your palm as you fumbled with the lock, excitement making your movements a bit clumsier than usual. You entered and kicked off your heels, and as you turned to toss your keys onto the small table in your foyer, you noticed a small card that said “Read Me” placed perfectly in the center of the tray. You were perplexed as your eyes scanned over the note. “Go to the living room” was all it said.

You blushed, a nervous smile pulling at the edge of your lips as you crept to the other room. Your eyes went wide at the sight; deep red roses were placed in the center of the coffee table and every accessible surface around the couch was adorned with beautifully flickering candles. Another note was on the table, your fingers fumbled with the edge of the card as you opened it: “Have a seat, take a sip, and press play.” You settled on the couch, noticing a glass of alluring red wine to the right of the roses. You took a few deep, fulfilling swigs of your drink before grabbing the TV remote. Your face twisted a bit, examining the glass in your hand, the flavor of wine different than the one you were used to. It was a special night after all, your thoughtful boyfriend must have wanted you to branch out this evening. Where is he, anyway? As you pressed play, you called out for him, only to be cut off by your own confusion as Satoru’s face appeared on your TV screen. You watched with perplexity as Satoru recentered his chair, smiled, relaxed his face, and then smiled again.

No…no, no, no. What is this? You were locked in place, the melodious sounds of Satoru’s voice cascaded out of your surround sound system. He looked different though, his eyes were dull and low, his voice monotonous–his alarming difference in demeanor sent a chill down your spine. Your groggy mind inferred that this must’ve been an accident. Maybe it was casted to the wrong TV. I shouldn’t be seeing this…these are Satoru’s video diaries. 

You so badly wanted to tear your eyes away from the screen, this seemed like such an invasion of privacy. But you were entranced, staring intently toward the TV, though you didn’t really have a choice, your body was completely numb now. 

“January 16th, 4:06 AM

I woke up drenched in the feeling of lethargy again—another night of only an hour’s worth of sleep. Nothing feels real when you hit a certain point…” you fought to keep your eyes open, to piece together what the hell was happening, until your body eventually succumbed to sleep.

When you finally came to, you were laid out on your bed, fully nude. Soft grunts lingered in the air as you worked your hardest to refocus your eyes, your head pounding. You shifted your weight onto your forearms, your neck straining as it felt like your brain was filled with lead, eyes searching your bedroom for the culprit of the moans. One glance to the left, a quick look to the right, before you stared straight ahead at the wall directly across from the bed. Your body lurched in fear as your heart sank, the source of the sounds now looking you dead in the eyes: The man you had been seeing for the past couple of months, gagged and tied to a chair, his bloodied face twisted up in agony. 

You tried to call out for him. Your feeble attempts to drag your heavy body closer in order to console him were interrupted as the room was suddenly illuminated with the streaming lights of a projector. Your movements halted as you shielded your eyes immediately, the bright interruption feeling like a flashbang to your sensitive head. 

“We didn’t get to finish my show and tell,” a voice spoke up from the dark corner. 

“Satoru?? Wha…what is going on?” you cried out, tears spilling from your eyes while your hands attempted to cover your modesty. You tried your hardest to sit upright, your head spinning, unsure if Satoru was the culprit or your savior. Your body felt like it was anchored to the floor, your head throbbing with every word that tore through your chest. 

“There’s no need for all that yelling, sweetheart,” Satoru grinned, crouching down next to you. You winced as his hand cupped the side of your face, his thumb brushing away the tears that trickled down your cheeks. 

Click

Metal cuffs clamped down on your wrists before you could even register what was happening. A million unanswered questions spun through the room as you frantically searched through his blue eyes, hoping to find any sort of insight into the torment he was inflicting upon the two of you. 

“This is what’s gonna happen, okay? I need you to listen to me.” His voice was sickeningly sweet, each syllable that left his lips more damning than the last as he dragged your limp body up the bed, securing your wrists to the headboard and angling your body toward the projected video on your wall. A crazed grin lit up his dull face as he raised his hand, pointing the remote toward the projector. “You’re gonna sit here and look all pretty f’me while you watch these tapes, and if you move, if you stop paying attention for even a second…” Your stomach churned at how gently he was able to give such vile instructions. He turned his attention towards your partner, the blade of a knife twirling through the slender fingers of his free hand, “...He’s dead. Understand, angel?” 

You nodded reluctantly, unable to do anything else but comply with his demands. Your head was spinning, trying to digest the fact that this was the same person who had paid your rent and entertained your rants after a hard day of work. You listened as his voice continued to drabble over the static of the projector, recalling how bland that day had been until he saw your face. How he must’ve dreamt of you because there was no way your beauty could exist outside of his imagination. To you, it had been a normal Tuesday afternoon. To him, it had been the start of the rest of his life. 

The longer you watched, the more the realization set in that the sweet gestures he presented to you were not out of the goodness of his heart, but from the darkness of his spirit, driven by his wanton lust. Your face was slack, eyes wide in horror. Disappointment crawled through your chest at your own naivety. How could I be so oblivious? So trusting? 

Satoru’s eyes bored into the side of your face as he sat beside you, his hands rubbing deep circles into your bare thighs, pure elation shooting through his veins at his sweet girl finally having a look into his mind. The look of terror that painted your beautiful face made his heart leap with joy. Satoru’s giddy demeanor dropped as pained grunts emerged from the tethered man against the wall. He stood, closing the distance between the two of them, his fist encircling your boyfriend’s throat. You began to protest, to plead with Satoru to leave him be, but the rage that filled his eyes made you shut your mouth. “Uh uh…eye’s on the screen, my love.” Your head snapped back toward the videos, fat tears rolling down your cheeks as the muffled wailing of your boyfriend filled the room. 

As the final video played, Satoru returned to your side, kneeling on the edge of the bed as he  stroked the back of your head and rubbed at your cheeks. “Can’t you see all that I’ve done for you?” He grabbed your face, digging his fingers deep into the space under your cheekbones, forcing your lips into a pucker. “You belong to me, my love.” A deep growl rumbled through his chest, “You look so fucking beautiful like this.” He leaned down and crashed his lips into yours, his hot tongue bullying its way through your tight lips. Small whines echoed through your mouth and into his, and Satoru greedily swallowed up your sounds with ease. Whimpers of protest came from the wall across from your bed, but they were quickly drowned out by the wet sounds of smacking lips and battling tongues.

He broke away, a thick trail of spit still connecting the two of you. Satoru released your cheeks with a gentle shove, throwing his leg over yours to straddle you. He dropped his head to your neck, his white hair brushing against your skin. You winced as he licked a thick line from your collarbone to your ear. “I finally get to have you,” he whispered, nipping at your flesh, “You ready to give yourself to me, princess?” Your eyes widened in horror, your gaze affixed towards your boyfriend, blood trickling from the fresh cuts on his cheeks. Your head shook side to side, tears brimming in your eyes once more as your thoughts raced through your mind, causing a traffic jam in your throat. “I…no, I can’t…he’s…” Satoru’s palm covered your mouth, a groan erupting from the back of his throat as his eyes rolled deep into his skull. He sat back, staring down at you, his free hand running its fingertips between your breasts. “This has nothing to do with him…It’s just me and you now, my love.” Your head snapped up to stare at your captor as the rough pads of his fingers brushed over your nipples. A stifled moan teased the back of your throat, an exasperated look of fear in your eyes as you stared up at Satoru.

Your cheeks flushed as you held his gaze. He grinned back down at you before rolling the hardened bud between his fingertips. Your chest arched toward him, a shameful hum dancing from your lips as he played with you. A deep laugh erupted from the blue-eyed man at your unintentional reaction, his head thrown back with pure joy as he continued to pull at your nipples. He leaned into your neck once more, his teeth grazing the outer shell of your ear. “I knew it,” he purred, “Knew you wanted me, too. You were just playing hard to get, isn’t that right?” You shook your head once more, your words constricted in your chest. “N-no…I never wanted you,” you retorted, head thrown to the side, attempting to distance yourself from him, but to no avail. The weight of him anchored your lower half to the mattress while your tethered wrists held you in place.

A deep chuckle rumbled through Satoru, “So if I feel your pussy, it won’t be absolutely soaked right now?” A pathetic whimper escaped your throat as you shook your head furiously. The rolling motion against your nipples halted and his hand trailed lower down your abdomen. “Hmm…let’s see then, shall we?” he taunted, tracing your skin before rubbing your folds and dipping into your core. “I knew it…you’re fucking drenched f’me, sweetheart.” He shoved two fingers in, shallowly teasing your hole before withdrawing, bringing his sopping digits between your faces, turning his wrist as the dim light of the room illuminated the wetness, making it glisten ever so slightly. He examined them before meeting your fearful gaze. “Why did you lie?” He sucked his middle digit into his mouth, his tongue lapping hungrily at your sweet juices as his eyes fluttered shut. A hum emanated from Satoru as his other soaked finger pushed past your lips, “Here, have a taste, pretty girl,” his long digit dancing around your tongue. “So fucking sweet. You have no idea how badly I’ve been craving this.” 

“I’ll ask you again, princess…Why’d you lie to me? I thought you were better than that,” he teased, an insincere pout twitching at his lips as he cradled your chin. Your body thrashed as his hands pawed down your body, plunging two fingers deep inside you again. Your back arched toward him, his knee between your legs was the only thing keeping you open for him. “I…It wasn’t..ahh!– I wasn’t lying…I–”. Your words fell on deaf ears as a wicked smile crept across Satoru’s face.

“Shhh…shhh my sweet girl, just lay back and enjoy,” he smirked as he crawled down your body, laying himself flat on the bed with his head nestled between your legs. Satoru’s body no longer shielded you from your boyfriend, your teary eyes darted across his face, a silent apology being sent his way. Small gasps escaped your lips as Satoru continued to pump into you, the tips of his curled fingers toying with your sweet spot. When you stared down at him, the look of pure desire peered back at you, the dampness between your legs skyrocketing at the sight. A scarlet dusting of shame brushed across your cheeks at your clear enjoyment of all this, even though it betrayed every natural instinct you had. His tongue darted out from between his lips, the tip circling your swollen clit as his fingers dipped in and out of you, his movements spurred on by his own desperation.

He was delirious, suckling against your clit while his fingers worked into you with fervor, moans and growls echoing through the room as he drank you in. You so badly wanted to break away, to console your boyfriend who had an unintentional front row seat to you falling apart on someone else’s tongue, but you couldn't bring yourself to stop him, his digits hitting spots inside you that you didn’t even know existed. Pleasure ripped through your body as a tightening sensation crept its way into your stomach. The rattling of your cuffs echoed through your bedroom as you fought against your restraints, desperately wanting to tangle your fingers in Satoru’s hair.

Your hips bucked toward his mouth, your body aching for release as your pelvis thrusted against his flattened tongue. You didn’t dare look away from Satoru, for you knew there was another set of eyes affixed upon the damning scene that was unfolding. He continued to hum and suck and pump into your core as you tightened around him, his slender fingers quickly coaxing your orgasm from your writhing body. Your eyes screwed shut as your gushy walls spasmed around his fingers, your release painting Satoru’s overly-eager face. He lapped at you some more, working you through your orgasm as he cleaned you up with his wickedly talented tongue. 

A deep growl broke through Satoru’s chest as he removed his head from between your legs, the back of his hand dragging across his chin, catching the last of your release before he licked you off of him. He sat upright, craning his neck to look over his shoulder, “Hope you were taking notes,” a smug grin on his face as he addressed your watching boyfriend. He redirected his attention to you. “Did so good f’me, angel. Dreamt of that for so long…” he grinned, his tongue darting out to trace along his lips, hoping there was still some of you coating his face “...I could do that all fuckin’ day.” 

Your shaking chest heaved as clarity settled into your mind. Satoru untethered your wrists from the headboard, shifting your body so that you were on your hands and knees, head positioned toward the wall your partner was leaning against. Strangled sounds rang from your boyfriend’s chest as you finally met his gaze. Humiliation prickling under your skin at the realization of what you had just done. But you had no time to dwell on it as Satoru repositioned himself on the bed.

“He’s gonna watch me destroy you, my sweet girl,” Satoru was kneeled behind you, lining himself up with your embarrassingly soaked entrance. He grasped your hips roughly, sinking into you in one fluid motion. You choked out a sob as you dropped your head in shame.

“You’re so pretty when you cry. He can’t help you…can’t save you. Go ‘head, keep cryin’ for him,” he cooed, his thrusts deep and slow inside of you. Jagged moans escaped your throat as the thick head of his cock brushed into your sweet spot. “He can’t make you feel as good as I do.”

He leaned down, reaching around to cradle your throat in his hand, squeezing tightly as he turned your head to the side, his sharp eyes running up and down your contorted face. “Can’t you see that you belong to me, how my poor heart aches for you? How badly I’ve needed you?” His thrusts were agonizingly slow but incredibly deep, the pressure in your tummy betraying your desire for this to stop. “That’s it, my love. Feel you clenching down on me…you’re getting off on this, aren’t ya?” His hips rocked deeper into you, the new depth had your hands clawing at the sheets of your bed as pleasure worked its way through your trembling body.

“He doesn’t treat you the way I do. He never will. No one is better for you than me, princess,” he seethes, his hand cupping your chin, holding your head up, “Now look in his eyes while I use you.” His pace picked up, pulling you back on to him with his anchored hand around your neck. A broken sob cut through your constricted throat as he fucked into you, the visceral sound of flesh smacking against flesh and whines and cries spun through the otherwise stiff air of your room. He palmed at the fat of your ass, pulling your body to meet his rough thrusts. A choked cry left your lips as you maintained eye contact with your boyfriend, crimson droplets running down his face, mimicking the pattern of your tears. You mouthed a silent “I’m sorry” to him before your eyes shut tightly, waves of sinful bliss pulsed through your body with every mean thrust of Satoru’s hips.

“Gettin’ so tight around me–f-fuuuck–you’re close, huh?” Your face contorted in shameful pleasure as you nodded, your back arching even more to take him deeper. “That’s it…c’mon, my love. Need you to cum on my cock,” Satoru begged, his voice airy as he got lost in your tight, sopping walls. “Show me how good I make you feel.” His words ricocheted around your head as the building pressure in your stomach finally snapped, your legs shaking violently as your orgasm ripped through your body, splattering onto Satoru’s thighs and the mattress below you. 

A few more strokes met your dripping center before Satoru bottomed out inside of you, thick ropes of his pearlescent seed painting your spasming walls. He finally released his tight grip around your throat, your head dropping immediately as indignity plagued your trembling frame. He pulled out, spreading your cheeks as he leaned down, an animalistic growl pulling from his chest as he watched his cum dribble out of your pussy. 

Satoru rubbed soothing circles into your lower back as you worked to regain your breath. “You’re mine,” he whispered. He unlatched the restraints from around your wrists, a coy smile tugging at the corners of his mouth at the purple bruises that marked your skin. He locked eyes with your boyfriend, a deranged smile dancing across his face as he reached for the discarded projector remote. 

Another familiar voice flooded through the speaker, but this time it wasn’t Satoru’s. “...We broke up a few weeks ago. No, no. Really, it’s okay. She was kind of a bitch anyway.” Your pupils widened as you stared back at the man you had just been feeling sorry for minutes ago, rage mixing into the vast sea of emotions you were already feeling while you watched a grainy video of him snaking his arm around another woman’s waist. The two of them were laughing outside of his house before she leaned in to kiss him. 

“My poor sweet girl.” Satoru’s hand brushed lightly against your cheeks, catching tears that you didn’t even realize had begun spilling out. “I didn’t want you to have to find out this way, but I didn’t have much of a choice, did I?”

There were a million other ways he could have broken the news to you, but that somehow wasn’t the most pressing issue at hand. 

“An eye for an eye, right?” The same haunting grin that you’d grown to know all too well spread across his face again, his blue eyes slicing into your ex-boyfriend’s. “I can’t believe that my entire world was in the hands of someone so undeserving…” he redirected his attention back to you and recaptured your cheeks in his hands. He leaned down to meet your gaze, unexpected softness replacing his usual sinister demeanor. “What do we do now, baby? It’s your call.”

Your pulse was ringing through your ears. “My call?” your voice was reduced to a whisper as you repeated it back to him. 

“I’m going to kill him either way, but I want you to tell me how.”

You pondered for a moment, still coming to terms with the chain of events that lead you to this one vengeful moment. 

Satoru stood, sauntering over to your boyfriend, stooping down to his level while his hands hovered over his gag. “When I take this off, I don’t want to hear anything other than remorse come from that pathetic fuckin’ mouth of yours.” Your boyfriend’s eyes shifted towards you, then back to Satoru, as he nodded pitifully. The tie was pulled from his mouth. His words were broken, barely audible. “I’m -” he choked out. “I’m sorry, I -”

Your stomach lurched as a sharp smack met his cheek, the painful sound resonating through the room. “You can do better than that. You got one more try,” Satoru spat, his eyes burning into your ex-lover’s bloodied face as he wrapped his fist around his throat, jostling his head around in a fit of rage. 

“Satoru,” you hardly recognized your tone let alone the thoughts that were racing through your head. The last few hours of your life had been a blur. The words you heard earlier made perfect sense now, “Nothing feels real when you hit a certain point.” You were officially at that point. “Satoru, don’t. Let’s just end this.”

It was the first time you’d ever seen the silver-haired man look surprised. His eyebrow raised, a mix of curiosity and amusement glinting in his eye. “Tell me how,” he repeated. “I need to hear you say it.” 

You were in a dream. Nothing more than a figment of Satoru’s imagination, just like he had said. It was the only thing that made sense to you because there was no way any of this was actually happening. 

“Rip his heart out,” your voice emotionless as you gazed toward the blue-eyed man. Satoru groaned deeply, his dick twitching at the sound of your pretty voice speaking his dark language. The same depraved grin pulled at the edge of his lips as he looked back at your ex. 

“Well,” he smirked, “looks like it’s decided then…” Adoration swam through his ocean eyes as he looked back at you, “I knew I picked the right one.”

ₓ˚. ୭ ˚○◦˚.

Click

The lock of your front door unbolted as your bodies pushed through the door frame, giggling as four glasses of wine danced through your systems. Satoru wrapped his arms around your waist, pulling you into a deep, passionate kiss. “Happy anniversary, my love,” he mumbled against your lips. His hands grasped yours as he led you toward the couch. 

You nestled into the warmth of his chest, his arm secured around you while you gazed around the room. Your head spun from the wine-induced nostalgia that this day had inevitably brought on. You were still in the same apartment, only it belonged to both of you now. A blend of sentimental gifts decorated your bookshelf that the two of you had collected over the last year. A camcorder, pressed red roses, framed vacation photos, and the first set of diamond earrings he’d bought you stowed away in a heart-shaped jewelry box. But out of all of the memories that tied you together, there was one that stood out the most. 

“Should we open it?” you whispered, drawing lazy circles into his shoulder.

You didn’t have to see his face to feel his smirk. He knew his girl and he knew her well. He stood wordlessly, retrieving a jar from the highest shelf. He presented it to you, a smug grin gracing his ethereal features, the same look that was permanently etched into your brain the night he got it for you. 

“Be my guest, princess.” You unscrewed the lid, peering into the jar as the strong scent of formaldehyde tickled your nose. You smiled longingly into the container, the overwhelming feeling of love reverberating through your chest. There was something so beautifully poetic about Satoru’s limerence, the lengths at which he went to steal the heart of another in order to fully possess yours. 

author note: im so sorry for not posting my sweets,, i had the worst case of writer's block and i was actively trying to work on six different WIPs...i was losing my mind.

this was quite the heavy fic to write...i hope i didn't scare anyone away with it lol

alsoooo!! sending out the biggest thank you to @remlionheart for forcing me to finish this...my editor, my co-writer, the love of my life ♡ ⋆｡˚

© bratbby333 on tumblr. all rights reserved. please do no distribute. 2024.

[irndad]

won't you be my sunshine-a.h.

a/n: runner!hotch x sunshine!reader !! sooooo fluffy, first hotch fic of mine so be gentle with me! lots of pining and happy end <3 happy to continue with these two in an au!

Aaron Hotchner is not a particularly emotive man. 

This is a skill he has honed, a cherished quality that was not born of luck or of natural ability, but a skill that he has honed down to a fine tip point. He needs to be, in this job. It’s cost him things, of course, but for the most part, Aaron is happy with his choices. He takes a firm line with people he works with, and does not always let up in his personal life.

The only time this sometimes causes a hitch, is in his romantic life.

Which isn’t to say that he has one. 

There is a woman who reads in the park every morning. Aaron affectionately thinks of this bench as her bench, as it is marked by wisterias and hyacinths on either end of it. It’s something of a ritual, after his runs, that they talk. 

It’s fun. He doesn’t have a lot of space for fun. He’d collapsed on the bench one day after siphoning his anger at a particular case into a difficult run. He’d crashed onto the bench, sweaty and exhausted and hadn’t even seen her there. Which is a bit impressive, as she’s hard to miss the sight of. It is also in equal measure embarrassing. It’s not every day you collapse in front of a gorgeous woman, disturbing her from what is likely a lovely afternoon in the park.

That’s how it started, anyway. She doesn’t run, so each break is punctuated by her company. He’s actually not sure if they’re flirting. He’s not very good at that- the last time he has to he was 17 and so full of unearned confidence, he lucked into a partnership. 

Now, he’s a bit older and a lot more scarred. She’s younger than him, not by much. She laughs with her whole chest at his dry, glib humor- and this is something Aaron had forgotten. The joy of a beautiful, wonderful woman’s company beside you. 

He feels a little out of place next to her. Romance is not something he does. Ever thought he’d do again, really. That’s not to say that this is romance. Their romance is almost entirely hypothetical. He thinks of her at work, which is a monumental development in and of itself. 

“So, how was the paperwork? I know you’ve been taking a little more on since your colleague had a baby. It’s so kind of you to do it.” She asks him on a beautiful August morning. 

He fights off a blush that she remembers what he’s done for JJ. He’s not big on mentioning his own good deeds. Aaron believes that this would cancel it out. Still, her praise is a warm balm to the exhaustion that plagues him. It’s hedonistic, the way he wants her to say more about him. He wonders absentmindedly if she knew everything about him that’s hard to love, she’d still paint him with such a light and warm glance. She’s bright enough, he’s tempted to tell her everything about him just because she asks. 

“It was…alright. My team is excellent. I’m lucky to work with people like them, it makes the process better. I couldn’t ask for more.”

She giggles a little at this, and there’s that roar of affection. 

He feels a sense of ease around her, one that is suspicious for him. He tries not to romanticize, but this connection is hard not to. She’s beautiful- this is obvious to anyone who meets her, a simple truth of her. But Aaron is trained to notice things little factors that show the truth of someone. 

He likes to watch her- it’s a pleasant thing, getting to be in her presence. It’s a little addicting, the way she looks at him. It makes him feel like all of the things he knows to be true of himself- his relative failures, the closed-off nature of his demeanor- are things that not only can be overlooked, but don’t seem to be in her line of sight at all. It’s an honor, to have her doe eyes rake over the sight of him, to meet him with gentle conversation. 

He tries not to notice that she is gorgeous. Aaron has been around beautiful women, of course- this is not something that should surprise him. But there’s something effervescent about her, something that his him wondering if it’s possible that she might feel the same way about him. He knows that he used to be a more attractive man, but now. Well, he’s a bit bruised, both metaphorically and physically. 

It feels odd to even think of this happening. She’s just got a warm, sweet tone and he replays what it’s like when she greets him. She smiles her brilliant grin and sometimes hugs him. It’s embarrassing how much he likes the feeling of it- soft curves against hard muscle and scarred skin. She always smells wonderful, and he wonders how nice it would be to have more of this. 

“I like your new shirt, by the way.” She smiles at him, and his heart jumps. It feels juvenile, but- she’s wearing a new lipstick, it seems. Her beautiful pout looks awfully tempting. 

“I like the lip color,” he tries to compliment back amenably, but that doesn’t stick. Instead, it comes out too earnest. He’s hyper aware of the fact that she’s right by him. She flushes, and Aaron feels a surge of pride. 

“Thank you,” she says, voice softer and flattered, and isn’t that a pretty sound? He’d love to do that for her, make her feel seen, make her feel like she’s as beautiful as she is, “I thought you might like it.”

It’s her directiveness that breaks the seal, he supposes looking back. Because she wore the lipstick for him. That’s just about the only thing it can mean, and he is struck with a particularly sensory fantasy of what it would be like to slot his mouth against hers- he gets the feeling it might be worth it even if he gets the color on his mouth. 

He’s a gentleman, though, he decides after a decidedly ungentlemanly amount of time spend staring at the gorgeous curve of her lips. 

“Would you want to get dinner with me?” He hears himself say it before he’s processed it, and then it’s out into the world. His heart is hammering and he’s blaming on the run, when god, it’s absolutely about how breathtaking she looks, the sunlight reflecting off her hair like a halo. When she beams back at him, she looks particularly angelic. 

It’s then, she leans over and kisses him on the cheek. 

“I thought you’d never ask.”

(Months later, when she is sitting on his kitchen counter and he is standing between her legs, gazing down at her with unabated fondness because he is entitled to that, he reflects on this moment and thinks god, how lucky am I, that I ran past that bench?) 

[ayyy-pee]

𝕄𝕒𝕜𝕖 𝕀𝕥 𝕊𝕥𝕚𝕔𝕜

Discord 18+ - Twitter

Pairing: Tomioka Giyuu x Female Reader

Summary: Will he survive this war? 

Will you be alright without him? 

Will you be lonely if he never returns?

And arguably, the most important question – will his line end with him?

The clock is ticking and who knows if he will ever make it back to you.

He’d never given much thought to children, but Giyuu had also never given much thought to marriage before he’d met you.

or

Giyuu and reader get to work on making a baby.

Story Warning: BREEDING KINK GIYUU, LACTATION KINK GIYUU, Smut, Giyu and reader are secretly married, P in V sex, Profanity like yall should know, Vaginal Sex, Cunnilingus, Giyuu is a munch, Unprotected Sex, Multiple Creampies, Mating Press, Freaky ass Giyuu fr

Art by: michi_ia (Twitter)

A/N: This was a request from one of my amazing readers! This one shot takes place in the same universe as Hidden Affairs (Sanemi x Reader fic!) They can both be read as standalones as they involve different readers! Hope you enjoy!

It’s eerily quiet tonight. Just as it’s been for the past several weeks. A storm is brewing, slowly but surely. Giyuu feels it, they all feel it. It’s like a simmer just under the surface, waiting to boil over at any moment. That’s why all of them were called to Ubuyashiki mansion. The plan has been set in motion and Giyuu knows what his role now is.

But will he make it back alive?

That’s the question that plagues his mind at this very second as he approaches his home. He can see the dim candle lighting illuminating the space through the windows and he knows he won’t be alone once he’s inside. No, he’ll be able to see you. And it’s all he’s been looking forward to since he stepped foot on the mansion grounds.

“I’m home,” Giyuu murmurs as he slips out of his haori. He lays it carefully on the table beside the front door.

“Welcome back, my love,” your voice floats through the air like a song, calling him to you. You’re in the bedroom and when Giyuu enters, he sees you’re already snuggled into the futon on the tatami, clearly ready for bed. “How was the meeting?”

Giyuu sighs, crossing the space and falling to his knees at your bedside. He leans forward and kisses you softly, reveling in the way that you, as always, can melt away his worries with just your skin on his. “It’s…” He debates on telling you the truth. That it’s not looking good. That he and the other Hashira, the Master, are all in imminent danger and that it’s likely to come soon. But as he watches you, so sweet and caring, he knows he can’t lie to you. “I’ll have to leave…to be close. He will come soon.”

He, being Muzan. Though Giyuu doesn’t dare speak his name in his home.

“I see…”

You recover quickly, but Giyuu has already seen it. The sadness and concern that flashes across your features. He feels guilty that he’s the cause.

“And the others?” You question, trying to change the subject. You know Giyuu hates talking about matters like this with you. You dislike it as well. Because he can’t be as honest as he wants to be with you. It’s for your safety and honestly to protect your sanity. It’s enough that you’re fully aware of the position he holds as a Hashira, and yet you insist on staying with him. Not that he could ever let you go. Even though he knows it’s selfish for him to have you, he would rather be a selfish man than be without you.

“Same old, same old. Still a little strange without Uzui, but we are managing.” Giyuu kisses you again before standing. Just as you do every night, you’ve got a bath waiting for him, and he’d like to get in and soak so that he can get back to you before sleep takes you for the night.

“That’s good. Everyone is well?”

“Yes.” He purses his lips as he fiddles with the rest of his garments, debating on whether or not to tell you this. But he thinks you may find this amusing. “Shinazugawa looked as though he was seconds away from ripping my head from my shoulders before the Master appeared.”

He hears your soft giggles behind him. “Were you sitting too close to his lady again?” You tease.

Giyuu shrugs, though you can hardly see the movement. “For Hashira, they are very bad at concealing their secrets. They smell of sex every time they arrive.”

“Yes, but it’s very cute to see. I’m happy she continues to keep our secret even though she has no idea we know hers.”

Ah, yes. Shinazugawa believes Giyuu is interested in his beloved, but that couldn’t be further from the truth. See, what the other Hashira (aside from Shinazugawa’s love) doesn’t know is that Giyuu is married - happily, at that. His colleague only found this out after running into you in town, carelessly dressed in Giyuu’s haori as yours were in the wash. And when she confronted you about the very familiar garb you were wearing, you just “felt that you could trust her with their secret”. It’s worked out for you both so far. It’s made you and Giyuu’s fellow Hashira closer, and Giyuu is simply glad you have a friend who you can confide in. He doesn’t even mind playing the messenger between you two, typically passing along stories and jokes from you to his associate when you’re all called together for a Hashira meeting. 

But it’s also placed a large target on his back, a certain white haired psychopath surely waiting for the right moment to shove his blade down Giyuu’s throat.

“He believes I have feelings for her, you know? Almost blurted out their secret in a jealous rage in front of us all.”

“What?!” You gasp, scandalized. “You’re kidding.”

“No. He hates me because of it. It’s quite obvious.”

You hum, mind going a million miles a minute as you mull over this information. “Maybe it’s due to you being so unapproachable and distant. You don’t spend much time with the other Hashira. Perhaps it makes you unlikable.”

Giyuu winces, your words touching a sore spot because this isn’t the first time he’s been told he’s not liked among the Hashira. Kocho once said something similar.

“I’m not unlikable…” he grumbles, lips curling at the corners when he hears your laughter again. You tease him too much. “I’m going to take a bath. Don’t fall asleep on me.”

++++++++++

“Shall we try for a child?”

The question leaves Giyuu’s lips before he can talk himself out of it. He debated on saving this question for the morning as he joined you beneath the blankets, but his bath left him to sit in silence with nothing but his thoughts.

Will he survive this war? 

Will you be alright without him? 

Will you be lonely if he never returns?

And arguably, the most important question – will his line end with him?

The clock is ticking and who knows if he will ever make it back to you.

He’d never given much thought to children, but Giyuu had also never given much thought to marriage before he’d met you.

The prospect of a child never appealed to Giyuu before, but the closer he gets to this inevitable battle, the more it’s on his mind. If anything were to happen to him, he would not want you to be alone. He would want to leave you with something of his, something that you’ll be able to look at and be reminded of him if worse comes to worse.

“What brings this on?” You ask, more quiet than normal. “I mean you…you’ve never discussed children before.” You roll onto your side, propping your head up on your elbow. The moon casts almost an ethereal glow over you, your beauty clear even in the dim lighting of your bedroom.

He shrugs. “I suppose I’ve never thought about it.” His blue eyes gaze into yours. There’s something there, something behind your eyes that you’re not saying. If it were a no, you would say so. You’ve never been one to mince words. If it were a yes…well, you’d say that as well.

“Is this truly what you want?”

“Yes.” He sits up, pulling you into his lap. His fingers play with the strings that hold your top together, gently tugging. It loosens, exposing your collarbone to him and he can’t resist placing a gentle kiss there. “Wouldn’t you enjoy it?” His lips ghost your skin lightly, and the sigh that rushes past your lips is music to his ears. “Caring for this small person, a perfect mixture of you and I?”

You place your hands on his shoulders, head tilting to the side to make room for Giyuu as his lips explore your neck, your throat, the swell of your breasts. “Yes,” you whisper. The sleeves of your top slip from your shoulders, a new part of you exposed for Giyuu to now claim, and you let him. You let Giyuu do whatever he wants with you when it comes to this. You’re always so pliable as soon as his arms wrap around you.

“I want it,” you breathe, hands pulling Giyuu from your shoulder and cupping his face. You press a soft kiss to his mouth. “Let's have a child.”

Wide eyes beam at you in the moonlight, a look of appreciation swimming in them. How did Giyuu get so lucky to have a wife like you? His hands guide your top down, revealing your smooth skin to the night air. His lips caress your breasts, breaths ghosting over your slowly hardening nipples. He takes one into his mouth, groaning at how the soft flesh fills his mouth. Your body is beautiful — a face that would bring a god to their knees, curves in all the places Giyuu appreciates, a form that molds perfectly to his, made for him and only him.  

Giyuu lets his mind wander while his mouth presses sweet kisses to your chest. What will you be like when you’re pregnant? Will you crave for certain foods? He’s heard that that is common. What will you look like when you’re months into your pregnancy? Will Giyuu be there to witness your belly grow round with his child?

Something clicks in Giyuu’s mind at that moment. And while he’s not usually rough with you, he can’t seem to control himself when a guttural moan bubbles from deep within his chest and he wraps an arm around you, flipping you both over. He settles his hips between your legs, rolling his hips against your core, reveling when your back arches off the futon as you moan. And Giyuu dips down, capturing your mouth with his and swallowing each and every sound you make.

It’s all dry humping and moans, whispered “I love you’s” and peeling each other’s clothes off until you both lay bare. Giyuu listens to the way your breath hitches as he kisses his way down your body. His lips brush over all of your sensitive spots on the way down, only stopping when they reach the most sensitive. Your chest heaves with heavy breaths as Giyuu peers up from between your legs. This is one of his favorite views, particularly at night when the soft glow of the moon illuminates your body in such a way that he can’t help but be painfully erect.

Giyuu is a man of very few words. Everyone knows this. Even with you, he is not particularly talkative, but as Giyuu takes in the sight of you, legs spread wide and the puffy lips of your pussy coated with your arousal shimmering in the moonlight, he must let it be known. “You are so beautiful”. He licks his lips, groaning because he is eager to have you, eager to taste you, feel you, breed you.

“Wider, my love,” Giyuu commands, and you do as you're told, spreading your legs to further expose your aching cunt to him. “Perfect,” he whispers, hands coming up to caress the inside of your thighs where he plants tender kisses along the plush flesh. He leans forward, burying his nose into your core and inhaling deeply.

And this may seem odd to those whose jobs don’t revolve around breathing, but there’s something about your scent that has changed. Giyuu can’t place his finger on it. Maybe your scent smells sweeter? Or perhaps your scent is simply more intoxicating because Giyuu has reached a level of arousal that is new to him. But there is without a doubt something different.

He decides not to dwell on it any longer when a desperate and hushed “please” reaches his ears. He realizes then that your thighs are shaking, eager for him to proceed. So he presses a soft kiss to your glossy lips. You gasp quietly, back arching immediately and Giyuu takes that moment to lick a fat strip through your folds.

The groan he lets out is deep, animalistic almost. It vibrates through your core and the sensation makes you reach down, weaving your fingers through Giyuu’s dark tresses to grab hold.

“O-oh, Giyuu…” You gasp as he presses his tongue to your clit, his eyes roll back when he feels the slick pour from your core and straight into his mouth. He laps it up eagerly.

“You taste divine,” he groans into you and you moan in response, hips rolling up to grind your cunt against Giyuu’s mouth, begging for more. And Giyuu obliges, lips sealing around your clit and sucking, licking, nipping at your swollen bud until you’re practically fucking yourself on his tongue.

“Giyuuuuu,” you keen, back lifting off the futon again. You moan loudly, fingers clutching Giyuu’s hair and pulling him further into your pussy. “Right there–” you pant. “Right there! Please don’t stop–”

Giyuu grunts, wincing because his cock is throbbing painfully against his abdomen. He can feel the moisture beneath him, his tip leaking with his arousal. Surely this will stain the fabrics, but that doesn’t matter at the moment. He brings a hand to your pussy, pressing his thumb to your clit and rubbing tight circles. You’re thrashing, moaning his name over and over, damn near about to pull his hair out when Giyuu plunges his tongue into your clenching hole, and he has to will himself not to cum when you cry out and your soft walls clamp down on his tongue immediately. Your hips come up to meet his mouth, grinding your soaking cunt against Giyuu’s face. And he loves it.

Giyuu loves the taste of you. He’s not much of a drinker, he’ll admit. Never much cared for the taste of liquor and has never experienced being drunk in his life, but he imagines it feels similar to the way his head is swimming just off the taste of you.

By now, the futon is sticky with his precum, and it doesn’t help that Giyuu has now been mindlessly rutting against the fabric to find some sort of friction. He longs to make you cum on his tongue, but he also longs to bury himself inside you. But you make the decision for him, tugging his hair until Giyuu finally pulls his mouth away from your center. He crawls along your body, the echoing sound of his length separating from the stickiness of the bed filling the room.

He’s face to face with you, his lips and chin glistening with your wetness and it takes him by surprise when you run your tongue from the tip of his chin, all the way to his mouth where you press your lips to his in a passionate kiss. He groans, eyes rolling to the back of his head when you murmur against his lips, “how do you plan on putting a baby in me if you don’t fuck me?”

Giyuu thinks that if Muzan doesn’t end up being the death of him, you will be. He puts a hand to the back of your neck, pulling you closer and whispering, “Forgive me, my love. I got carried away.” He slips his free hand between your bodies, a fiery heat blooming in his cheeks when he feels the way his cock is dripping onto your cunt. This is it. There will be no going back once he goes forward with this.

“When I’m done, you’ll be with child,” he says, seriously, as though it’s a fact. Because in his mind, it is. Giyuu grips his length, stroking himself slowly, rubbing his tip against your clit as he lets his mind wander briefly, and lets your moans fuel his runaway thoughts. 

His head is consumed with the image of your breasts, swollen and dripping with milk and he has to halt his strokes to stave off the sudden urge to blow his load. He’s a little surprised, actually. Giyuu has seen and rescued his fair share of pregnant women, and didn’t think twice about it. Forgot about them the moment they weren’t in his direct line of sight. But you…you who consumes his every waking thought…the idea of you with leaking nipples, allowing Giyuu to taste the delicious nectar that your body has produced? It’s a thought so arousing, he has to tuck it away mentally, save it for when he’s alone on his missions so that in the late hours of the night, when he’s wrapping his hand around his cock, the image is still fresh.

He’s not sure when he slipped inside of you, let alone flipped you both over again so that he’s now on his back while you ride him. You take him all the way to the tip, moaning loudly every time you sink onto him. The intense waves of pleasure bring time to a standstill. Your nails are sunken deep into Giyuu’s abdomen, steadying yourself as Giyuu’s hips thrust into you at a bruising pace. On a typical night, Giyuu wouldn’t be so rough with you, so greedy with you. But tonight, while his mind is focused on a single goal – ensuring he leaves you with his offspring growing inside your womb – he feels like a crazed man.

Your cries grow louder, more high pitched and your movements stutter momentarily. When you cry out that you’re going to cum, riding him faster and faster, walls fluttering around him, breasts bouncing beautifully, Giyuu’s mind is back on his prior thoughts – dripping, swollen and full…

And then Giyuu is crying out with you, gritting his teeth as he fucks up into you, emptying his balls to the point that he’s lightheaded. His vision blurs as he keeps pumping into you. He hears the squelching, feels the splashing of his seed dripping from you and onto his abdomen, and Giyuu pulls you down to take his entire length again and again until he finally comes to a halt. His hands grip your hips tight, eyes honed in on where you sit flat against him as your sweet pussy cradles his cock.

“Don’t move,” he growls, surprising himself with the gravelly sound that just left his lips. And you nod, whimpering above him. Within your walls, Giyuu can feel his length still pulsing, spurting pathetic, weak strings of his seed. This orgasm has his chest heaving, hands shaking. He grits his teeth, using his hands to rock your hips back and forth.

“You’re going to be an incredible mother,” he coos, finally releasing his hold on you. His fingers ghost along your skin, from your chest, over your nipples, down to your abdomen where he places his hands flat against your stomach. He focuses on fucking you deeply, burying his cock as far as he can, pushing his seed as deep as possible. “Our child will be so lucky.”

“Yes, my love,” you breathe, eyes closed while you continue to take all of him so well. “And you’ll be an amazing father.”

Your words turn him on, more than he’s ever been. He rolls you both over once more and when you’re on your back, Giyuu takes a moment to pull out and admire his work. His eyes are locked on your core, dripping with evidence of him, pulsing and hungry for more. And he’s still so hard. He wants to give you more, needs to give you more. So Giyuu slips back into your pussy easily, the lubrication from the mixture of both your releases making you both shudder.

He’s so fucking sensitive, but he can’t bring himself to care. Not when your greedy cunt is still squeezing down on him, trying to milk him for all he’s worth. He hooks your legs over his shoulders, pushing forward until a knee rests on either side of your head. And Giyuu thinks he may black out, because he doesn’t know that he’s ever been this deep inside of you before. He can feel his seed spilling from you, slipping down to your ass where his balls are pressed so hard, it keeps the thick liquid from flowing any further. 

“One more…” he grits out, brows knitted together in determination. “Need to make sure it sticks.” Then he’s fucking you again, one palm resting on the back of each thigh, balls smacking loudly against your ass with every rough thrust.

“Oh my god, oh my god!” You gasp, fingers gripping the bed sheets tightly, and Giyuu whimpers in response. Your pussy is tightening around him, a vice grip already greedily trying to pull whatever he has left to offer from him.

“I want your baby,” you murmur into Giyuu’s ear and he groans, voice rough with desire. His thrusts pick up speed, searching for more pleasure.

“Do you?” He moans against your shoulder when he feels himself hit a particularly soft spot within your walls. “I’ll give you one. I swear I will –”

“Yes!” You practically scream. “Right there, Giyuu–”

“Fuck –” His eyes are closed, mouth slack as he pumps wildly into you. You’re so wet, so tight, so soft and as much as he wants to keep fucking you like this, he’s about to cum embarrassingly fast for the second time tonight. He can feel his balls get a little tighter with each sticky thrust. “Shall I b– ah…shall I breed you once more? Fill you up…ngh…until you’re dripping with my seed again?”

“Please–”

You hardly have to finish your words, because Giyuu is grunting loudly, bottoming out just as he spills himself into you, giving you every drop he has to offer. “Stay still,” he tells you, still thrusting into you, even though he can go no further. He pulls back once more, then sinks balls deep inside of you, breathing heavily as he empties himself. “Need you to take it all, my love.”

“I will,” you pant, his perfect little wife.

You stay like this for some time, Giyuu plugging your pussy until his cock softens inside you. Then he pulls out slowly when he has no other choice. You sigh in relief when you’re able to finally put your legs down as Giyuu lies beside you. He scoops you into his arms, kissing you all over your face, silent apologies for being so aggressive with you. You’re both catching your breath while Giyuu softly runs his hand up and down your spine.

“I wonder if we’ll be successful.” Giyuu mutters when the silence is too much and his thoughts become so unbearable he has to share them with you.

You wiggle out of his hold, sitting up to look down at him. You’re smiling, a cute and goofy smile that Giyuu only sees when you’re up to something. Or when you have a secret that you’re finding impossible to keep from him. So Giyuu sits up as well, brow raised in curiosity.

“What is it?” He asks suspiciously. His eyes narrow when your smile widens.

“It was successful…” You take Giyuu’s hand and press it to your stomach. “about two months ago.”

Giyuu is confused. His eyes are stuck to where you have his hand. Two months ago? Successful?

You can see the confusion clear as day, even in the darkness. “My love,” Your hand cups his cheek and like instinct, Giyuu leans into the touch. He still hasn’t torn his gaze from your joined hands. “Giyuu…look at me.”

And he does, back rigid as he stares at you with wide eyes. The cogs are turning, finally. He thinks he may have figured it out. But there’s a teasing smirk sitting on your lips, and Giyuu doesn’t know if he should believe you or not.

“A-” He swallows, mouth suddenly dry. “Are you…?”

You pull Giyuu towards you to place a sweet kiss to his lips.

“I’ve been with child for some time. I just wanted to wait to be certain. I planned on surprising you today, but your meeting ran so late and…” Your hand covers your mouth, hiding the small giggles threatening to bubble up from your chest. “Well, it’s just so cute when you get all serious and focused like that.”

You fall back onto the bed, your pretty laughter filling the room, and Giyuu can’t help it. He laughs, too. Your laughter is so infectious he can’t resist.

It’s a strange mixture of elation, fear, maybe relief. He’d accomplished his goal before he even knew it. But with him leaving to go to the mansion tomorrow, knowing what is planned, he’s now got a new sense of dread seeping into his bones.

But it also gives him a new sense of purpose, outside of returning to you. 

Giyuu must defeat Muzan. 

Giyuu must survive. 

Giyuu must get back to his wife, to his child, to his family.

No matter what.

[gyutopia]

temptation | lee heeseung pt 2

⟶ summary: having just completed your graduate work in psychotherapy, you’re eager to begin a career as a marriage counselor. you land a job as a counselor at a matchmaking firm for millionaires and meet heeseung, a charismatic client who makes no effort to hide his attraction to you. the only catch is...he’s engaged.

˗ˏˋpairing: billionaire!heeseung x f!reader ❀ genre: marriage counselor au ❀ word count: 19.0k ❀ staring: chisa (22)- xg, yunho(23)- ateez, jaehyun(22)- bnd, heeseung (23) + jake (22) + jay (22) + sunghoon (22)- enhypen, sakura (24)- le sserafim, karina (24)- aespa, danielle (20)- new jeans. ⟶ warnings:mentions of anxiety and depression, therapy speak, lots of swearing, cheating, soft dom!hee, sub!reader, oral (f + m receiving), p in v intercourse, protected sex, dirty talk, praise, brief breast play, fingering, vanillaish sex, slight body worship, talk about childhood trauma, consumption of alcohol, mentions of abortion (not reader), invasion of privacy, inappropriate relationship dynamics, talk of assisted living, mention of a suicide attempt, allusions of starving yourself, mentions of anti- depressants, vague talk of ptsd, mentions of verbal abuse, heeseung doesn’t have good parents, physical altercation, online bullying (knets have a field day with u), heeseung is v insecure and has some emotional trauma. please let me know if i’ve missed anything!

✎୭: the full version, uninterrupted can be found on my ao3 here. thank you so much for reading this monster of a fic! i love and appreciate every single one of you!

SATURDAY FEBRUARY 22ND, 2025

It’s been a week since the kiss. A week since everything spiraled out of control.

You’ve been rotting away in your bed, hidden beneath blankets like a child hiding from monsters only this time, the monster isn’t under your bed—it’s in your chest, clawing at your heart every time you think about him.

The first thing you did the morning after was log into your work account and cash in some of your sick days. You needed a way to avoid the office, a way to avoid him. Dani emailed you a few small assignments, things you could complete from home so it was easy to play the role of someone mildly under the weather. A few sniffles over the phone and vague mentions of a stomach bug and Miss Min didn’t even question it.

Sakura still being in Japan has worked to your advantage. With her busy filming schedule, the usual meetings and updates have been sparse. Miss Min has been surprisingly lenient, perhaps assuming that you’re taking this time to recover before things pick up again.

But you’re not recovering. If anything, you’re unraveling.

You haven’t stepped out of your apartment in days, let alone made an attempt to eat properly or take care of yourself. The bare minimum—replying to work emails and completing small tasks—is the only thing tethering you to reality.

You know you’re running out of time. Eventually, Miss Min will expect you back in the office and when that day comes, you’ll have no choice but to face the truth. You’ll have to tell her to reassign Heeseung and Sakura’s case to someone else.

The thought of it paralyzes you. Once you remove yourself, that’s it. You’ll have no reason to see him anymore. No excuse to hear his voice or watch the way he absentmindedly taps his pen against the desk during meetings. No more pretending that you’re just doing your job when deep down, you know you’ve already failed at keeping your feelings in check.

Heeseung hasn’t reached out. Not once. No calls, no texts, no emails. Nothing.

It shouldn’t hurt this much. You’re the one who left his home without a word, too embarrassed to face what you’d done. You’re the one who’s been avoiding him like the plague hoping that the distance will make it easier to let go. But his silence feels like a confirmation of your worst fear—that he regrets everything.

The memory of that night replays in your mind on a loop. The way his lips felt against yours, the way he held you, the way he took care of you.

It’s torture, and you’ve trapped yourself in it.

Your friends have noticed, of course. How could they not?

It started with Yunho.

He texted a few days ago, saying he’d made a big batch of jjajangmyeon and that you should come over for dinner. Normally, you’d jump at the chance to eat anything Yunho cooked—he has a talent for cooking. But you declined claiming you weren’t feeling well.

His reply was immediate. 

5:25pm | yuyu💫: u never turn down food…are you sure ur okay?

You typed out a response. Deleted it. Typed out another. Deleted that one too. Finally, you settled on:

5:36 pm | you: i’m fine. just tired. thanks for the offer.

Then there was Jaehyun.

He called the following evening, his tone light and casual. “Hey, want to grab drinks after my shift? It’s been a while since we caught up.”

Normally, you’d agree in a heartbeat. Jaehyun’s presence was easy and comforting, and nights out with him always left you feeling lighter but the thought of facing anyone, even someone as laid-back as Jaehyun, felt impossible.

“I’m not in the mood,” you said, your voice quieter than usual.

“Not in the mood for drinks?” he repeated, his tone disbelieving. “Since when?”

You forced a weak laugh. “Rain check?”

He didn’t press, but the concern in his voice lingered long after the call ended.

Finally, there was Chisa.

She didn’t bother with subtlety. One afternoon, she stormed into your room, keys in hand. “Get dressed,” she said firmly. “We’re going to the mall.”

You blinked at her from your cocoon of blankets, confused and slightly annoyed. “I’m good,” you muttered, burrowing deeper into your bed.

“I’ll buy you makeup,” she added, a note of bribery in her voice. “Whatever you want.”

Normally, you’d jump at the offer. You loved makeup, and free makeup was even better. But the idea of standing under bright store lights, pretending to be okay, was unbearable.

“I already have more than enough makeup,” you said, turning away.

Chisa didn’t argue. She just stood there for a moment, watching you with an expression that made your chest ache, before leaving the room without another word.

That was two days ago. It’s now past midday and you’re still in bed. The room is dark, save for the faint light filtering through the curtains. Your stomach growls but you don’t have the energy to cook let alone eat.

You’re about to close your eyes again when the door to your room bursts open.

“What the—?” You sit up abruptly, squinting against the sudden intrusion.

Your friends stand in the doorway, each of them wearing expressions ranging from concern to frustration.

“What are you doing?” you ask, your voice hoarse from disuse.

Jaehyun strides forward without answering, grabbing the edge of your blanket.

“Jaehyun!” you protest, clutching the fabric tightly. “What are you doing?”

“Taking care of you since you clearly can’t do it yourself,” he snaps, his voice sharper than you’re used to.

“Stop it!” You tug back on the blanket, growing annoyed but Jaehyun doesn’t let go.

“Hey, hey,” Yunho interjects, stepping between the two of you. “Let’s all calm down.” He turns to you, his voice softer. “We’re just worried about you. You haven’t seemed like yourself lately.”

You sigh, wrapping your arms around yourself. “I’m fine, just—”

“Sick,” Chisa interrupts, crossing her arms. “Yeah, we know. That’s what you want us to believe.”

Jaehyun scoffs. “You rarely missed a day of class in college, even if you were sick so excuse me if we’re not buying that excuse this time.”

You stare at them blankly unsure of how to respond.

Chisa steps closer, kneeling in front of you. Her voice is gentle as she says, “We’re just worried about you, ____. This isn’t… normal. Please, just tell us what’s going on so we can help.”

Tears sting your eyes, but you blink them away. “I just needed a week off. I’ll be okay.”

Yunho sits beside you on the bed, his presence warm. “We can’t force you to talk about something you’re clearly not ready to share,” he says. “But at least let us help you.”

Jaehyun sighs, his frustration melting as he sees the tears threatening to fall. “We don’t have to talk about it. We can just order takeout and binge-watch early 2000s shows… just stop icing us out. Please. We love you and want to help you.”

The dam breaks.

You start crying, the sound raw and unrestrained. Your friends don’t say anything—they just surround you, pulling you into a group hug.

Yunho is the first to pull away, sniffling quietly as he stands. “I’ll order the food,” he says, his voice thick with emotion.

Jaehyun follows, mumbling something about not wanting to cry in front of you.

Chisa stays, holding you until your sobs subside. She rubs your back soothingly and says, “Whatever it is, know that you’ll overcome it.”

You nod weakly, more out of instinct than belief. Deep down, you don’t think you’ll overcome this—not when “this” is Lee Heeseung. How could you possibly move on from him?

You don’t think you’ve ever felt this way about anyone before. It’s not just the heartbreak—it’s the way he made you feel so seen. You’ve spent so much of your life hiding parts of yourself, keeping your scars neatly tucked away but Heeseung made it feel safe to let them show.

Most people don’t know why you became a marriage counselor. You’ve always lied whenever the question came up, saying you “just love love,” but the truth is messier and darker. Your father’s infidelity, your mother’s quiet suffering and your own helplessness in the face of it all shaped you. You wanted to help people in ways you couldn’t help her. But it’s not something you ever talk about—not until Heeseung.

He was the first person outside of your friends whom you willingly opened up to. The first person you wanted to open up to. And when you did, his response wasn’t pity or judgment. It was understanding. He didn’t tell you to move on or let it go. He simply listened, offering quiet reassurances. His words didn’t just soothe your present self…they reached that fractured little girl you used to be, the one who just wanted someone to tell her it wasn’t her fault.

And Heeseung… he understood because he’d been there too. Despite living in the aftermath of his brother’s attempted suicide, enduring his father’s suffocating demands and his mother’s overbearing love, he hadn’t become some cold-hearted monster. He had every reason to, but he didn’t.

Sure, he has his flaws. He’s scared of vulnerability, keeps people at arm’s length and hides behind a playboy persona. But you see through it—it’s all armor. He doesn’t want people to see the cracks, to know he has weaknesses they could exploit. And yet with you, he tore all those walls down. He let you see the version of himself that never got to exist when he was younger.

The version he even hides now.

You’d give anything to make sure he’s never hurt again. To ensure he never has to hide or water himself down. To guarantee he can just be himself—happy, unburdened and free. But you can’t.

Because you’re not from his world. You’re not the person he’s supposed to choose. And even if you were, some part of you thinks this love—this all-consuming love—might be too much. Too much for Heeseung.

But not because he doesn’t deserve it. No, Heeseung deserves the kind of love that heals, that lets him breathe, that doesn’t ask for anything he can’t give. But it’s the weight of it, the enormity of what it would mean to truly care for someone like him that gives you pause.

You haven’t forgotten about him forcing his ex-girlfriend to get an abortion, it’s stuck with you since you overheard it. You never brought it up, never asked Heeseung to clarify but it lingers. It colors how you see him, even if you don’t want it to. You don’t believe Heeseung is the kind of man who would demand something so cruel, so selfish but the seed of doubt is there. And it terrifies you.

Because if you’re wrong, if he really did that, what does that say about him? About you for wanting to believe in him so badly?

But even without knowing the truth, you can feel how carefully Heeseung treads around the idea of vulnerability. It’s in the way he deflects, the way he keeps people at a distance, the way his sharp words mask the pain he doesn’t think anyone notices. Loving someone like that would require patience…endless patience and you’re not sure if even that would be enough.

Heeseung doesn’t halfass anything, he said so himself. He doesn’t know how to. If he let himself fall for you, it would be all-encompassing. Consuming. He would give you everything he has, every vulnerable piece of himself he’s spent years hiding away. And that’s what scares you. Not that he wouldn’t love you enough, but that he’d love you too much.

That kind of love comes with expectations, with vulnerabilities Heeseung might not be ready to face. It’s one thing for him to care for someone in theory, to keep his emotions safely compartmentalized, but to truly open himself up? To risk that kind of pain again? You’re not sure he can.

And then there’s the other part, the part you don’t want to admit even to yourself: what if it’s not enough? What if you’re not enough? What if he gives you everything and you still can’t reach him? What if the walls he’s built are so strong that even love can’t break them down?

So you hesitate. Not because you don’t want him, but because you do. Because the thought of not being enough for him is unbearable.

You lean into Chisa’s embrace, letting the tears spill over again silent now but no less heavy. The weight of it all, the longing, the guilt, the hopelessness—feels unbearable.

You don’t think you’ll ever overcome Lee Heeseung.

Chisa helps you out of bed and into the living room, where Yunho pats the spot next to him on the couch. You sit between him and Chisa, feeling their warmth on either side.

Chisa boots up the TV, scrolling through the options. “How far away is the food?” she asks.

“Another twenty minutes,” Yunho replies, checking his phone.

Jaehyun comes into the living room, handing you a bottle of water. You smile softly and thank him. He nods, taking a seat beside Yunho.

Chisa selects That’s So Raven and hits play. As the theme song fills the room, you glance around at your friends, your heart swelling with gratitude.

You don’t deserve them.

But as you sit there, surrounded by their love and support, you realize you can’t keep this from them forever. You’ll tell them about Heeseung—once you’ve removed yourself from the case.

For now, you let yourself enjoy the moment knowing it might be the last bit of peace you have before everything falls apart again.

THAT SAME DAY ON THE OTHER SIDE OF TOWN

The ball bounces high off the court, cutting cleanly through the crisp afternoon air. Jay slams it back toward Jake and Heeseung’s side with enough force to make Jake grunt, barely managing to return it. It ricochets toward Heeseung—his racket is raised and ready, but his reaction time is too slow. The ball whizzes past him, landing well within the lines.

Jay pumps his fist triumphantly. “Another point for us!”

Jake groans, marching toward Heeseung with his racket pointed accusingly. “Yah! What’s wrong with you? We’re losing!” His aussie accent is stronger than ever, laced with the kind of playful exasperation only a best friend can get away with.

Jay and Sunghoon dissolve into laughter at Jake’s fiery outburst. It’s Sunghoon’s first time joining their tennis matches—Jake had invited him earlier that week, saying, “He fits the vibe, trust me.” And so far, Sunghoon had been keeping up, much to Jay’s delight and Jake’s annoyance.

“Sorry,” Heeseung mutters, rubbing the back of his neck. “My head’s… everywhere today.”

“Yeah well get it together!” Jake huffs, gesturing dramatically with his racket. “We’re not losing to these two.”

“Hey!” Jay protests, offended. “These two are crushing you.”

Sunghoon smirks as he twirls his racket. “Not my fault Heeseung’s got his head in the clouds.”

Jake groans, pushing Heeseung toward his side of the court. “Come on man! Get out of your head and play!”

Heeseung exhales heavily, adjusting his stance to serve. He tosses the ball into the air, his focus sharpening as he swings his racket. The ball zips across the net, hitting the opposite side perfectly.

As the game resumes, Heeseung speaks, his voice low but clear: “I made out with my therapist.”

Jay misses his swing completely, the ball bouncing away. Sunghoon whistles in surprise. Jake freezes, staring at Heeseung like he’s grown a second head.

“You what?” Jake finally blurts out.

Heeseung shrugs, keeping his expression neutral even as a knot tightens in his chest. “You heard me.”

Sunghoon fiddles with his racket, clearly intrigued. “Well, this just got interesting.”

Jake recovers first, shaking his head. “Wait, wait. Back up. How did that happen?”

Heeseung exhales, running a hand through his hair. “It’s a long story.”

“We’ve got time,” Jay says, walking over to grab the ball.

Heeseung hesitates, but when he sees the curiosity—and concern—in their faces, he decides to tell them everything. “Okay, so you know how my parents forced me to go to that matchmaking firm?”

Jay snorts. “Forced is putting it lightly.”

“Exactly,” Heeseung mutters. “They were tired of the tabloids making me look like a… well, you know.”

“A whore,” Jake supplies helpfully.

“Thank you, Jake,” Heeseung says dryly before continuing. “Anyway, I wasn’t taking it seriously at first. But then I met her—____. She’s one of their counselors. The minute I walked into that consultation room and saw her…” He pauses, the memory of that moment flickering in his mind. “She wasn’t like anyone I’d ever met. She was professional but kind. She didn’t look at me like I was some project to fix. Didn’t associate me with what the news was saying….she just… listened.”

Jay raises an eyebrow. “Listened?”

“Yeah.” Heeseung nods. “Like, really listened. I don’t think anyone’s ever done that before. Not the way she did.”

The game pauses as the four of them linger on Heeseung’s words. Jake twists his racket, visibly intrigued. “So, what happened?”

Heeseung shifts uncomfortably. “We had dinner last week…don’t ask…She didn’t judge me. Didn’t push. We talked about everything—work, family, life… even stuff I don’t usually talk about…like Heejoon.”

Sunghoon frowns. “Who’s Heejoon?”

Heeseung hesitates before explaining, “My brother. He lives in an assisted living facility.” His voice is quieter now, tinged with a sadness he doesn’t often show.

Jake and Jay exchange a look. They’ve known about Heejoon for years but they also know how rarely Heeseung brings him up.

“She didn’t pry,” Heeseung continues. “She just… let me talk. And when I didn’t want to talk, she let me sit in silence. Do you know how rare that is?”

Jake whistles softly. “Sounds like she really gets you.”

“Yeah,” Heeseung says, almost to himself. “She does.”

Jay watches him closely, his expression thoughtful. “It sounds like you like her.”

Heeseung’s grip tightens on the racket, his jaw clenching. The idea strikes a nerve, one he’s not ready to confront. He tried to ignore his feelings when they first started surfacing—during that one-on-one meeting at the hotel bar.

He brushed it off as professional interest, convinced himself it was just admiration for your work. But then you started slipping into his thoughts more often than he liked to admit.

And now, standing with his friends on this tennis court, the reality of it feels inescapable.

He doesn’t want to like you. The idea terrifies him. Liking you would mean opening himself up and he’s learned the hard way what happens when he lets someone in. Vulnerability is a risk he’s not sure he’s willing to take again. It’s safer to keep things on the surface, where emotions can’t dig too deep, where people can’t get close enough to hurt him.

But this… this feels different.

The way you listen to him without judgment, the way you genuinely seem to care—it’s unlike anything he’s experienced in years. You don’t expect him to be the perfect son, the unshakable CEO, or the carefree charmer everyone else sees. You let him be Heeseung—messy, flawed, and real. And somehow, that’s scarier than anything else.

"I don’t like her," Heeseung replies, his tone sharper than he intended. "It’s not like that."

Jay shrugs, setting up another serve. "Hate the message, not the messenger."

The ball flies across the net, but the tension remains. Jake eventually breaks the silence. "Okay, but Jay’s right. This is the most attention we’ve seen you willingly give someone since... well, you know." He stops abruptly, glancing at Jay as the ball falls flat in front of Sunghoon.

Jay glares. “Don’t.”

“What?” Jake says innocently. “I didn’t say her name.”

Sunghoon frowns, looking between them. “Who are we talking about?”

Heeseung exhales heavily, his shoulders sagging. "You can say her name. It’s not the end of the world."

Jake takes it upon himself to explain, filling Sunghoon in as they continue their game. "Heeseung dated this girl, Karina, back in college. She was the first person who got through to him during his...experimental phase." He dodges a stray ball from Heeseung before continuing. "He actually wanted to be monogamous with her."

Sunghoon raises an eyebrow, surprised. Jay adds, "Shocking, I know."

Sunghoon serves, the ball whizzing over the net. "So, what happened?"

Heeseung remains silent, his jaw tightening. Jake picks up where he left off. "Heeseung was still... figuring things out and Karina got self-conscious about all the attention their relationship got."

Jay continues, his tone more measured. “It wasn’t just the attention. Karina was…insecure. Heseung was the only person she had ever been with, but she wasn’t his first anything. All those other girls he’d been with? It got in her head. She started wondering if she was good enough.”

Sunghoon nods slowly. “So what, she wanted a break?”

“Yeah,” Jay says. “She said she needed to figure out what she really wanted. Heeseung knew what that meant but he didn’t think she’d actually sleep with someone else.”

Jake takes over, his tone blunt. “She got pregnant by another guy.”

Sunghoon’s jaw drops. “Seriously?”

Jay snickers. “And lover boy over there,” he tilts his head in Heeseungs direction as he prepares to serve,  “didn’t care, he offered to help her raise the baby.”

Jake bursts out laughing, striking the ball back. “The dad that stepped up!”

Heeseung rolls his eyes. “Very funny.”

Sunghoon studies him quietly. “So… what happened?”

“She said it wouldn’t be fair to me,” Heeseung says quietly. “That I deserved more than being tied down to someone else’s mistake. So we ended things.”

Jake adds, “But her friends didn’t see it that way. They told everyone Heeseung dumped her because she wouldn’t get an abortion. People thought the baby was his. Karina transferred schools to get away from the mess.”

Sunghoon whistles, shaking his head. “That’s… a lot.”

“Yeah,” Jake says. “We had to pick up the mess she left behind. Heeseung was a wreck.”

Jay nods. "It was a mess. Heeseung didn’t bother correcting the narrative. He figured it was better to let people hate him if it meant they’d leave Karina alone."

Heeseung fixes his gaze on Jay’s new serve but his mind is far away. Jake’s words echo in his head dredging up memories he’s tried to bury.

It all started so innocently. Karina had crashed into him in the hallway outside their dorm rooms, her lab manual and papers went flying across the floor. She was in such a rush, barely looking at him as she muttered a quick “sorry” and darted off after Heeseung helped pick up her notes. He’d laughed it off at the time, figuring she was just another busy college student.

But then he started noticing her more. She was his next-door neighbor after all. He saw her leaving for early classes, hair in a messy ponytail, coffee cup in hand. He caught glimpses of her in the common areas, always with her head buried in a textbook or her laptop.

The first real conversation they had was late one night when he came back from a party. She was in the dorm lounge, slumped over her laptop, tears streaming down her face. He didn’t even know why he’d stopped—normally, he would’ve just kept walking. But something about the way she looked so defeated and alone made him pause.

He found out she was locked out of her room, freezing, starving, and overwhelmed by a cell bio lab report she had no idea how to write. Heeseung hadn’t planned to stay. He told himself he was just being nice when he ordered Mexican food for them and offered up his room for her to work in. But as the hours passed, as he stayed up helping her find sources and cracking jokes to make her laugh, something shifted.

That night, he realized he wanted to see her again. And he did—again and again. Their friendship grew and somewhere along the way he fell for her. Hard.

He didn’t even notice at first. It wasn’t one big moment, but a series of small ones: the way she’d scrunch her nose when she was concentrating, how her laughter lit up a room, the way she listened when he talked, like he was the most interesting person in the world. Heeseung started skipping parties, hanging out with her instead. For the first time in a long time, he didn’t feel the need to impress anyone or put on a front. He could just be himself.

When they started dating, it felt like a dream. But dreams don’t last.

Karina wasn’t like him—she wasn’t used to the attention, the whispers, the gossip. His past flings made it worse, their snarky comments and passive-aggressive stares feeding her insecurities. He tried to reassure her, to show her she was the only one who mattered, but it wasn’t enough.

When she asked for a break Heeseung gave her space even though it tore him apart. He told himself she’d come back, that they’d work things out. Heeseung still remembers the night she told him. She’d shown up at his door, tears in her eyes, her hands shaking. He thought she was there to reconcile, to tell him she was ready to try again. Instead, she told him about the baby.

He could’ve walked away. A part of him wanted to. But the love he felt for her, the kind that makes you want to stay even when it hurts—kept him rooted in place.

Heeseung argued and pleaded but she wouldn’t budge. She told him she loved him too much to let him sacrifice his future for her mistakes.

When the rumors started—that the baby was his and he’d dumped her because she wouldn’t get an abortion—Heeseung didn’t correct them. What was the point?

She transferred schools soon after, and that was the end of it. The end of them.

Heeseung exhales sharply, his chest stinging at the memory. He’s not in love with Karina anymore, he knows that. But what they had, how it ended, left scars he’s still dealing with.

She was his first love, the first person he let himself be vulnerable with and she left.

Now, the idea of letting someone in like that again terrifies him. What if they leave too? What if he’s not enough?

Sunghoon glances at Heeseung, who is unusually quiet. The tabloids had painted a picture of him as a careless playboy, but this version of Heeseung—reserved, contemplative—didn’t fit that image. As Heeseung serves again, Sunghoon’s perspective shifts. Heeseung isn’t aloof; he’s guarded, carrying the weight of past scars and unspoken emotions.

“Point is,” Jay finally says, breaking the silence, “you deserve to be happy, Heeseung. And it sounds like this girl—____, makes you happy. Maybe it’s worth giving it a shot.”

Heeseung’s grip on his racket tightens, his gaze distant. “I know. But that’s what scares me.”

Jay frowns. “Why?”

Heeseung hesitates, then sighs. “Because people like her don’t exist in my world. Genuine, kind… It’s easier to push her away than risk losing her.”

The silence stretches between them as the weight of his words settles.

Jake tilts his head, his voice uncharacteristically serious. “What’s worse? Losing her because you didn’t try, or losing her after you gave it your all?”

Jay nods, his expression softening. “Whatever makes you happy, man. You’ve spent years doing what everyone else wants. Maybe it’s time to focus on what you want. You deserve to be happy.”

Heeseung looks at Jay, his jaw clenching as he processes his friend’s words. He knows they’re right. They always are. But admitting what he wants—admitting that he wants you—is the hardest part.

Sunghoon, who has been quietly observing, finally speaks. “You should go for it, man. You’re right, there aren’t a lot of genuine people in our world but it sounds like you’ve found someone who cares about you...why pass that up?”

Jake grins, the humor creeping back into his tone. “Plus, she’s a therapist. I’m sure she can help you sort through those deep-seated mommy and daddy issues.”

Heeseung snorts, shaking his head. “Fuck off.”

As they pack up their equipment, Heeseung lingers, his mind replaying the events of the past week. The kiss, the way you’d looked at him, the vulnerability in your eyes—it had all felt so real. But the morning after, you were gone. No explanation, no goodbye. Just... gone.

He remembers waking up, hoping to talk things out, to figure out what the kiss meant for both of you. He’d wanted to kiss you again, to tell you that he didn’t regret it. But your absence had said it all. You regretted it. You didn’t want him.

That’s why he hadn’t reached out. He’d convinced himself that you needed space, that pushing you would only make things worse. But now, after hearing his friends, he’s starting to question that logic. Maybe he’s been using your disappearance as an excuse to protect himself. Maybe it’s time to take a risk.

As the sun sets, Heeseung sits in his car, gripping the steering wheel tightly. The echoes of Jay’s words ring in his ears: "You deserve to be happy."

For the first time in days, he pulls out his phone, his fingers hovering over your contact. His heart pounds as he considers what to say, what to do. He doesn’t call—not yet—but the decision is made. He’s going to reach out. He’s going to try.

Because Jay is right: he deserves to be happy, and maybe you’re the person who can help him find that happiness.

MONDAY FEBRUARY 24TH, 2025

You’re standing in front of the glass doors to your office building clutching your bag with both hands as if it might slip away and drag you with it. The week you took off feels like a fever dream now—blurry and surreal but undeniably real in the toll it’s taken on your body and mind. You’ve barely slept, barely eaten, and every fiber of your being wants to turn around and leave. But you can’t.

You exhale shakily, willing your feet to move. The lobby is bustling as usual—faces you don’t recognize weaving in and out, some rushing to catch elevators, others lingering by the café for their first caffeine hit of the day.

For a moment, you imagine Jaehyun here, waiting in the corner like he offered. He had insisted on accompanying you today, his day off but you turned him down. “I’ll be fine,” you’d said, more to convince yourself than him. The truth is, you don’t feel fine. Not even close.

Your resolve wavers as you step into the elevator, but you clutch your bag tighter and remind yourself of your plan. Drop off your things, go straight to Miss Min and request to be removed from the case. That’s it. That’s all you have to do. You don’t have any sessions today so you’re free to do paperwork in the comfort of your office alone.

The elevator dings, the doors sliding open to reveal the familiar hallway. Your heart pounds harder with each step, dread clawing at your chest.

The firm feels unfamiliar after just a week away. You round the corner to your office but stop dead in your tracks.

Sakura is standing there, waiting for you. The sight of her sends your heart plummeting into your stomach.

Her outfit is immaculate as always, a Dior top tucked into high-waisted jeans, a fluffy tote bag slung over one shoulder. She looks stunning, almost as if she just stepped out of a magazine spread.

What is she doing here?

You don’t have a scheduled meeting with her today and the possibilities racing through your mind only make the anxiety worse. Did Heeseung tell her about the kiss? Is she here to confront you?

You swallow hard and force a polite smile, hoping it doesn’t look as strained as it feels. “Sakura, hi. What brings you here?”

Her smile is warm and genuine, completely disarming. “I finally found an opening in my schedule,” she says. “I know it’s last minute and I’m sorry but I really wanted to have that one-on-one time with you.”

Your heart sinks further.

Oh.

She’s not here to accuse you of anything. She’s here because she thinks you’re someone she can trust.

Staring into her kind eyes feels unbearable knowing what you’ve done.

“Oh, um…” You hesitate, glancing at the door to your office. “Actually, I don’t… I can’t today. I’m sorry. I don’t have time.”

You try to sidestep her, desperate to escape into the relative safety of your office but Sakura gently places a hand on your arm, stopping you.

“I’m sorry,” she says softly, her tone almost pleading. “I really don’t mean to impose, but this is my only free day off. Please?”

There’s something so sincere in her voice, something that twists the knife of guilt even deeper. You have no right to deny her this. It’s quite literally the least you could do.

You nod reluctantly, forcing a small smile. “Okay. What did you have in mind?”

Sakura’s face lights up as she lifts her tote bag slightly. “Crocheting! I brought some of my materials.”

You smile softly remembering her mentioning it was a hobby of hers. “Crocheting?”

“Yeah!” she says, her excitement palpable. “I thought it might be a fun way for us to spend time together.”

“Sure,” you say quietly, nodding toward your office. “We can work in here. We’ll have it to ourselves.”

You lead her inside, offering her the seat across from your desk. She immediately starts unpacking her supplies—rolls of yarn in soft pastels, a variety of hooks, and a pattern book.

“Have you ever crocheted before?” she asks, glancing up at you with a smile.

You shake your head. “No, never.”

Sakura grins. “Perfect. I’ll teach you the basics.”

She’s patient as she explains each step, showing you how to hold the hook and yarn, how to make a simple chain. Her enthusiasm is infectious and for a brief moment you almost forget the fact that you kissed her fiancée.

When she hands you a pattern she’s already started—a small flower, you thank her and begin carefully following her instructions. Meanwhile, she starts on a new project.

“What are you making?” you ask after a while, glancing at the soft gray yarn in her hands.

“A scarf,” she says, her voice light. “It’s getting colder, and I want Heeseung to stay warm.”

Your hands falter, the hook slipping from your fingers. You force yourself to recover quickly, pretending to focus on the flower in your lap.

“Do you…” You hesitate, your voice barely above a whisper. “Do you have feelings for him?”

Sakura blushes, her fingers pausing for a moment before resuming their work. “I know it probably sounds stupid because, well, why would the ‘perfect princess’ want the messed-up playboy?”

She sighs, her voice soft and contemplative. “I don’t know. I can’t help but like him.”

You nod slowly, understanding all too well how easy it is to fall for Heeseung, especially when he lets his guard down.

“You don’t have to rationalize why you like him,” you say quietly.

Sakura smiles faintly, her gaze focused on her work. “I see myself in him, you know? Spending your whole life in the spotlight…it forces you to become someone else. I see that with Heeseung. He hides so much of himself but I know there’s more to him than what he lets people see.”

You nod again, unsure of what to say. The conversation feels like walking a tightrope.

Sakura continues, her voice softer now. “I think he’s very guarded. He keeps me at a distance but I believe if we keep working with you, he’ll learn to open up. He can be a good husband, I know he can.”

Her words hit you like a punch to the gut. You have no doubt either that Heeseung would make an amazing husband. You swallow the lump in your throat and force a small smile. “You’re…good at seeing the best in people.”

She looks up at you, her expression thoughtful. “Do you think that’s a bad thing?”

“No,” you say quickly looking back at the flower. “But…do you think you like him for who he is now, or for who you think he could be?”

Sakura tilts her head, considering your question. “Can’t it be both? Can’t I like him and also want to help him become the best version of himself?”

You hesitate, your fingers tightening around the yarn in your lap. “Maybe. But sometimes, when we try to ‘fix’ someone, we end up falling for the version of them we’ve created in our heads, not the person they really are.”

You don’t know why you’re saying this—or maybe you do. Maybe it’s because you’ve seen the real Heeseung. There’s no need for you to imagine who he is or who he could become because you know. You know his flaws, his frustrations, the way his voice sharpens when he’s annoyed, and how his smile softens when he talks about the things that matter to him. And despite all of it—no, because of all of it….you still like him.

Heeseung doesn’t need fixing. He deserves to be loved unconditionally, not molded into someone else’s ideal.

You glance at Sakura. She doesn’t seem like the type to love with limits. She’s earnest, kind, and patient in a way you’ve never been. If Heeseung allowed himself to get to know her, you could see them being happy together. She would lay her life down to ensure his happiness.

But you?

You’d let the world burn if it meant keeping him safe. You’d tear the universe apart just to put him back together.

It’s an unbearable truth, one you wish you could erase from yourself because no matter how much you care for him, you know that it’s unfair to Sakura.

Sakura nods slowly, her gaze distant. “I guess that’s something I’ll have to figure out. But…I care about him. And I want to see him happy, whether that’s with me or not.”

“Do you mean it?” you ask hesitantly.

Sakura looks up, confused. “Mean what?”

“When you say you wouldn’t mind if Heeseung chose someone else,” you clarify. “Do you really mean that?”

Her fingers pause mid-stitch, and she looks thoughtful. “It would hurt,” she admits. “I’ve come to care about him but I think we both deserve to be with someone who loves us completely. Don’t you?”

You nod slowly.

“I believe he could be that person for me,” Sakura continues, her voice soft. “But if he isn’t, I won’t force it. I’ve spent too much of my life trying to fit into roles that weren’t meant for me. I deserve someone who loves me for who I am and so does he.”

“Thank you,” you say softly, your voice barely audible.

“For what?”

“For trusting me with this.” You respond.

Sakura smiles warmly. “You’re easy to talk to. I can see why Heeseung respects you so much.”

You lower your gaze, unable to meet her eyes. “I’m just doing my job.”

The conversation drifts back to lighter topics as you continue crocheting, but the weight of your guilt never leaves. When the hour is up, you see Sakura out and close the door behind her and lean against it, exhaling shakily. You need to remove yourself.

Crossing the room, you settle into your chair and reach for the files neatly stacked on your desk. Your fingers tremble as you sift through the documents; session notes, progress reports, everything you’ve meticulously prepared over the past month for Heeseung and Sakura.

This was supposed to be just another assignment, your first major case as part of the matchmaking firm’s elite team. You were supposed to help them establish trust, lay the groundwork for a successful marriage and ensure the media viewed them as the perfect couple. But somewhere along the way, it became personal.

You can’t do this anymore. Not when you’ve crossed lines you swore you wouldn’t. Not when you’ve let yourself feel things you shouldn’t.

Gathering the files into a tidy stack, you take a deep breath and stand. You’ll bring these to Miss Min and request to be removed from the case. It’s the only way to salvage what’s left of your integrity and maybe even your sanity.But before you can take a step, there’s a knock at your door.

“Come in.”

The door opens to reveal Dani with a bright smile plastered across her face. She steps inside, holding a clipboard in one hand and a tablet in the other.

“Hey, just the person I was looking for!” she says cheerfully.

You blink, setting the files back down on your desk. “What’s up?”

“Miss Min wanted me to stop by and let you know something,” Dani says, her tone chipper. “She saw Sakura in your office earlier and said you’ve been doing a great job with this case. And since there hasn’t been any bad press with Heeseung lately, she thinks tomorrow’s the perfect day to announce their engagement!”

The words hit you like a freight train. Tomorrow.

You knew this day was coming—it’s what you’ve been working toward. But now that it’s here, the reality of it is suffocating. You force yourself to nod. “That’s…great news.”

Dani’s smile widens. “I know, right? This was your first major case and you killed it! Miss Min is definitely going to put you in charge of more high-profile clients after this.”

“Yeah,” you say quietly, the word feeling hollow. “I’m happy.”

Dani doesn’t seem to notice the strain in your voice. She beams at you one last time before turning to leave but then she pauses and looks back over her shoulder.

“Oh, and Miss Min said you’ve earned a day off tomorrow. Just be on standby in case Heeseung or Sakura need anything.”

You nod again, managing a faint smile. “Thanks for letting me know.”

“No problem! Enjoy your night!” Dani chirps before disappearing out the door.

The moment she’s gone, you sink back into your chair, the files still sitting in front of you. Tomorrow. It feels like a death sentence.

You’re supposed to be proud of yourself, supposed to feel accomplished for guiding Heeseung and Sakura to this point. But all you feel is empty.

Your gaze drifts to your phone on the desk and as if on cue, the screen lights up with a text notification.

9:12 am | heeseung: hey, can we talk?9:14 am | heeseung: please come over tonight.

Your heart pounds as you stare at the messages. You know what you should do. You should say no, maintain the little professional boundaries left and keep your distance. You should focus on preparing yourself for tomorrow, for the inevitable. But you can’t.

You’ve always been selfish when it comes to Heeseung, unable to deny him anything. So you type out a reply before you can think better of it.

9:22 am | you: i’ll stop by after work.

Setting the phone down, you try to convince yourself that this will be the last time. You’ll go over there, tell him the kiss was a mistake and tell him about the engagement announcement. You’ll encourage him to give Sakura a real chance.

Yeah, you’ll do the right thing.

You spend the rest of the afternoon finishing up paperwork, your mind elsewhere the entire time. By the time the clock hits 7 p.m, you’ve packed up your things and are preparing to leave when your phone buzzes with an incoming FaceTime call.

It’s Yunho.

You sigh softly before answering, his smiling face filling the screen.

“Yo,” he greets. “You up for game night at mine? Chisa’s already on her way.”

You hesitate, “I can’t tonight. My first day back was a bit overwhelming. I just need some sleep.”

Yunho frowns, clearly not convinced. “You sure? I don’t want you falling back into a slump.”

“I’m fine. I promise. Just tired. I’ll stop by tomorrow—I’m off, so I’ll spend the whole day with you.”

He studies you for a moment before nodding reluctantly. “Alright. But you better not flake on me.”

“I won’t,” you say softly. “Thanks, Yunho.”

“Anytime,” he says before ending the call.

You exhale slowly, setting your phone aside. You gather your things and head to your car. The drive to Heeseung’s home feels excruciatingly long, your thoughts racing the entire way. By the time you pull up to his home your nerves are frayed but you force yourself to get out of the car and head inside.

This is it. One last time.

You make your way up the familiar stone steps to Heeseung’s front door. Your hand hovers for a moment before you knock, three soft taps against the wood.

A beat passes. Then another. Then another. For a moment, you wonder if he changed his mind about wanting to see you, but then you hear the faint shuffle of footsteps on the other side. The door opens, revealing Heeseung. His expression is unreadable.

“Hey,” he says softly, his voice a little raspy.

“Hey,” you reply.

He steps aside to let you in and you hesitantly cross the threshold, the warmth of his home doing little to soothe the chill in your bones. The atmosphere is tense and awkward in a way that neither of you seems to know how to address.

The last time it felt like this was the first time you met him, when you were still trying to figure him out and he was sizing you up in return. That day, you were both strangers, carefully tiptoeing around each other. And now…now, things couldn’t be more complicated.

Heeseung leads you into the living room and gestures for you to sit and you do, choosing the far end of the couch. The space you put between you feels significant, like a boundary you’re desperately trying to maintain.

Heeseung watches you for a moment before sitting down as well, leaning back slightly but keeping his eyes fixed on you. You clutch the strap of your bag, running your fingers along the leather in an attempt to calm yourself. The silence is thick, and you don’t know how to start.

You break first. “Miss Min is announcing the engagement tomorrow.”

The words hang in the air. You glance at him but his expression doesn’t betray much. Heeseung’s gaze shifts away for a moment then back to you. His jaw tightens and he exhales deeply.

“I’m calling it off,” he says suddenly, his voice steady and sure.

Your heart stops. You stare at him, certain you misheard. “W-what?”

“I’m calling it off,” he repeats, turning to face you fully. His eyes are locked onto yours, and the intensity in them makes it impossible to look away. “I’m done prioritizing everyone else’s happiness over my own. I can’t keep pretending to be okay with this.”

You blink at him stunned. Your mind races, trying to make sense of his words. “Heeseung…you can’t just—”

“I don’t want Sakura,” he interrupts. He leans forward slightly, closing some of the distance between you. “I want you.”

The confession feels like a punch to the gut. You shake your head, your hands gripping the strap of your bag even tighter. “No. Heeseung, you don’t mean that.”

“I do,” he says without hesitation. “I’ve tried to deny it, to push it down but I can’t anymore. I can’t lie to myself—or to you.”

“Heeseung—”

“I know this isn’t how things were supposed to happen. I know the way this started was unconventional but none of that changes the way I feel about you.”

You’re frozen, unable to respond.

“I like you. I’ve spent the past month trying to ignore it, trying to convince myself that it was just…a passing thing. But it’s not. I can’t stop thinking about you. About the way you challenge me, the way you see through all the bullshit, the way you care.” He says, his voice trembling just slightly. 

His words are a direct hit to your heart. You swallow hard, your throat tight as tears prick at the corners of your eyes. “I want you too,” you admit, your voice barely audible. “But we can’t.”

“Why not? Who says we can’t?” He asks, his tone almost desperate now. He scoots closer to you on the couch, his knees brushing against yours.

You shake your head, trying to find the right words. “Because…because it’s messy and wrong, Heeseung. You’re engaged to someone else. Someone kind and sweet who doesn’t deserve to be hurt.”

Heeseung reaches out, his hands cupping your face gently forcing you to look at him. His touch is warm. “I don’t want her. I want you.”

“Heeseung…” you choke out.

“I don’t care how messy it is. I don’t care what anyone else thinks. All I care about is you and I need to know if you feel the same.”

You hesitate, your heart conflicting with your mind. Every rational part of you is screaming that this is a mistake, that you’re walking into dangerous territory. But your heart…your heart is begging you to take the leap.

“I…” Your voice falters, and you look into his eyes, the sincerity in them making it impossible to lie. “I do. I feel the same.”

His lips part slightly, relief washing over his face. “Then that’s all that matters.”

You shake your head again, tears slipping down your cheeks. “But it’s not that simple.”

“It is,” he insists, his hands still cradling your face. “It is if you want it to be. Just say yes.”

“Heeseung…”

“Please,” he whispers, his voice breaking slightly. “Just say yes.”

Your heart feels like it’s going to explode. You know you shouldn’t, you know this is dangerous, but you can’t bring yourself to deny him. You’ve never been able to deny him and you don’t think you could now, not when he’s looking at you like this, like you’re the only thing that matters in the world.

“Okay,” you whisper, barely able to get the word out. “Yes.”

Heeseung exhales sharply, like he’s been holding his breath this entire time. And then before you can second-guess yourself, his lips are on yours. The kiss is soft at first, almost hesitant, but it quickly deepens, his hands sliding to the back of your neck to pull you closer.

You melt into him, every doubt, every fear fading away as his warmth envelops you. In this moment, nothing else matters. Just him. Just this.

You part your lips slightly, letting him deepen the kiss. His tongue brushes against yours and a quiet whimper escapes your throat, the sound swallowed by his kiss. Heeseung’s grip tightens, one hand sliding down to your waist as he pulls you impossibly closer.

You barely register the moment when he tugs you into his lap, your knees straddling him as his hands settle on your hips. You instinctively brace your hands on his shoulders. His warmth radiates through the fabric of his shirt, his broad chest firm beneath your palms. You can feel his heart pounding just as wildly as your own.

It feels right; this moment, his touch, the way he holds you. For a fleeting second, you remember all the things you need to address. All the unanswered questions about how this will work, what it will mean for both of you. But right now, none of that seems important. Right now, you focus on the way his lips move against yours, the way his hands hold you as if he never wants to let go.

Your breath hitches when you feel him harden beneath you, the unmistakable evidence of his desire making heat pool low in your belly. The realization sends a flush of warmth spreading across your cheeks, but Heeseung doesn’t give you a moment to linger on it. His grip on your hips tightens slightly as he kisses you deeper.

Without breaking the kiss, he stands, his hands sliding under your thighs to lift you effortlessly. A gasp escapes you, muffled against his mouth as your arms wrap instinctively around his neck. He carries you through the house, navigating the short distance to his bedroom with ease.

When he sets you down on the bed his movements are slow and deliberate. His lips leave yours for a brief moment, and you’re left catching your breath as he pulls back just enough to look at you. The way he gazes down at you makes your chest tighten and pussy clench. There’s so much emotion in his eyes, all mixed together in a way that makes you feel both shy and hot under his gaze.

You look away for a moment, heat rising to your cheeks but Heeseung gently tilts your chin back to face him. “Do you want this?” he asks. His hands fall down to your hips, pushing up your blouse to feel the softness of your stomach beneath his palms.

You look at him through your lashes and stare at his face for a minute trying to decipher what he’s thinking. He’s always been a person who wears their emotions on their face, and now, as you look up into his eyes searching for any hesitation— you find none. You find nothing but pure want and admiration.

“Yes,” you whisper. “I want this. I want you.”

The corners of his lips lift in a small relieved smile and then he’s leaning down again, capturing your mouth in another kiss.

Heeseung pulls back just slightly, his hands still resting on your hips as his eyes search yours. His fingers trail lightly along the hem of your blouse and he murmurs, “Raise your arms for me.” You do as he asks, lifting your arms above your head and Heeseung takes his time peeling your shirt off, his knuckles brushing your skin as he tugs it free. The fabric falls to the floor and he pauses for a moment to take you in. His gaze sweeps over you with such hunger that you lose your breath.

Heeseung pulls his own shirt off in one smooth motion and you can’t help but stare. His chest rises and falls steadily, his toned muscles illuminated in the dim light of the room. He catches your gaze and offers you a small reassuring smile as he leans closer again.

You bite your bottom lip suddenly feeling self-conscious under his intense gaze but Heeseung seems to notice. He cups your cheek, his thumb brushing lightly over your skin. “Don’t be nervous,” he whispers, his voice gentle, soothing. “I’ll be gentle.”

You nod slightly, your lips parting as he leans down to press another kiss to your lips. His hands trail down to the clasp of your bra and he pauses for just a moment, giving you time to stop him if you want to. When you don’t, he deftly unhooks it and slides it off your shoulders.

Your breath hitches as the cool air grazes your skin and Heeseung takes a moment to admire you, his eyes softening as if committing every inch of you to memory. His tenderness feels almost overwhelming, and your heart beats wildly as he gently lays you back down on the bed.

He leans in again, placing a soft peck on your lips before his mouth begins a slow descent. His lips trail kisses down your collarbone, lingering for a moment before continuing down the center of your chest.

When his lips reach your navel he pauses, his warm breath fanning over your skin. “Can I taste you baby?”

You shyly nod at the question and use of pet name not used to it. Heeseung shakes his head though, “no baby. I need to hear you say yes. C’mon, let me hear that beautiful voice.”

You lift your hips off his bed not able to voice your wants. He smirks and kisses your naval again. “C’mon baby, tell me what you want.”

You huff frustrated. “Heeseung please…I need you.”

“There we go.”

He helps you unbutton your slacks and slides them down your legs and tosses them onto the growing pile on the floor. Heeseung grips onto the band of your panties and slides them down. Once you’re completely naked, he dips his fingers into your sticky dripping pussy. 

He hisses at the feeling of your warm cunt wrapped around his fingers “Mmm, you’re so wet, baby,” he says, a pathetic whimper escapes you in response. 

Heesueng dives his head in between your thighs and kisses your clit just once before pulling his head back again. There’s a few seconds of silence, of anticipating what he’s going to do next.

You gasp as you watch him lock eyes with you before spitting directly onto your clit. You bite your lip to keep in the moan that wants to escape at the feeling of his spit dripping from your clit down your pussy, making a mess of you and his sheets beneath you.

Heeseung leans back down and latches onto your clit, sucking harshly.  Pleasure shoots through your veins and your stomach clenches. Heeseung groans, the vibration making you shake underneath him. His eyes flutter closed, savoring the feeling of your legs thrown over his shoulders and the taste of you.

His tongue laps up your juices, he’s slurping loudly enjoying every drop of your sweet arousal on his tongue. He licks fast up and down your pussy, parting your folds with the tip of his hot tongue. Your legs are shaking, your right hand tangles in his hair to make sure he stays down. "H-heeseung," you hiccup, starting to grind your hips for added pleasure. 

Heeseung moans, flicking his tongue on your clit quickly. You feel his fingers at your entrance again, playing with your slick, stroking up and down your folds. Your breath quickens more, you can hear your heartbeat in your ears.

“Fuck,” you whimper, wincing at the slight burn as he inserts two fingers into you slowly. You haven’t had anything inside of you for so long, you welcome the pain that comes with it.

“Gonna stretch you out nice and good,” Heeseung growls against your sopping cunt. “Make sure you’re ready to take my fat cock, isn’t that right baby?” 

You nod dumbly at his words, grinding your hips onto his fingers as the tightening feeling in your lower stomach keeps building.

"Oh, f-fuck, baby, I’m gonna cum." You’re starting to babble, moans becoming increasingly higher in pitch. You try pushing yourself higher up on the bed trying to escape his grasp, it’s all too much. Your thighs start shaking and Heeseung takes it upon himself to grip a little tighter to keep you in place.

He practically buries his face in your pussy, stimulating you with his tongue and the tip of his nose whilst still fucking you with his fingers. He grunts, sucking on your pussy whilst flicking his tongue over your swollen clit, his fingers curling deep inside of you. 

“Cum for me doll,” Heeseung begs, desperate to pull an orgasm from you just to lick it all up. “Be a good girl and cum on my face.”

"Oh fuck," you choke out, your hips bucking. 

Your legs close up on him, nearly crushing his head. Your fingers pull on his hair but Heeseung  keeps on licking and sucking the whole time. With the pressure on your clit and the fullness of his fingers scissoring deep in your core you can’t help it, the budding tightness unraveling as you come onto his tongue. Your body shakes lightly, trembling in his grip as you let out loud needy moans.

“Fuck, you’re so beautiful,” He confesses as he watches you ride out your orgasm.

Heeseung pulls back and exhales shakily, his thumb tracing gentle circles on your hip as he leans down to press a soft, lingering kiss to your lips. “I’ll be right back,” he murmurs, his voice tender.

You nod still, catching your breath, watching as he pushes himself up from the bed. He moves to his bathroom and disappears behind the partially open door. You hear the faint rustle of a cabinet being opened, and your heart races when you catch sight of him returning with a small box in his hand.

Heeseung sets the box down on the nightstand and pulls out a single foil packet. His movements are deliberate but unhurried, as if giving you all the time in the world to change your mind.

When he settles back beside you he cups your face with one hand and kisses you softly, his lips conveying reassurance and care. “We don’t have to go any further,” he says, his forehead resting against yours. “We can stop here if you want.”

His sincerity makes your heart flutter and for a moment all you can do is stare into his eyes. But then you lean in, your lips brushing his as you whisper, “I don’t want to stop.”

You don’t let the kiss last long, pulling away to look Heeseung in his eyes as you slowly sink to your knees in front of him. He gulps as he watches you with hooded eyes, lifting his hips so you can remove his sweats and boxers. The moment his cock springs out, your jaw nearly drops to the floor. Not only is he long, but he’s also thick and veiny. Your mouth waters at the sight of it, he twitches in the air, red and angry waiting for attention.

You flick your eyes up to meet Heeseung’s impatient gaze before wrapping your dominant hand around the base and slowly tugging. Heeseung groans at the feeling and spreads his legs a bit more to give you better access. You kiss the tip of his erect cock, slowly opening your mouth to suck at the tip of his dick. You wrap your lips around his head, slowly sucking the tip into your mouth as precum drips out and coats your tongue.

Heeseung lets out a breathy moan, thrusting into your mouth slightly as he urges you to take him deeper into your mouth. You willingly swallow more of him, tongue swirling around his head, groaning at the taste of his precum.

You begin bobbing your head, taking more and more of his hard length into your mouth. Heeseung grips on to your hair and slides you further down his length. “That’s it, princess. Take this big dick down your throat.” He begins thrusting his hips gradually, forcing more and more of his cock into your mouth until you take in his whole shaft, your face pressed against his lower abdomen.

Heeseung thrusts harder into your mouth, losing himself in the feel of your lips wrapped tightly around him, letting out a small groan whenever you flick your tongue against his slit, licking the precum.

“F-fuck just like that.” You’re slowly coating his cock in your saliva, the mixture of your spit and his precum turning him into a sticky mess.

Wet sounds of gagging resound through the air, mingling with the sounds of Heeseung thrusting into your mouth. You feel his cock twitch inside you before he says. “Gonna swallow all my cum like a good girl? Hm?”

You hum around him, eager to bring him over the edge. “Oh, oh fuck, I’m cumming.” Heeseung groans, gritting his teeth. He thrusts his hip one last time before cumming. You feel his cum shoot down the back of your throat and you make sure to swallow the warm liquid, not wasting a single drop.

“Fuck. You’re amazing” Heeseung mutters, pulling you off of his dick before kissing you, tasting himself. You kiss him back fervently, your fingers burying into his red locks.

“I need you Hee,” You whimper.

Heeseung nods and picks you up to lay you flat on your back. “Anything for you princess.” He leans over to grab the condom from earlier and opens the foil. He tosses the wrapping and slowly slides the condom down his shaft. Once he’s sure it’s secure he hovers over your body just taking you in.

You blush but whine, spreading your legs a bit more. “Heeseung….please.”

He smirks at the desperation in your voice before leaning down to close his lips over your right nipple. You whimper at the feeling of his tongue on your nipple, sucking it into his mouth before pulling back and blowing cold air on it.

You lay still, anticipating his next move. His eyes flick down. “Your pussy looks so fucking good.” Heeseung says, letting the pink tip of his dick rub against your wet folds. You both moan at the sensation.

With one more rub of his head, he lines himself against your entrance and slowly pushes his hips forward. You think you could come instantly.

Heeseung shifts above you, moving so his hands cage you between both his arms. You moan as he slowly enters you, his girth stretching your pussy out. He buries his face into the crook of your neck and places a kiss at the juncture of your jaw and neck at the feeling of your walls clamping around him. Finally, when he’s completely in your pussy, his head grazing cervix, he stills and shifts his head to meet your eyes. You look up at him through hazy, half lidded eyes, completely lost in the way he opens you up. Heeseung stills for a couple moments, allowing you to get used to his size before pulling out and thrusting in once again, this time in one smooth glide. You let out a choked-out moan, your legs instinctively wrapping around his waist.

The intimacy is overwhelming, a closeness that feels as though it’s unraveling you and putting you back together all at once. He holds you like you’re something precious, something fragile, as if he’s afraid you might slip away if he isn’t careful.

His gaze never leaves yours. The way his eyes search your face, looking for any sign of discomfort fills you with a warmth you’ve never known. There’s no urgency in him, no impatience, just a steady gentle rhythm.

“Right t-there” You mewl, slowly losing yourself in all the pleasure. Heeseung tucks his head under yours and grins against your skin, biting your collarbone gently before sucking a hickey on your skin. He trails kisses down to the valley of your breasts, pressing a kiss against your sternum before taking a nipple into his mouth, suckling gingerly. “P-please Hee, can’t…gonna cum” You babble, unable to form a coherent sentence.

You faintly acknowledge Heeseung grinning against your chest, his right hand slowly inches towards your own before entwining it with your own. Holding your hand over his sheets. You can feel him pour out all his emotions into each and every action as he thrusts into you over and over again.

“You’re so beautiful.” Heeseung whispers.

All of a sudden you cum without warning, the pressure too much. Heeseung pushes your hips down into the bed, pounding relentlessly into you, chasing his own high. He hammers into you one last time before letting out a loud groan as he empties himself into the condom, spurt after spurt of his cum pouring into you.

The world feels quiet now, the only sound in the room your mingled breaths as you both come down from the high. Heeseung’s forehead rests against yours, his hand still clasping yours tightly as if letting go would somehow make the moment less real. His thumb strokes over your knuckles.

“You okay?” he asks softly, his voice hoarse and laced with concern.

You nod, barely able to gather the words to respond. “I’m okay,” you whisper.

A small, relieved smile touches his lips before he leans down, pressing a gentle kiss to your forehead. Heeseung shifts slightly, careful not to crush you as he pulls out. You wince at the sensitivity and he quickly apologizes.

“Stay here,” he murmurs, reluctantly letting go of your hand. He slips out of bed, the mattress dipping slightly under his movement.

You watch as he crosses the room, disposing of the condom in the bathroom and cleaning himself off before grabbing a warm damp cloth. When he returns, he kneels beside the bed, his touch impossibly gentle as he cleans you up murmuring soft reassurances. “You did so well,” he says quietly, his voice full of affection. “Thank you… for trusting me with you.”

Your cheeks warm, but you manage a soft smile and nod.

Heeseung’s gaze softens even further, and he presses a kiss to your knee before standing to place the cloth aside. He joins you back in bed, pulling the sheets up over your bodies before tugging you into his arms. You rest your head on his chest, your legs tangling with his as his hand strokes your back in soothing circles.

“You’re amazing,” he murmurs, his fingers drawing lazy patterns on your back. “I hope you know that.”

You huff a small laugh, finally finding your voice. “You don’t have to flatter me, you already got what you wanted.”

Heeseung chuckles, the sound vibrating through his chest. “Maybe I just like telling you how I feel.” He tilts his head to look at you, his expression soft and unguarded. “Can I?”

You glance up at him, confused. “Can you what?”

“Tell you more about me…The messy parts. The things I don’t usually share.”

Your breath catches slightly at the vulnerability in his voice but you nod. “I’d like that.”

His grip on you tightens just a little, as if you're his own personal stress ball. He doesn’t start talking right away, his thumb brushing along your shoulder as if he’s organizing his thoughts. You don’t rush him content to lie there in his embrace waiting for him to open up.

Finally, he speaks. “When I was fifteen, my brother Heejoon was seventeen,” he begins, his voice quiet but steady. “He was… everything you’d expect from an eldest son in our family—smart, responsible, always trying to do the right thing. But he struggled a lot too. Heejoon always had anxiety. It wasn’t obvious at first; he’d just get nervous about things other people didn’t think twice about. But as we got older… it got worse.”

You shift slightly in his arms looking up at him with concern. Heeseung’s gaze is fixed on the ceiling, his jaw tight as he continues.

“Our dad…he’s a no-nonsense kind of man. Everything is about discipline, results, and maintaining the family’s reputation. That summer, he was preparing Heejoon to start interning at the company. Heejoon was terrified but he didn’t tell anyone. He didn’t want to disappoint our dad. So he just… pushed himself harder. He started focusing on the business, trying to prepare, but his grades started slipping. He was so afraid of letting Dad down that he…he cheated on a final exam.” 

Heeseung clears his throat. “He got caught and Dad had to bribe the teacher to keep it off his record and let him retake the exam. He was livid, but he didn’t hit him or anything. He’s never laid a hand on us. But his words…” Heeseung’s voice falters, and he looks away.

Your heart aches for him, for Heejoon. You reach up, cupping his cheek and gently guiding his gaze back to you. “What happened?” you whisper.

Heeseung closes his eyes for a moment, like he’s reliving the memory. “Heejoon couldn’t take it anymore. The pressure to be perfect, to be something he wasn’t…that night, after Dad tore into him, he tried to kill himself.”

Your heart drops at the confirmation of what you knew all along.

“I was the one who found him,” Heeseung continues, his voice barely audible now. “We got him to the hospital in time, but… he was never the same after that. His will to live was just… gone.”

You sit up slightly, your eyes searching his face. “Heeseung…”

He meets your gaze, his own eyes glassy but resolute. “Heejoon’s alive. But he’s not… He’s not the same person he used to be.”

You gently take his hand in both of yours, your fingers wrapping around his as if to anchor him. “I’m so sorry you had to go through that,” you say softly, your voice steady but full of empathy. “And I’m so glad he’s still here. Heeseung… You’ve been through so much and you’re still here too. You’re still fighting. That means something.”

Heeseung shakes his head slowly, his grip on your body tightening. “I blamed myself for years,” he murmurs, his voice strained. “I saw how much he was struggling and I didn’t do anything. I was his little brother—I was supposed to have his back and I didn’t. I just stood there, thinking he’d be fine because he was Heejoon. He was always the strong one.”

His voice cracks and you reach up brushing your fingers lightly along his jaw, grounding him. He leans into your touch almost unconsciously, his eyes fluttering closed for a moment.

“When I see him now…” He pauses, exhaling shakily. “I can’t stop thinking about how different his life could’ve been if I’d just said something. If I’d told someone how scared he was, how much pressure he was under. Maybe… maybe he wouldn’t have felt like he had no other choice.” His gaze drops to yours, his eyes shimmering with unshed tears. “I failed him.”

Your chest tightens at the rawness in his voice, the weight he’s been carrying alone for so long. “Heeseung,” you say softly, “you didn’t fail him. You were a kid too, trying to survive in the same house under the same pressure. You did the best you could with what you knew then. That matters.”

His lips twitch faintly, but the guilt in his eyes doesn’t fade. “Some days, it doesn’t feel like enough,” he admits quietly.

“It is,” you insist, leaning closer your hand still resting against his cheek. “Every time you show up for Heejoon, every time you keep going, you’re proving how much you care. You’re making him proud, Heeseung. I know it.”

Heeseung looks at you for a long moment, his gaze filled with something you can’t quite place. Finally, he nods, his grip on you tightening slightly. “Thank you,” he says, his voice thick with emotion.

“Where’s Heejoon now?” you ask gently.

“He’s in an assisted living facility,” Heeseung replies. “After the incident, Dad couldn’t… He couldn’t live with him anymore. The guilt ate at him so he sent him away to get professional help. Heejoon’s been there ever since. He’s getting better, slowly. His doctors think he might be able to come home soon.”

You smile softly. “That’s good. I’m glad he’s getting the help he needs.”

Heeseung nods, his expression thoughtful. “I visit him every weekend,” he says.

Your brows furrow slightly. “Every weekend?”

Heeseung glances at you, his brows raising in question.

You hesitate before continuing. “The tabloids… They say you sneak off to Jeju every weekend to sleep with a new model,” you say carefully.

Heeseung scoffs, the sound almost bitter. “Heejoon’s care facility is in Jeju,” he explains. “My parents didn’t want anyone knowing what happened so they sent him there to keep it quiet.”

Your heart aches at the weight he must’ve been carrying alone. “So… those rumors?”

“Bullshit,” Heeseung says firmly. “You’re the first person I’ve slept with in years.”

You blink surprised. “Really?”

He nods. “I won’t lie and say I’ve never slept around. I did, but that was during my undergrad days… before I met Karina.”

The name sends a jolt through you, his ex who he allegedly forced to get an abortion. “Who’s Karina?” you ask carefully, playing oblivious to know the truth.

Heeseung’s expression shifts, the room is quiet save for the hum of the heater and the faint rustle of the sheets as he shifts closer. His hand trails absently along your arm, his touch warm “She was… the first person I ever loved,” he admits.

You listen intently as he begins to tell you about her. He shares how their relationship came to be, how she made him feel seen in a way no one else ever had but he also tells you about the heartbreak that followed when she left. About her carrying another man's baby and leaving because it wasn’t fair to Heeseung despite how badly he wanted her to stay.

Heeseung exhales, his voice trembling just slightly. “I should’ve fought harder. I should’ve convinced her to stay. Instead, I let her go. I told myself it was what she wanted but deep down, I think I was scared. Scared of everything that came with loving her, scared I’d mess it all up anyway.”

He pauses, his fingers grazing your back, his gaze distant. “It’s a pattern, you know? People leave me but maybe… maybe it’s because I push them away first. Like I did with her.”

His words hang heavy in the air. You sit up slightly, leaning on your elbow to face him. “Heeseung, listen to me,” you say softly, your right hand resting gently on his chest. “What happened with Karina wasn’t your fault. You need to stop carrying this like it was all on you, like you had the power to change everything. There’s nothing wrong with you, and you’re more than deserving of love—then and now.”

His lips part slightly as if to protest but no words come out. His eyes search yours, filled with doubt and pain, as though he’s grappling with the possibility of believing you.

“She didn’t leave because you weren’t enough,” you continue. “You were both young, and Karina… she was stuck in an impossible situation. That doesn’t mean you failed her, Heeseung. It doesn’t mean you were to blame. Her insecurities, her choices—they weren’t your burden to carry or fix. Just because you had a past, just because you were more experienced, doesn’t mean you pushed her away. Those were her fears, not a reflection of your worth.”

His grip on your waist tightens slightly, his breathing uneven. His eyes glisten with unshed tears as his brows draw together, struggling with the truth in your words.

“You have to let go of this idea that you’re the reason things fell apart,” you whisper, brushing your thumb tenderly along his jawline. “Sometimes people leave not because of anything you did but because they don’t know how to stay. It’s not about you being enough—it never was. And it doesn’t mean you’re not enough now.”

Heeseung swallows hard, his head dipping as his forehead presses lightly against yours. “I don’t know if I can believe that yet,” he murmurs, his voice barely audible.

“That’s okay,” you reply, your voice soft but resolute. “I’ll remind you as many times as it takes.”

For a moment the room falls into stillness, the only sound is the mingling of your breaths. You feel his arm wrap tighter around your midsection pulling you closer, the tension in his shoulders easing ever so slightly.

Then, in the quiet you speak, your voice barely above a whisper. “Heeseung… I already knew about Karina”

His head pulls back slightly, his brows furrowing in confusion as his gaze locks onto yours. “What do you mean?” He asks, his tone cautious, tinged with uncertainty.

You take in a breath gathering the courage to continue. “I knew about her. About what people said. Before you told me.”

His confusion deepens, flickers of uncertainty and hurt shadowing his expression. “How?” he asks softly, his voice low and guarded, his walls creeping back up.

You hesitate, your fingers fidgeting with the edge of the blanket draped over you both but you push through the fear because this is Heeseung and he deserves honesty.

“Remember how I told you Chisa is a journalist?” you begin carefully.

Heeseung nods slowly but you can already see it—the way his shoulders tense, the way his eyes darken. His defenses are rising, and it crushes you to watch the vulnerability you’d shared moments ago slip away.

“Chisa is writing an exposé. About your college days. She has a source—someone who knows about Karina, about the rumors that you…that you asked her to get an abortion.”

Heeseung goes still, his body tensing beneath your touch. He’s silent for a moment, his gaze fixed behind you. Then finally he speaks his voice sharp and clipped. “How long have you known?”

You swallow the lump forming in your throat, knowing there’s no point in lying. “Chisa got put on the article the day we first met but I didn’t find out about the rumors until… the day you asked me to dinner.”

Heeseung’s jaw tightens and he slowly pulls away from you, the space between you growing wider as your heart drops. He sits up slightly, running a hand through his hair. His expression is a mix of hurt and disbelief.

You instinctively grab the blanket to cover your bare body, not out of modesty but because the emotional distance feels unbearable. “Heeseung…” you begin softly, but he cuts you off.

“You knew all this time,” he says, his voice low and tinged with disbelief. “And you didn’t say anything?”

“I didn’t know how,” you say quickly, your voice trembling. “Heeseung, you have to understand—Chisa is my best friend. This article is everything to her.”

He lets out a bitter laugh, shaking his head as he runs a hand through his hair. “And what about me?” he asks, his voice rising slightly. “Did you even think about what that could do to me? About how I’d feel if you believed those rumors?”

“I didn’t believe them. I didn’t, Heeseung but I didn’t know you then. I didn’t know how to bring it up or if I even should! You have to understand—if I said anything to you or Miss Min, it would’ve meant the end of my friendship with Chisa. I didn’t know what to do.”

Heeseung’s gaze is piercing, his silence more cutting than any words he could’ve said. You feel the weight of his disappointment, his hurt and it tears at you. 

You feel tears threaten to spill over now but you don’t bother wiping them away. Instead, you reach for his hand, grabbing onto it tightly even as he stiffens under your touch. The blanket slips from your body leaving you exposed but you don’t care. You need him to understand.

“This wasn’t an easy decision to make. I’ve been stuck between my best friend and her career and the guy I—” You catch yourself, your breath hitching. “The guy I care about. I’m sorry I didn’t say something sooner. I’m sorry I hurt you but I don’t want you to be blindsided by this Heeseung. I don’t want you to be hurt anymore. That’s why I’m telling you now.”

Heeseung stares at you, his expression softening slightly as your words sink in. He exhales deeply, the anger in his gaze giving way to understanding. “Okay,” he says softly after a long moment, his tone laced with exhaustion. “Okay.”

Before you can say anything else, he pulls you into his arms, his hand cradling the back of your head as you bury your face in his shoulder. “Don’t cry,” he murmurs, his voice gentle again. “Please don’t cry. I’m not mad at you.”

“Are you sure?” you whisper, your voice muffled against his skin.

He nods, pressing a kiss to your forehead. “I could never stay mad at you.”

The two of you settle back under the covers, his arms holding you close again not leaving any space between the two of you. After a beat of silence, Heeseung speaks again. “I have to pull the plug on the article… you know that, right?”

You nod against his chest, your heart sinking at the thought of what this will mean for Chisa and your friendship. “Can you at least let me tell her before you make any phone calls?”

Heeseung hesitates, his fingers massaging your shoulder as he considers your request. “Are you sure you’ll be able to do that? To look her in the eyes and tell her you’re the reason her dreams won’t come true?”

You flinch at the harshness of his words, but you understand where they’re coming from. “I have to,” you say quietly. “I owe her that much.”

Heeseung exhales, nodding reluctantly. “Okay.”

He holds you closer, his chin resting on the top of your head as the two of you sit in silence. Despite everything, there’s a strange sense of comfort in knowing you don’t have to carry this secret anymore. As the minutes stretch on, the tension slowly fades, replaced by the steady rhythm of your breaths syncing together. And eventually, the two of you drift off to sleep, tangled in each other’s arms.

THE NEXT MORNING

You wake up slowly, sunlight streaming through the curtains and warming the room. For a moment, you forget where you are, your body pressed against soft sheets and someone warm and firm beside you. Blinking, the events of last night come flooding back and a soft smile tugs at your lips. You hadn’t planned to stay the night but waking up here wrapped in Heeseung’s arms, doesn’t feel like a mistake. It feels… right.

Shifting slightly, you glance over at him. He’s still asleep, his features relaxed and peaceful in the early morning light. His hair is slightly mussed, his lips parted as he breathes deeply. He looks younger like this, the weight he often carries nowhere in sight.

You try to move carefully not wanting to wake him up but the slight shift of your body stirs him. His arms tighten instinctively around your waist, pulling you closer as his eyes flutter open.

“Morning,” he murmurs, his voice husky with sleep and a small smile curving his lips.

“Morning,” you reply softly, your own smile growing.

Heeseung leans in and presses a lingering kiss to your lips, his hand coming up to cup your cheek. When he pulls back, his eyes are filled with a warmth that makes your heart race. “I could get used to waking up like this,” he says, his voice still low.

You laugh softly, brushing a strand of hair from his face, the silky red strands slipping through your fingers. “As nice as this is, I really should get going. Chisa’s probably worried about me.”

Before you can move, Heeseung tightens his hold on you, burying his face in your neck with a dramatic sigh. When he pulls back just enough to meet your gaze, his lower lip juts out in a pout so exaggerated it almost makes you laugh out loud.

“Stay,” he whines, his voice soft and petulant. “Just for a little longer. Please?”

You blink, momentarily stunned. This side of him is so unlike the composed and confident Heeseung you’ve grown accustomed to. The playful pout on his lips, the slight scrunch of his nose, and the sparkle of mischief in his eyes are all so…unexpected.

And yet, you think to yourself, you’d like to see this version of him more often, this carefree boyish Heeseung who doesn’t seem burdened.

You shake your head, laughing. “Heeseung, as much as I’d love to stay in bed all day, I promised Yunho I’d spend the day with him. And knowing my friends, Jaehyun and Chisa are probably going to tag along.”

At the mention of your plans, Heeseung lets out a resigned sigh, finally releasing his hold on you. “Fine,” he mutters, feigning annoyance. “But only because I’m trying to be supportive of your friendships.”

You sit up, the blanket slipping from your shoulders as you begin gathering your clothes. As you pull your shirt over your head, you glance over at Heeseung. “What about you? What are your plans for the day?”

He clears his throat, his gaze flickering briefly away before returning to you as you move around the room. “I called Miss Min last night,” he begins quietly. “Postponed announcing the engagement.”

Your hands still for a moment, your chest tightening as you think of Sakura and what this means for her. “What are you going to do?” you ask, your voice barely above a whisper.

Heeseung sighs, his fingers raking through his hair. “I need to talk to Sakura today. In person, it’s the least I can do,” he says softly.

Your heart sinks a little further, your thoughts drifting to Sakura’s feelings for him and how this will affect her. “Let me know how it goes,” you say gently, folding your arms across your chest. “I’d like to apologize to her too.”

Heeseung hesitates, his brows knitting together. “You don’t have to do that,” he says, his voice firm but gentle. “I don’t mind taking the blame for this. You don’t need to get involved any more than you already are.”

You shake your head firmly. “No, Heeseung. I’m just as complicit in all of this. You shouldn’t have to shoulder all the blame—not after everything you’ve already been through. I need to own my part in it too.”

His gaze softens as he looks at you, and he takes a step closer, his hands brushing gently against your waist.  He studies you for a moment before nodding, a small smile tugging at his lips. “You’re something else, you know that?”

You roll your eyes, trying to mask the flutter of your heart. “Don’t try to distract me with compliments,” you tease lightly, though the smile on your lips betrays your feigned irritation.

Heeseung chuckles softly, pulling you closer for a brief moment before letting his hands fall away. “I mean it,” he murmurs.

Once you’re dressed, you grab your phone from the nightstand, only to find it completely dead. Letting out a sigh, you glance over at Heeseung, who is now standing by the bed in just his boxers.

“You should probably put some clothes on,” you tease, unable to stop the smile that forms as he approaches you.

Heeseung smirks, his hands finding their way to your waist as he pulls you close. “Why? Planning on staying a little longer?”

You roll your eyes but your heart flutters as he leans down to kiss you. It’s slow and unhurried, filled with a tenderness that makes you momentarily forget why you need to leave.

When he finally pulls back, you sigh. “As tempting as that is, I really need to go. I have to tell Chisa about the article.”

“Stay for breakfast, at least?” he asks, his tone hopeful.

You hesitate, but the look in his eyes makes it impossible to say no. “Fine,” you relent, laughing softly. “One day, I’ll learn how to tell you no.”

Heeseung grins, taking your hand and leading you to the kitchen. “Good luck with that,” he teases.

You hop onto the countertop as he pulls out a pan and begins preparing the ingredients for pancakes. Watching him move around the kitchen, you find yourself thinking about how natural this feels—how easy it is to picture mornings like this being a regular thing.

As he pours the batter onto the pan, he slides between your legs, resting his hands on your thighs. “Gimme a kiss.”

“The pancakes will burn,” you say, laughing softly.

“They will if you don’t hurry up and kiss me,” he counters, his lips quirking into a playful smirk.

You roll your eyes but lean in, intending to give him a quick peck. Heeseung has other plans, deepening the kiss until you’re breathless. When he finally pulls back, he’s grinning smugly.

“You’re impossible,” you mutter but the warmth in your chest betrays your words.

“Impossible to resist,” he quips, turning back to the stove just in time to flip the pancake, which, to your surprise, isn’t burnt.

Once the pancakes are done, you help him with the eggs while he cuts up some fresh fruit he had laying around. The two of you work together, the easy banter making the morning feel light and carefree.

When everything is ready, you sit together at the kitchen island, plates filled with food. For a while, there’s nothing but the sound of utensils and quiet conversation.

Heeseung breaks the silence, his tone thoughtful. “I could get used to this.”

You glance at him, your cheeks warming. “Me too,” you admit softly.

He doesn’t respond immediately, just stares at you in a way that makes your heart race.

“Your food’s going to get cold,” you say, laughing nervously under his gaze.

Heeseung shrugs, a playful smile tugging at his lips. “Worth it.”

You shove his shoulder lightly, trying to hide your flustered state. “Eat,” you scold, and he chuckles before finally picking up his fork.

As you finish your plate, you take a sip of the orange juice he poured for you, noting how he remembered your preference for sweet drinks. You don’t comment on it but the gesture doesn’t go unnoticed.

When Heeseung finishes eating, he stands and helps clear the dishes, his movements unhurried. You grab your bag and dead phone ready to head out.

Heeseung walks you to the door, his hand resting lightly on your waist. As you step outside, he makes no move to let go.

“You’re just in your boxers,” you point out, raising an eyebrow.

“So?” he replies, a teasing grin on his lips.

You swat his arm, laughing softly. “Go back inside before your neighbors get an eyeful.”

Heeseung laughs, pulling you into one last kiss before letting you go. “Drive safe,” he murmurs, his voice soft.

You nod, smiling as you climb into your car. The drive home is quiet, the events of the morning replaying in your mind.

When you arrive, you park your car and head up to your apartment building but when you step into the space, the atmosphere shifts. “Chisa?” you call out, your voice tentative as you set your bag down by the door.

The apartment is eerily silent, save for the faint hum of the refrigerator in the kitchen. You step further inside rounding the corner and your breath catches in your throat.

Chisa is sitting cross-legged in the middle of the living room, her back rigid and her gaze fixed on the wall in front of her. Her hands rest limply in her lap but there’s a tension radiating from her body that makes your stomach twist.

“Chisa?” you try again softer this time, taking a cautious step forward.

She doesn’t respond, doesn’t even blink. The silence stretches heavy and suffocating as you kneel in front of her, your hand hesitantly reaching for her shoulder.

“Hey,” you whisper, your voice barely audible.

This time, her eyes shift, locking onto yours with a sharpness that sends a shiver down your spine. Her gaze is cold, unyielding, and when she finally speaks, her voice is low and chilling.

“Did you tell Heeseung about my article?”

You freeze. The words knock the air out of your lungs, leaving you grasping for a response. How does she know? Heeseung promised to give you time to talk to her yourself.

“I—what?” you stammer, the sudden intensity of her glare making your heart race.

Chisa’s jaw clenches as she rises to her feet, looming over you. “I got a phone call from his lawyers in the middle of the night. They said I can’t publish my exposé. Did you tell him?”

Your chest tightens as realization dawns. Heeseung must have made the call while you were sleeping. A flicker of anger sparks within you—why hadn’t he let you handle this? You push it down, trying to focus on Chisa who looks like she’s seconds away from exploding.

“Yes.”

Chisa scoffs, her expression twisting into one of disbelief and fury. She takes a step back, shaking her head. “Unbelievable,” she mutters before spinning around and storming toward the hallway.

“Chisa, wait!” you call, scrambling to your feet and following her. “Please, just listen—”

She whirls around so suddenly that you almost stumble. Her hands shoot out, shoving you backward with a force that knocks the breath out of you.

You stumble, catching yourself. The shock of it leaves you frozen for a moment, your mind struggling to catch up with what just happened. Chisa has never done anything like this before. You’ve argued in the past, of course you have, but even in your worst moments, she never laid a hand on you. Not once.

She’s seething. Her chest rises and falls rapidly, her fists clenched so tightly at her sides that her knuckles turn white. Her eyes, usually warm and filled with love or mischief, are blazing with an intensity that makes your stomach churn.

“Listen to what?” she spits, her voice rising. “To you defending that manwhore? To you justifying why you chose him over me?”

“I didn’t choose him over you!”

“Yes, you did! You sacrificed my career for him! For what? Did he fuck you too?”

The words hit you like a slap and your mouth opens but no sound comes out. Chisa’s eyes widen as she takes in your reaction, her expression shifting from anger to disgust.

“No way,” she whispers, a bitter laugh escaping her lips. “You sold me out for some dick? Were you that fucking desperate?”

Your chest tightens with indignation. “It’s not like that!” you snap, your voice rising to match hers. “My relationship with Heeseung has nothing to do with why I told him.”

Chisa stares at you as if you’ve grown another head, her voice dripping with disdain. “Relationship?” She lets out a humorless laugh. “For someone with a master’s degree in psychology, you’re one dumb bitch. He’s not capable of loving anyone. Not his ex, not Sakura, and definitely not you.”

You flinch at the mention of Sakura, your mind racing. “Sakura? What—”

Chisa cuts you off, turning on her heel and storming back into the living room. She grabs the remote and flicks on the TV, jabbing the buttons with trembling hands.

The screen flickers to life, and your stomach drops like a stone when the news anchor’s voice fills the room. Their tone is bright and celebratory.

“Breaking news! A fairytale ending for Lee Heeseung and Miyawaki Sakura.”

A photo of the two smiling together flashes on the screen, and your knees feel like they might give out.

Chisa crosses her arms, her glare burning into you as the broadcast loops back to commentary. “The announcement was made official two hours ago,” she says coldly, her voice cutting through the air.

Two hours ago.

You were sitting in Heeseung’s kitchen, eating pancakes while he talked about getting used to seeing you in his home. He had said he’d told Miss Min to postpone the announcement. He’d promised. Your mind spins, struggling to reconcile the timeline. Did Heeseung lie? Or did something else happen, something out of his control?

“He’s scum. All he cares about is sex. And for you to think he could be happy with you—” She shakes her head.

“That’s not true! Your source lied, Chisa. He didn’t force Karina to have an abortion! He’s not sneaking off to Jeju every weekend to sleep with someone new! It’s all rumors, and the press has it twisted. They’re making his life hell! I couldn’t let you publish that article. It would have ruined him.”

Chisa’s expression shifts, her glare turning into something almost unrecognizable. Hurt mingles with her anger, and her voice trembles as she fires back, “So what? It was better to ruin me?”

You snap.

“Not everything is about you, Chisa! He’s a person too, with real feelings! He’s been through so much and he doesn’t deserve this!” You take a shaky breath, your voice still trembling with emotion. “There will always be another article to write, another person to exploit but Heeseung doesn’t deserve it. Get over yourself.”

Chisa’s face falls, her eyes wide with disbelief but you don’t give her a chance to respond. You turn on your heel and storm to your room, slamming the door shut behind you.

Your chest heaves as you lean against the door, your mind racing. This is not how things were supposed to go. You weren’t supposed to fight with Chisa—not like this.

You take a shaky breath and push off the door, fumbling to plug your phone into the charger. Impatience gnaws at you and you grab your laptop instead flipping it open and opening your messaging app.

Messages flood the screen. Texts from Chisa, Dani, even Miss Min.

7:25 pm | chiz🧸: where are you? game night started!!! 7:50 pm | chiz🧸: nvm yunho told me you can’t make it 10:49 pm | chiz🧸: im back home now where r u loser 12:15 am | chiz🧸: ? 

You close the tab, your chest tightening as guilt seeps in.

4:32 am | danielle: do you know why heeseung called the office to postpone the announcement???

You let out a sigh of relief. Heeseung hadn’t changed his mind. He tried to stop it. You make a mental note to respond to Dani later, opting to read Miss Min’s messages.

4:55 am | Boss: You need to meet with Heeseung and Sakura. Get them aligned again. 10:37 am | Boss: The announcement is moving forward. It’s what his parents want.

So that’s what happened. A new message pings on your screen, it’s from Heeseung.

12:08 pm | heeseung: just saw the news. i’m so sorry 12:08 pm | heeseung: i don’t know what happened but i’ll fix it. 12:08 pm | heeseung: i’m on my way to meet with sakura now.

You don’t respond, instead you fall against your bed frame overwhelmed. Tears threaten to spill but you blink them back, refusing to let them fall. This can be fixed you try to reason, yeah. This can be fixed. Instead of wallowing in tears, you strip off your clothes and head into the bathroom. A hot shower…that’ll make everything better.

The water warms your skin, soothing your tense muscles as you try to wash away the sweat and grime from the night before. But your mind won’t stop racing. You think about Heeseung. About boundaries you’ll need to set with him. About Chisa—her hurt, her anger, the way she shoved you. The memory stings as do her words. You wonder if you’ll ever be okay again.

Steam fills the room, but it doesn’t clear the haze in your mind. All you can do is stand there, letting the water wash over you, hoping it’ll drown out your sadness. You spend over an hour in there, letting the water wash over you and your thoughts consume you.

When you exit the shower, the bathroom is silent save for the steady drip of water from the showerhead as you step out, your skin flushed from the heat. You grab a towel and wrap it around yourself, your hands moving on autopilot as you dry off. The warmth of the shower clings to your skin providing some comfort.

You pull on a pair of soft sweatpants and an oversized hoodie before padding back into your bedroom, you glance at your phone charging on the nightstand. Its screen lights up repeatedly, vibrating with an almost frantic urgency.

Frowning, you unplug it. The moment it’s in your hand, it buzzes again, a steady stream of notifications flooding the screen. Text after text appears, the sheer volume of them making your stomach churn.

Your sister’s name catches your eye, her message buried among others from Dani, Heeseung, and even Jaehyun.

Your breath hitches. Your sister hasn’t spoken to you in months. She claims to be too busy with her husband and kids but truthfully you think she just can’t stomach being around you knowing each conversation you’ll bring up your mother.

Why is she reaching out now?

Before you can open her messages, another text pops up at the top of the screen from Jaehyun.

12:12 pm | hyunie🐶: are you okay?

Your chest tightens. A gnawing sense of dread climbs up your spine as you respond

12:13 pm | you: ??? 12:13 pm | hyunie🐶: you haven’t seen? 12:14 pm | you: seen what?

The three dots indicating he’s typing appear and you hold your breath, dread pooling in your stomach. When the link comes through, you click it without thinking.

Your heart plummets as you read the headline: Heeseung’s Secret Romance: Scandal Behind the Engagement.

The article is a brutal exposé, detailing Heeseung’s past controversies, his relationship with Karina, the lies about the abortion then him trying to rebrand by leeching off of Sakura through an engagement and finally, the revelation of an affair. Chisa posted it anyway. She posted the exposé.

Your breath comes in short, shallow gasps as you skim the article. Chisa’s words are scathing, painting you as a homewrecker and Heeseung as a manipulative womanizer. She leaves you nameless but the implications are clear, this is her firing back at you.

Your phone buzzes again and you almost drop it. Jaehyun is calling.

You answer, your voice barely above a whisper. “Hello?”

“Is it true?” 

“...Yes.”

“Shit. Okay. Look, stay off your phone. Don’t read any more of it, okay? Yunho and I are coming over.”

You nod instinctively forgetting he can’t see you. “Okay.”

“Just… don’t spiral. We’ll be there soon.”

The call ends but you don’t put your phone down. You can’t. The panic bubbling inside you demands an outlet and ignoring it feels impossible. Against Jaehyun’s advice, you open Twitter.

Your name is trending. So are Heeseung's and Sakura’s.

You click on the hashtag, your heart pounding as you scroll through the tweets. Each tweet feels like a slap to the face, but you can’t stop. You keep scrolling, the comments getting worse and worse.

A new post catches your eye, a link to a Naver article. The thumbnail is a picture of you and Heeseung walking out of the hotel bar after your one-on-one meeting. The title is even worse than Chisa’s: Lee Heeseung’s Mistress Revealed: The Marriage Counselor Who Betrayed the Nation’s Princess

The article is a gallery of photos and commentary, each image scrutinizing your every move. This one names you outright, detailing how you entered Heeseung’s life as a marriage counselor assigned to help him and Sakura navigate their engagement.

Instead of counseling the couple, sources claim ____ became romantically involved with Heeseung, undermining Sakura, a beloved actress and national icon. Photographic evidence further suggests a relationship that goes beyond professionalism.

Photographs accompany the text.

Him picking you up for dinner, his hand resting casually on the small of your back.

You walking into the restaurant on valentines holding the bouquet he gave you.

You entering his home late at night.

You leaving this morning, followed by a quick shot of him kissing you goodbye.

The captions are unsavory.

“Caught in the act: ____ leaving Lee Heeseung’s home after a cozy night in.”, “A romantic dinner for two—how long has this been going on?”

You scroll down to the comments, your vision blurring as you read them.

⤑ she’s disgusting. how dare she betray sakura like this? +1,102 ⤑ heeseung’s trash but she’s worse. she’s supposed to be a counselor? what a joke 💀 +874 ⤑ poor sakura. she deserves so much better (╥﹏╥) +2,347 ⤑ omo she’s so brazen 💀 +366

Your chest tightens painfully and your hands begin to shake. The more you scroll, the worse it gets.

⤑ she knew exactly what she was doing. she’s a homewrecker. +613 ⤑ imagine being this desperate. she’s ruined her career for what? a fling? ㅋㅋㅋㅋ +1,209 ⤑ sakura is the nation’s princess. this woman is a nobody. she doesn’t deserve him. +4,102

Your breath comes in shallow gasps as the room seems to shrink around you. Your phone trembles in your hands, and the screen darkens for a moment, forcing you to see your own reflection—tear-streaked and unrecognizable.

You sink to the floor, your back pressed against your bed, the phone slipping from your grasp. A loud creak breaks through the haze.

The door to your room opens slowly and you look up to see Chisa standing there, her expression is unreadable, somewhere between anger and exhaustion.

For a moment, neither of you speaks.

Your lips part to say something—anything—but the words catch in your throat.

Chisa steps farther into the room, her gaze sharp and accusing. “You’ve turned into him, you know.”

You blink, confused. “What?”

Her lips curl into a bitter smile but there’s no humor in it. “Your dad. You’ve turned into your father.”

“I…”

“You always hated him for what he did to your mom,” Chisa continues, her voice rising with every word. “Every time he cheated, every time he lied, every time your mom sat crying in the kitchen, you hated him. You swore you’d never be like him. That’s why you became a marriage counselor, isn’t it? To stop people like him from ruining their families.”

Your heart pounds as memories flood back—your mother’s tear-streaked face, Chisa’s arms wrapped around you as she whispered, It’s going to be okay, I've got you. But now…

Chisa’s voice drops, the anger giving way to something softer, sadder. “And yet, here you are. Sleeping with someone else’s fiancée. How do you think that makes me feel? Watching you become the very thing you hate most?”

You open your mouth to defend yourself but the truth lodges itself in your throat. The excuses you’ve told yourself—Heeseung and Sakura aren’t really in love, their relationship isn’t real, this is different—feel hollow without him here to hold you, to remind you that you aren’t a monster because even if the engagement wasn’t real, Sakura’s feelings for Heeseung are and you knew that, you knew and still went for it.

The thought grips you, your stomach twisting as guilt crashes over you like a tidal wave. You’re no better than your father.

“Chisa…” Your voice is barely above a whisper. “I didn’t mean—”

“Didn’t mean what? To hurt people? To betray the one person you were supposed to help? You think that makes it better?”

Tears blur your vision but you don’t bother wiping them away.

“I’m sorry,” you croak, the words tasting bitter on your tongue.

Chisa shakes her head. “Sorry doesn’t fix this. Sorry doesn’t undo what you’ve done. It doesn’t change the fact that you’re exactly like him.”

For a moment, you think she’s going to leave but she lingers in the doorway, her gaze softening just enough to twist the knife.

“He’s not a good person,” she says finally, her voice quiet but firm. “And neither are you, if you keep letting him drag you down.”

The door clicks shut behind her, leaving you alone in the suffocating silence. The room feels colder after Chisa leaves. Her words play on a loop in your head, relentless and unforgiving.

“You’ve turned into him.”

“You’re exactly like him.”

You press your palms to your eyes, trying to block out the memory but it’s no use. It claws at you.

Chisa had been there for all of it—every fight, every slammed door, every tear your mother cried. She’d been the one who stayed up with you in your room, distracting you with dumb jokes and snack runs when the shouting downstairs became too much. She was the one who held you when you sobbed after catching your father’s texts to another woman, promising you that you’d never have to deal with anything like that when you were older.

Not your sister.

She had her own way of dealing with it. When things got bad, she’d leave, disappearing for days at a time. Spending nights at friends’ houses, coming back only when she couldn’t avoid it anymore. Then she left altogether—first for college, then for her own life, far away from the wreckage of your family.

Chisa stayed.

She was more of a sister to you than your actual sister ever was. She sat through the storm with you soaked in the same despair and somehow managed to hold you together when you thought you might break apart.

And now, after everything, you’ve betrayed her.

The irony tastes bitter, twisting in your gut like a knife. You didn’t just become the thing you despised; you became the thing that broke your family.

Your phone buzzes again from where it lies abandoned on the floor. You glance at it, reluctant to pick it up but the notifications don’t stop. They come in rapid succession, each one a reminder of how far this has spiraled out of control.

Your hands shake as you reach for it, curiosity overriding the gnawing dread. The screen lights up, showing messages from people you haven’t spoken to in years—college acquaintances, coworkers, even distant family.

You clutch the phone tighter, staring at the screen without seeing it. it’s all too much. Finally, you set the phone aside and pull your knees to your chest.

You don’t cry.

Instead, you sit there in silence, replaying everything in your mind. The choice to be with Heeseung, your night spent tangled in his arms, the way he looked at you like you were the only person in the world. You don’t regret any of it—not the moments you shared, not the feelings that grew despite everything stacked against you. What you feel for him is real and that’s something no headline or scandal can take away.

But you also can’t ignore the fallout. Your career lies in ruins, Chisa, your best friend—your sister in every sense of the word wants nothing to do with you and the trust you’d spent years building with her is gone. You’ve lost her and the weight of that is unbearable.

The word temptation floats to the surface of your mind. It’s what started all of this, isn’t it? The pull of something you can’t have, the magnetic force of wanting someone you weren’t meant to want. 

You don’t regret Heeseung but you do regret everything it’s cost you. Temptation led you here. Desire kept you here.

And for the first time, you’re not sure how to fix it.

➤ taglist: @adoredbyjay @acousarah @fancypeacepersona @lovingvoidgoatee @seungjiseyo @starry-eyed-bimbo @cloud-lyy @lprww @mitmit01 @cupiddolle @heestruck @sol3chu @xylatox  @planetmarlowe @M1kkso @clandestineself @yuniesluv @wonniesdoll @i03jae @aggarwaldrishti @jakesfurry @hanversace @right-person-wrong-time @missychief1404 @iamliacamila @jaems-left-toe @heesngmluv @ssanhwatto @itsyagirll @theothernads

[dangerousstrawberryshark]

Full Circle

🔥Pairing(s)🔥→ Stepbrother Dean Winchester x Male reader ⚠CW⚠→ stepcest, gay, gay-sex, top Dean Winchester, bottom male reader, possessive Dean, obsessive Dean, choking, spanking, praise kink, rough sex, Dean stalks you, jealous Dean, sort of fluff then smut, anal, anal sex, anal fingering, masochist reader, and Dean is rough but loving. He sabotages your relationships.  🔥Rating🔥→ Explicit  🔥Requested🔥→ Yes

🔥Word Count🔥→: 3.3k

🔥Summary🔥→ Dean has been in love with you since you moved in. It was wrong but he couldn’t help himself. He intimidated all your pursers and made sure you were single. However, he stopped his ministrations when he saw he was ruining your love life. He watched with jealousy as you got into relationships. His moment came when you came crying to him. 

Read before continuing: IF YOU ARE YOUNGER THAN 18 OR ANY OF THE WARNINGS MAKE YOU UNCOMFORTABLE, DO NOT CONTINUE READING! 

This fic doesn’t follow the supernatural timeline!

It was wrong. Anyone who saw it will say it's wrong to love your stepbrother beyond a family bond. Dean didn’t see it like that, though. He defended himself by saying, “We’re given the title of brothers, but we’re not related in any way.” People will still say it's wrong, but at this point, Dean didn’t care. 

Dean still remembers the day you appeared in his life. 

Dean was eighteen when their father announced he was remarrying again and that they’d get a new brother. Dean wasn’t too happy about getting another sibling—he thought he and Sam were enough—but he stayed quiet and didn’t complain. John then gave another announcement that they’d be meeting their new mother and brother. 

The older Winchester was reluctant to meet the addition to the Winchester family. From the information he was given, you were a year younger than him. He was spacing out and blocking external interactions. ‘Why must father’s new wife come with an attachment? It would’ve been better if it was just her… not some “brother” that’s coming.’ Dean cursed as he bit his lip from annoyance even though they hadn’t arrived yet. He was so lost in thought that he didn’t hear his father calling out to him. “Dean! Change that attitude and meet your new brother.”

Dean groaned and sighed as he drank his soda before looking up to meet his new stepbrother. He choked as he made eye contact, hacking as the soda itched his throat the wrong way. His face was flustered from embarrassment as he tried to clean himself. ‘Shit! I wasn’t expecting him to be that…’

The Winchester who was usually confident, charming, and witty embarrassed himself. He was gobsmacked, he didn’t expect you to be cute, handsome, and attractive! Dean never found another man attractive but he was bi-curious; guess he’s bisexual. After his humiliation, Dean introduced himself, attempting to brush off the incident. 

“Well, I guess we’re gonna be stepbrothers! Nice to meet you..” 

XXX 

You were a plague on his mind. You filled his mind every waking day as he tried to push down those feelings for you. It only got worse after the wedding ceremony when you and his new mom moved in. The older Winchester unknowingly began watching your moves; how you acted, dressed, and talked. Every last piece of you made him want you more. 

He went as far as to steal your underwear, jerking his cock to your musky scent. His imagination went full drive, imagining you in various positions. Begging and whining for him while he fucks you to oblivion. Dean had the greatest orgasms in his life, painting himself with his load. 

“Dean! Where is my underwear?” You yelled as you searched your room. This was the fourth time this week that your underwear had gone missing! Other belongings had gone missing like some clothing, pillowcases, and even your toothbrush. 

At first, he was adamant about you, but now he was becoming obsessed with you. Whenever you two spoke together, he cherished those memories and every detail. He started stalking all your social media accounts, gathering every piece of information. His obsession reached the point where he could feel your presence in the room.

Obsession was blooming, but so was possessiveness. 

Dean masked his possessiveness by acting like a concerned older stepbrother, justifying his actions to be out of love and protection for you! He was protecting you from rotten men! So, he invaded every aspect of your life, asking who you’re texting, seeing, or even where you’re going. “I don’t want anyone to hurt you. I just wanna protect you.”

“Aww, you’re worried about me?” You teased. You always wondered what it would feel like to have another sibling, especially one that’s protective. So, you played off Dean’s protectiveness as just a sibling thing. However, Dean was serious, something you couldn’t comprehend. 

When you started attending his university, he began stalking your every move. Jealousy and fury surged through his body as he watched men and women alike talk with you. Your natural charisma and good looks caused more attention to come to you. 

Dean attempted to cease further advancements from other men by making– forcing you– you to be in his group of friends. Using his popularity and large stature, Dean intimidated any of your pursers, blackmailing them, or getting physical. Whenever anyone came close, he pulled you closer to him, wrapping his arms around you possessively like you two were a couple. 

You were flattered by Dean's possessiveness, unaware of his obsession though. He just wanted to protect you! That’s what a good stepbrother does, but it's starting to get out of hand. Because of Dean’s ministrations, you were lacking any type of social interaction or relationships. All the guys you talked to distanced themselves or refused to speak to you again. 

Dean was too blind to see how you were feeling until he heard your cries coming from the dorm. Whenever he looks at you now, you just look depressed– saddened that nobody wants to be near you or be in a relationship. The older Winchester began questioning himself.

After days of contemplating and trying to justify his actions, Dean decided to back off. Even though the deepest parts of his mind were telling him that everything he did was for your safety. Despite his own unpopular opinion, Dean backs off and watches as you engage with other men. It took a lot of willpower to not stomp over there and snatch you from them. 

As a way to channel his jealousy and fury, Dean went to the gym every day as he continued to watch you. The constant routine caused him to become bulky. Many men and women threw themselves at him, and Dean indulged, trying to bury his affection and jealousy. However, none of it worked. Someday, Dean hopes your feelings will come around. 

That day finally came three years later. 

XX(three years later)XX

For three years, Dean watched in agony and jealousy as you got into an intimate relationship with someone who wasn't him. Dean, from day one, said he didn’t approve and made it abundantly clear. He watched like a cuck as the guy was lovey-dovey with you. Even worse, he could hear the sounds of moaning and bed squeaking at night. Admittedly, he did jerk off but only imagined himself being the one fucking you. 

Every day, Dean prayed to whatever God there was for misfortune to strike your relationship. It was an asshole move to pray on the downfall of his stepbrother's relationship, but Dean felt something was wrong with that man. He was later proven right.

“H-He cheated on me! That fucking asshole! I… I did everything…” you yelled as you took all your anger on some pillow before crying and burying your head. 

Dean watched, having the face of a concerned brother but inside, he was ecstatic. This was his chance! He could use this moment to slowly insert himself back into your life. Surely, helping you overcome this massive obstacle would make you fall in love with him! Dean will never cheat on you like that asshole did and could be a better boyfriend, maybe husband. 

Because nobody is gonna pay some guy or girl to come after him!

“Hey, Hey… it's okay. Come here, let me hug you.” Dean says tenderly as he pulls you into his embrace. Your cries muffled into his flannel jacket as the older Winchester soothed your cries. He could hear your rugged breathing calm down as you relaxed into your stepbrother's hold. 

Dean repeated this for the next few days which turned into weeks and months. He did everything to make you forget that man; taking you out to eat, movies, just sitting around and talking, or playing games together and just getting closer. Closer than what’s accepted between stepbrothers. He made sure you blocked the asshole's number and got rid of everything that reminded you of him. 

You were starting to feel something with Dean. You never looked at your stepbrother like that but now you were seeing him differently. His charming smile, funny personality, and bulky body from hours at the gym. You often caught yourself staring at Dean for long periods before turning away embarrassed. 

His biceps flexed, pulling his shirt slightly up to show his happy trail, walking around with no shirt on, or hugging you from behind. You blushed and smiled as Dean’s muscular body pressed against yours, and it was something you didn’t expect to need. These unexpected thoughts led to constant wet dreams– Dean pushing you into the bed, ramming his cock into your ass as he praises you for being a good boy. 

“So fucking good… You’re amazing, baby boy.” Dean groans as he nibbles and kisses your neck as he fucks his cock into your tight ass. His large burly hands roam your body to soothe you from the pain. 

You woke with bad morning wood. 

Everything was going as planned, if anything, faster than Dean anticipated. He could feel you warming up to him and often begging for his attention. You two were hanging out in your room, doing nothing, and the older Winchester felt the time was right.

“Y/n… I feel like this is the right time to tell you. I’ve always loved you ever since we met.” Dean confessed as he got closer. His natural scent filled your nose as his large body was close to yours. The room was turning around, it felt like it was getting hotter as you processed what Dean said. 

You didn’t remember what you said, probably saying you loved him back, but it ended with you and Dean being in a heated kiss. His tongue invaded your mouth as he took the dominant role and pushed you into submission. Feeling your submission, he pulled you onto his lap. 

“D-dean…” You whine as you feel your stepbrother pulling your shirt off. His worn hands roam your body as he touches every crevice. His thick fingers tweaking your nipples, your moans muffled by the kiss. Suddenly, the rest of your clothing was torn off as Dean moved you from his lap to the comfortable bed. 

The cold air touches your cock causing you to moan softly. Looking up at Dean, you could see lust in his eyes and he hastily takes off his clothing, almost tripping. His whole body was only for you to see. He was muscular, with perfect abs and pectorals along with his biceps. Tone thighs as his long cock was erected, acting like a third leg. 

Dean looked down at you, seeing the eagerness in your eyes from seeing his cock. You're shifting comfortably, thrusting your hips upward to get stimulation and spreading your legs further to let Dean get more room. “Look at you… all needy and I barely did anything.” Dean groans as he wraps his hand around your aching cock, giving it slow strokes. Your breath was caught in your throat as you tried to chase the pleasure, thrusting into Dean’s hand for more. Suddenly, a loud slap rang; Dean’s hand leaving a significant handprint. 

Instead of feeling pain, you felt pleasure from being hit. This caused you to thrust more which resulted in Dean slapping your thighs. “Ah? My baby is a fucking masochist? Want me to continue?” Dean purrs as he hears you moaning like a bitch in heat. You nodded desperately, wanting more. He continued his ministration, slapping your thighs until they looked bruised– not that you minded. Your cock was throbbing painfully, coating the older Winchester’s hand with your precum. 

Dean was doing everything to prevent your orgasm: ruining it by pulling away when he feels you were close and squeezing or pinching your cockhead. While it may look painful to others, you were ascending to another reality. Your moans filled the room, and you started begging for more. “P-please… I-I need… god… more. Please! Touch me.” Your whines were music to Dean’s ear as he felt you were ready for the next stage. 

“Darling. Lick my fingers,” Dean says as he shoves his fingers into your mouth. Three thick digits filled your mouth as you lathered them with saliva, slobbering around the digits, tongue swirling. It felt like you were losing air when Dean pulled his fingers out– satisfied by how coated they were. “Good job, darling. Amazing.” the older Winchester says causing you to whine with happiness from his praise. 

Slowly, Dean pushes one finger inside, grinning as he sees you pushing yourself back onto his finger. Your breathing got heavier with only one finger filling you, and flashbacks of your boyfriend filled your vision, but Dean was much better. He was thicker and bigger, speaking about his fingers, you’re nervous about his cock. “Breath, darling. I know you’re eager, but you need to calm down so I stretch you.”  Dean says as he uses his other hand to soothe your thighs. 

Letting a soft “yes” you started relaxing. The tension leaves your body as you feel Dean pressing and pushing two more fingers inside. He was stretching you nicely, reveling in the way you were keen on fucking yourself on his fingers. Dean continued pumping his fingers, loud squelching mixing with your moans and whines. He sees your body squirming and wiggling, trying to get more. 

Dean groans with mild frustration as he tried to find the sweet spot. After wiggling and thrusting his fingers, feeling your hot ass clenching around his digits– “Dean! There! Right there!” 

Bingo

He began abusing your bundle of nerves. The tip of his fingers rammed into your sweet spot as he was milking that spot for your pleasure. Feeling the signals your body was giving, an orgasm, Dean pulled his fingers with a loud pop following. “W-why did you stop?” You whine before Dean gave your ass a harsh slap.

“I want you to cum with my dick inside you,” Dean says as he strokes his cock. Opening your drawer and pulling out a bottle of lube. He put a generous amount on his hands before lathering his aching monster cock with the substance. “Please… fucking, please. Fuck me,” you whine as you gave Dean teary eyes. 

Who was Dean to deny his darling his pleasure? 

Dean grins, slowly thrusting his cock into your ass, pausing when he is fully inside. He wants you to adjust, your ex-boyfriend probably never filled you this much. He was right. Just from him entering, you were on cloud nine. You’ve never been filled or stretched this much. Your ass clenching around Dean’s large cock, trying to pull it deeper. “Fucking hell, darlin'. That pathetic man didn’t fill you this much?” Dean groans as he starts rocking his hips, thrusting in, pulling back, and then slamming into you. 

You were already cockdrunk. The perfect feeling of Dean’s large cock filling you up, cockhead ramming into your bundle of nerves. His rough thrusts caused the bed to squeak which mixed with your loud moans and groans, caused your cries for Dean to rougher. “Fucking slut, darlin’. You feel so fucking good. This ass was made for me.” 

His praises sent you to spiral more. You then feel Dean’s worn hand wrapping around your throat, squeezing it but not hard enough to close your airways. Eye contact was made as Dean looked down– you were fucked beyond your comprehension. Drool seeped through the corners of your mouth, and your eyes rolled back as you gripped the bed sheets. “Who owns you, darlin’?” Dean growls as he grips your hips. 

“Y-you! I’m all yours!” you cried as tears rolled down your face from the stimulation. You were desperately trying to keep up with Dean. With your prostate being consistently abused, you were on the verge of prostate orgasm. 

“Atta, boy. You fucking belong to me. No longer than the pathetic excuse of a man. Only me! That’s all you need! Me…Only I get to see you like this.” Dean growls as his thrust gets sloppier. His breathing was getting heavier, your ass was heaven and it was about to send him there too. “Keep speaking. I wanna hear your voice, keep telling me who you belong to.”

You began babbling that you belonged to him repeatedly. Your mind was completely fucked to the ground. The only thing was pleasure surging through your body, your aching cock throbbing and swinging. 

Dean was internally patting himself on the back. You were wrapped around his finger. His dreams throughout the years were finally coming true. He could have the future he had planned since he was eighteen.

With each bucking and rocking of his hips, you grew closer and closer to your orgasm. Desperate for your orgasm, you began pushing back against him, attempting to match the rhythm of his thrusts. You were driving each other crazy, your bodies covered in sweat, mixing with the stench of sex filling the room. The sound of skin slapping, the symphony of your moans and his groans, and the bed squeaking; heavenly music that Dean could do every day if you were up for that. 

“So fucking good, darlin’. You’re perfect for me. I don’t care if we’re stepbrothers, you were always more than that since the day I met.” Dean moans as his breathing began to hitch, his large cock throbbing. He began praising you, making sure you would come undone. “I-I’m gonna cum… cum with me, darlin’,” Dean whines as he wraps his hand around your cock to ensure you both cum at the same time. 

Both of your breathings got rugged. Your ass trying to milk Dean’s cock off its thick creamy load, and Dean stroking your aching cock while he rams into your prostate. “I-I’m cumming!” Dean growls as he collapses onto your body, biting your shoulder harshly. Your cock exploded, its thick load coating Dean’s hand and your chest. 

Dean roars as he gives one final thrust, his cock throbbing, balls churning its load before his spend was flooding your velvety walls, painting your insides white. He groans as this is the best orgasm in his life. The ecstasy lasted for a few minutes, Dean licking the wound on your shoulder. The iron taste of blood touched his taste buds as he licked it clean. Now, people will know who you belong to. He was going to make sure of that to everyone. 

“I love you darlin’,” Dean says as he pulls his flaccid cock out, a loud squelch and pop echo as a wave of his thick cum gushes out. He bred you well. The older Winchester lay down and pulled you closer to him, wanting you to nuzzle into his body. 

The sounds of ragged breathing as you both calm down from the intense session. You cuddled into Dean’s larger body and you could feel his cum oozing out your abused hole. “I love you too.” You said as you slowly drifted off to sleep, Dean’s heartbeat comforting you. 

Dean was satisfied with how things turned out. He finally got everything he wanted. 

Your feelings and his went in opposite directions, but you both came back in a Full Circle.

THE END

A/N: Hello, my strawberries! Wow, this is the longest fic I made in a while. I do hope you’ll enjoy this. Very special thanks to my proofreader, @sagethegaywitch

TAGLIST: @spnfanboy777 @zamfam4272 @ghostking4m

[luvergirl21]

detestable...

enemies to lovers dom!hamzah x f!reader

hi everyone! i have had the most absolutely terrible writer's block recently, which is why this fic has taken so long. but i hope you enjoy regardless! please send me reqs if you have them!

summary: y/n absolutely hates hamzah, detests him, actually. until one day, when that undeniable feeling of angers burns into an even hotter flame.

warnings: SMUT SMUT SMUTTY SMUTTING SMUT SMOT! DO NOT READ IF YOU ARE UNDER THE AGE OF 18.

word count: 3066

You loved your life. Your home, your animals, your friends, your youtube channel, everything. There was nothing about your life that irked you. Except for one thing. Him. Hamzah. You had become friends with Mandy over two years ago, over similar interests and styles of youtube channels, and had met Hamzah about six months into your friendship with her. You had never met somebody like him before. You got along with everyone, even if they slightly pissed you off, you were able to stomach their presence and create minimal amounts of respectable small talk. But not with Hamzah. In fact, when you were first invited over to Mandy’s house for a party and heard he was going to be there, you were excited. You had seen his online presence and thought he was funny, charming, and kind, only to find out upon meeting him that the complete opposite was the truth. He was awkward, and weird, and nothing at all like you thought he would be. The two of you were unable to mesh a single comfortable conversation together and, since then, you had effectively avoided him like the plague.

The angry tension between the two of you finally exploded one Friday night. You had been invited to dinner at Mandy’s house, and you were ecstatic. You imagined your night playing out with the two of you cooking and baking delicious food, sharing some with Martin in his man-cave, then diving into the delicacies in front of a cozy fall movie. What you did not expect was Hamzah to be there.

“Hey, y/n!” Mandy said excitedly, as she opened the door and welcomed you into her home. “Are you ready for tonight?”

“Oh my god,” you said, grasping her hands in yours. “You have no idea! I’ve been looking forward to it all day.” You took your shoes off before following the brunette into the kitchen. The two of you were laughing and talking until you stopped dead in the middle of the kitchen, starting out towards the living room. Two male heads were positioned together on the couch, one with straight, almost black, locks and the other with luscious, dark curls. You would recognize those curls anywhere. Shit.

You grabbed Mandy by her forearm and whispered in her ear, “I didn’t know he would be here.”

“Who?” she asked cluelessly, swiveling her head to where your wide-eyed gaze was fixated upon. “Oh, right…Hamzah. Martin and him filmed a video today and he’s not leaving until later. I’m so sorry, y/n. I really tried to get him out of the house, but he insisted on staying for dinner.” You knew that Hamzah liked to rile you up, he made it abundantly clear whenever the two of you would have a conversation.

“He just wants to piss me off,” you responded. “It’s okay. We can just ignore them and have fun.” Mandy smiled at you. The two of you began gathering items and ingredients from around the kitchen to make the dinner. You had decided on making fettuccine alfredo with broccoli and chicken over text with pumpkin cream cheese cupcakes for dessert. The two of you labored over the pasta for almost an hour, laughing and giggling over every single thing. The boys mainly kept to themselves, occasionally laughing softly at the game they were playing on the TV. You paused from stirring the cheesy sauce, simmering softly in the pan.

“You can go ahead and combine this sauce with the pasta, Mandy,” you said, nudging the brunette girl with your elbow. “I’m going to head to the bathroom real quick.” You went to the bathroom down the hall and completed your business, flushing the toilet and washing your hands. As you exited the bathroom, you ran right into a pair of broad, muscular shoulders. You look up, an apology bubbling from your lips, until you meet a pair of wide, dark eyes: Hamzah. His eyes narrow and his brow furrows. Your lips curl into a sneer, the close proximity of him causing hot, red anger to flare in your chest. The two of you attempt to get around each other, moving in sync. This annoying act continued until Hamzah’s large hands grip your waist and practically lifted you up, moving you out of his way. He continued down the hallway to the guest room without looking back, leaving you stunned into silence in the middle of the hallway. Your waist tingled lightly where his hands had touched you. The way his large hands were able to almost completely engulf your waist, followed by how effortlessly he had lifted you, caused inappropriate, unwanted thoughts to flow through your mind. You shook your head, internally scolding yourself for your rash behavior. When you reunited with Mandy in the kitchen, she gave you a confused look.

“You okay?” she asked. No doubt your silent demeanor and red face giving away some of your internal embarrassment.

“Yeah, I’m fine,” you responded, unconvincingly.

“You sure?” she pressed. “I saw Hamzah leave and I just thought–”

“Yes!” you snapped, cutting her off. “I am perfectly fine.” You ran a hand through your hair and Mandy laughed, shaking her head at your idiocy.

“If you say so, girl.” The night continued smoothly once you had calmed yourself down from your strained interaction with Hamzah. The pasta was cheesy and delicious, followed by the brownies which were sweet and rich with chocolate. Mandy shared the brownies with the two boys, Martin full of compliments and praise for the two of you, while Hamzah enjoyed his in silence, glancing at you every so often with a wide-eyed stare that made you feel both uncomfortable and anxious. Throughout the night, Martin and Mandy exchanged coy looks, giggling under their breath at something that seemed to you like an inside joke, but you were unsure. Finally, you reached your breaking point, and blurted out your confusion at the couple’s strange attitude.

“What the hell are you two plotting?” you asked. The couple exchanged a knowing look, smirking at each other.

“Plotting?” Mandy repeated. “We’re not plotting anything.”

“I know you are,” you said. 

To your utter surprise, Hamzah chimed in in agreement. “Yeah,” he said, mouth full of brownie. “You’re both acting so weird. What’s going on?”

Mandy gave Martin another weird look, the two nodding at each other in joint agreement. “Well…” Mandy said. “There’s this movie that Martin and I have been dying to see and it comes out today. We’re going to leave to see it now.”

“And we know that the two of you have some unsettled differences,” Martin chimed in. “So while we go out to see this movie, the two of you are going to stay here and figure them out.”

“Are you serious, Mandy?” you said, exasperation at this situation obvious in your voice. You glanced at Hamzah who had undeniable shock plastered all over his face. “No…” you said, as the couple began to pack up their things and pull their shoes on in quick succession. “No, no, you’re not doing this.”

“We’ll just leave the house, Martin,” Hamzah said.

“We’re locking the two of you in,” the brunette replied. “You’re not getting out this easy. The way you two absolutely despise each other pisses us off. So, you’re both not leaving until you have established some sort of mutual camaraderie or something like it. Understand?” You and Hamzah stood up from the table in protest, but it was too late, Mandy and Martin left the house in sync, locking the door from the outside. The two of you were trapped, together and alone, for an uncomfortable, inestimable amount of hours. You let out a sigh of pure frustration, understanding that the following couple of hours were going to be the most uncomfortable and angry you had felt in a while.

“Well, shit,” Hamzah said, sitting back down and folding his arms across his broad chest.

You rolled your eyes. “This is fucking ridiculous,” you said. “There’s no way I’m doing this.” You get up and pace the wooden floor, head lowered as you think of all the ways you could escape Hamzah and his brown-eyed gaze that you could feel following your every move.

“Oh, come on,” he said, standing up from his seat. He moved in front of you, blocking your path, looking down at you with a facetious smirk that boiled your blood. “It can’t be that bad.”

“Oh, trust me,” you said, maneuvering around the larger man. “It can and it is.” Hamzah reached out, fast as lightning, and grabbed your forearm. The slight touch sent undeniable shivers down your spine, which you hated. He turned you around to face him, the two of you inches from one another. You gazed down at his hand, still wrapped around your forearm.

“Am I really that detestable to you, y/n?” he asked, voice at a decibel so low you had to crane your ears to even hear him. The inches between the two of you began closing, his eyes—so brown they looked black—drawing you closer. Dark, seductive images flitted through your mind: Hamzah’s large hands gripping your waist, his lips on your neck, hands fisting your hair, gripping your throat, touching your cunt. Shocked, you wretch your forearm out of his grasp.

“Yes,” you breathed out, chest heaving, mind reeling from your stupid imagination and wandering mind. “You are that detestable.”

“Really?” Hamzah asked, voice no louder than a whisper. You realized as your back hit the wall that he had backed you into a both physical and mental corner. You gulped as he drew closer and closer. “Because—I think—you like to think of me as something more than just detestable.”

“I don’t like to think of you at all, Hamzah,” you said, skin burning as his dark eyes remained locked on yours, unyielding in their direct gaze.

“You don’t?” he said, scoffing. He leaned closer, lips practically brushing yours. His large hands maneuver to grip your waist, and you don’t even try to stop him. “Not at all, huh. Not even at night, when you’re alone in your bed.” His grip on your waist tightened and shockwaves of undeniable pleasure flash through your spine like needles. “Cause I do. All the fucking time.” You look up at him, eyes widened in shock. He curses, the grip on your waist tightening so hard you thought it would bruise. “Don’t,” he said, voice rough and gravely. “Don’t fucking look at me like that…or I’m going to do something we both will regret.”

You had never expected to feel this way about Hamzah. But seeing him—a man so stupid and narcissistic and haughty—reduced to this…reduced to a quivering mess of a man with needy desperation written all over him, you felt that you couldn’t help yourself. You whimpered as your core tightened. Your back brushed the wall and Hamzah leaned impossibly closer, chest brushing against your own.

“Tell me,” he said. “Tell me you don’t want this.” You froze, the repeated words brushing your lips, bubbling up inside you. But you couldn’t lie. You couldn’t say them. For deep down inside you, in a place you had buried since you got to know him, lay the dirty, red-hot truth. You wanted him too, equally as bad. Your shaking hands, puppeteered not by your brain, but by that stupid feeling deep in your heart, reached up to intertwine behind Hamzah’s neck, grasping at the delicate curls at his nape. Hamzah’s eyes widened at the realization that you weren’t backing away.

“I can’t,” you confessed. Hamzah, lips quivering with desire, leaned closer, brushing your soft and plush mouth with his own. Unable to contain your palpitating desire, you tightened your grip on his curls and pulled him into you, pressing your lips violently together. Your lips locked together, a wet mess of tongue and spit as you desperately clung to each other. Hamzah’s hands ran up and down your body, unsure of what part of you he wanted to touch first, desperate for everything, all at once. He separated from your lips, and you let out a needy, unfiltered whine at the lack of contact. Hamzah began kissing down your neck, suckling on that sweet spot behind your ear that made you cry out in pleasure.

“You have no idea,” he whispered, in between open-mouthed kisses planted on your neck. “You have no fucking idea what you do to me.” You whimpered at the blunt confession, hands yanking at his curls. His hands grabbed at your ass, lifting you up effortlessly as you wrapped your legs around his waist. Hamzah roughly pushed you up against the wall, lips connecting with your own again. You yanked at his t-shirt and he paused his motions, pulling it over his head and throwing it somewhere in the room. You came face-to-face with his body, ribbed and muscular from his time in the gym, while also maintaining enough tummy to make your thighs squeeze together. You mirror his movements, pulling your tanktop off and shucking your sweats down your legs, leaving you in your bra and underwear. Hamzah looks at you starstruck.

“Holy shit,” he whispered, reaching to grasp at your covered tits. “You’re even prettier than I imagined.” You giggled slightly, a gesture that never occurred to you would happen with Hamzah. Hamzah sunk down to his knees, leaving little kisses along your stomach and the underside of your tits. Kissing and biting your inner thighs, he dragged your underwear down your legs, mouth agape as you came face-to-face with your soaking cunt. He looked up at you with wide eyes, pupils dilated, and you felt your knees weaken. Hamzah grabbed one of your thighs after the other, wrapping your legs around his shoulders practically sitting on him, leaning against the wall. He continued to leave little kisses along your legs, suckling purple bruises onto your inner thighs.

“Hamzah–” you whine, tightening your grip in his curls.

“Use your words, y/n,” he said, looking up at you through his thick eyelashes.

“I need you,” you say, your desperation overwhelming your embarrassment and confusion. Hamzah smirked up at you, before shoving his head deep between your thighs. He licked a long strip up your folds, holding eye contact with you, before circling his tongue around your clit. As his tongue connected with your sensitive bud, you let out a long moan, head tilting back against the wall. Hamzah ate you out like it was his last meal, licking, sucking, and slurping your juices in a constant state of desperation for more. You felt yourself coming closer and closer to your climax, hands tightening his hair as his nose rubbed deep into your clit. You came with a cry, legs shaking around his head as you shuddered and convulsed, white spots bedazzling your vision.

Hamzah lifted you up, wrapping your legs back around his waist and kissed you, mouth stained with your juices. You tasted yourself on his tongue and moaned at the feel of his tongue poking its way into your mouth.

“God, you’re so fucking sexy,” he whispered. “You have no idea how bad I wanted you.”

“Hamzah—” you panted. “I need you inside of me.” He reached down into his pants, pulling out his hard member, stroking it a few times before rubbing it up and down your wet folds. He slid into you with a gasp, the two of you moaning at the feel of him sheathed inside of you. He began slowly thrusting in and out of you, the stretch of his thick cock inside your cunt drawing whimpers from deep in your throat. While your eyes rolled back into your head from the pleasure, Hamzah never broke eye contact.

“God, you’re such a fucking slut,” he said. “You hate me, huh?”

You whimper in response.

“Yeah, you hate me…but you’re still here, being fucked by this cock, huh?” You couldn’t respond, the only sound flowing from you being heady whines and high-pitched moans. You felt yourself inching closer towards another release, one of your hands reaching between your legs to rub your clit. One of Hamzah’s hands wrapped around your throat, squeezing slightly, you realized with a jolt that he was holding you up with one hand. The fact that this man could hold you up and fuck you so good with just the strength of one arm made your core tighten.

“I–I’m gonna cum, Hamzah,” you manage to cry out, dangerously tipping on the precipice of release.

“Oh, yeah?” Hamzah responded breathlessly. “You gonna cum, baby? Shit. Cum for me, pretty girl.” You cum with a strangled yelp falling from your lips. 

“Good girl,” Hamzah moaned out, hips beginning to stutter. “Good girl, so pretty, so fucking pretty for me.” Your hands grabbed onto his curls tightly, yanking as you came down from your high. The feel of his dark strands being pulled so tightly sent Hamzah over the edge. Hips stuttering as he came, head buried deep into your neck, he let out a flurry of whimpers and praises. The two of you sat there for a minute, Hamzah breathing heavily into your neck. Just then, you heard the jangle and clank of keys outside of the door. Hamzah’s eyes locked onto yours, wide with shock and fear.

“Shit,” you say. Untangling your limbs, the two of you rushed to dress in five seconds flat. You threw yourselves onto the couch, sitting on opposite ends just as Mandy and Martin opened the door and returned.

“The cinema was closed, guys,” Martin announced as he took off his coat and boots, Mandy close behind him. “Did you at least make up though?”

“Yeah, we did,” Hamzah responded, voice still rough and breathless. The couple finally came into your view, cheeks and ears red from the outside wind. You knew that the two of you were a strange sight: clothes rumpled, cheeks flushed with embarrassment and something dirtier. You also knew that, ever the observer, it would be Mandy to notice.

“Oh my god!” she said, covering her shocked face with a hand. “OH MY GOD, MARTIN!” She yanked on his sleeve, jumping up and down.

“What?!” he asked. “I don’t get it.”

“They fucked, holy shit, they fucked,” she laughed and giggled, jumping up and down with glee. “You owe me a hundred dollars, Martin.”

[phosph-ate]

Hide Away

Dr. Phosphorus x GN!Reader

Summary: Dr. Phosphorus has you feeling things. You are sure these feelings are one-sided, but after hiding from your feelings you come to realize that is not true.

CW: Suggestive themes, 18+, dry humping, biting, you get freaky in a closet, rick refers to you as kid, you are immune to dr phosphorus but no other details of how/what you are is given, no beta.

WC: 0.8k

A/N: divider by cafekitsune. this is just a random idea; I wanted to get freaky in a closet with the skeleton thus this was born. I do plan on making maybe a little series for phosphorus x reader... And maybe a p2 for this with maybe a fem and male reader... idk I'm bouncing ideas around right now. Also, side note, I've only ever written reader inserts or character x oc, and this show has me wanting to do character x character fics... anyway, let's goooo!

You were crumbling. Fast.

You watched Dr. Phosphorus from across the room. Your eyes wandered from his face to his ribs, down to his belt. You needed to know what he was like. What he felt like. You needed him.

“Are you okay?” Nina nudged you.

“Uh,” You looked away from the man you were swooning over. You were hot. Everything was so hot. “I just need some fresh air.��

You turned away from Nina and walked down the hall. As you continued, thoughts plagued you. The glances you would share with Phosphorus, the small touches here and there. It was driving you insane. You figured you could not say anything. So you kept your thoughts to yourself.

You, on autopilot, found a closet and quickly entered it. You needed to get your mind off of him, and immediately. Once you realized you were in a fucking closet, you had to think of a gameplan to get to your room. Maybe you could handle the situation yourself.

You sat down, back against the wall, and shut your eyes tight. The only source of light coming into the room was from under the door. Other than that, you sat in the dark. You sucked in air and placed your head in your hands. Your world was spinning, leaving you to not notice the door opening.

“This is your idea of getting some fresh air?” The closet door shut and suddenly it was not completely dark in the room. You could definitely make out Dr. Phosphorus.

“Oh!” You jumped and tried to scoot further back but realized you could not get any closer to the wall. “I was just- I’m thinking!” You ended up snapping at him.

“About…-”

You could not handle it anymore. “About you!” You tried to keep your voice down. You groaned and hugged yourself. “It’s always you…” You huffed. “I want- No, I need to know what it’s like-”

“What do you need to know?” Oh, he was smug.

“Everything!” You stood up and looked at him, really looked at him. “I want to feel you; I want you to touch me! Dr. Phosphorus-”

“Call me Alex.” He corrected you.

Your face was burning now. Your eyes widened and you sucked in air. “Alex,” You were begging, “I need you.”

You thought he was smug before. He stepped towards you and his hands reached for you. “Are you sure?” He sounded like he was trying hard to compose himself. To keep himself from pouncing on you.

You nodded, “I’ve never needed anything more in my entire fucking life.” Your voice was barely above a whisper. Dr. Phosphorus grabbed you. His hands grabbed your hips, and he pulled you close to him. You were pressed against the wall, and he stared at you. At least, you were sure that was what he was doing. “Can I kiss you?” You begged.

“Please.” It was his turn to beg. You kissed him, gently on the cheek. You began to pepper kisses across his face and your eyes shut. You moved slightly, getting a better angle, and Dr. Phosphorus moaned. His grip on you tightened and you rubbed your hips into his. He let out a whine.

It was music to your ears.

“I’ve been thinking about you too.” His voice was husky. “Every time you laugh-” He continued, and you stopped kissing him and your head fell back from pleasure, “-and you lean back, I just want to-” He could not control himself anymore. His hips bucked into yours while you kept grinding against him and his teeth scraped your throat.

An airy noise escaped you and your eyes shut tight. You grabbed his coat and held on, knuckles turning colors from your grip. “Do that again. Please, Alex.” You whined. Dr. Phosphorus obliged. His teeth biting at your exposed skin, dragging from your throat to your collarbone.

Chills ran up your spine and you moaned. A little too loudly.

A fist banged on the closet door and neither of you responded. The door swung open. “What the fuck!?” Rick shouted. You ignored him. You felt too good to care.

Dr. Phosphorus kept grinding against you, his grip on you becoming bruising. And then, suddenly, there was nothing. Dr. Phosphorus was ripped from you and thrown out of the closet. You stood there, shocked and horny.

“We’ll continue this later,” Dr. Phosphorus reassured you.

Rick ran a hand through his hair and groaned. “Not in a fucking closet you won’t!” He snapped. “Come on out, kid.” He motioned for you to leave the closet.

“Can I get some fresh air now?” You looked at Rick in a daze.

“As long as you don’t get caught with him outside.” Rick glared at Dr. Phosphorus.

You nodded. You definitely needed to think. And, if Phosphorus was not pulling your leg about continuing later, you could wait for release.

[cupidologys]

⸻ THE PRINCE(SS) & THE PROTECTOR

pairing: zoro x reader

word count: 3.5k

synopsis:  being in love with zoro is not for the weak, especially when such a love is unrequited. so it is all the more confusing when a certain pirate refuses to let you go when you decide to give your heart a break and leave the crew for good.

note: i really need to stop writing zoro fics with an arranged marriage and bodyguard/protector type premise. with that being said… enjoy xoxo

(also yes this is part ONE. here is the link to PART TWO)

+ + + + + + + + + + + +

Thunderstorms are the perfect weather conditions for silent rumination. You isolate yourself in a corner of the ship, eyes closed as rainwater glides down your face in cool streams. With a smile, you breathe in the scent of salt and earth that mingles with the southern winds. 

The crew is below deck, sheltered from the downpour and crackling lightning that splits the skies every so often. They’re all asleep and have been for a while now. You are the outlier. The strange one that decided to sit between a storm and the sea during the devil’s hours. Funnels of black clouds swirl angrily above you as it continues to pour. Your clothes, hair, everything is drenched. Soaked down to the very bones—some particularly weary ones. 

You relish the feeling of the water against your skin for another moment, reviving yourself from the bleak reflections plaguing your mind. By the time you make it inside, a decision was made. 

The next morning, faint sunlight filtered by sparse clouds light up the horizon in hues of soft orange and calm yellow. The water is still. Steady. Almost as if it had forgotten its role as a tempest’s plaything mere hours ago. It’s early. Much too early for most of the crew to be awake, but you can hear a faint tinkering from Usopp’s room and the steady footsteps of another member coming up the stairs to the upper deck.

A familiar silhouette appears in your vision. 

“Morning, Robin,” you say. 

The archaeologist comes to stand next to you and nods. “Good morning. You’re up early.”

“Had a lot on my mind. Doesn’t leave much room for sleep,” you point out. 

“Did you get any?”

“Some.”

She raises a brow, unconvinced. 

“About an hour's worth,” you shrug. 

An arm sprouts up from the railing you’re leaning on. It holds out a mug of steaming coffee. You take the cup gratefully. The smooth liquid warms you up in the crisp autumn air. Robin takes a sip of her own drink before responding. 

“What’s the verdict?” She asks. 

“I’ve decided to go.”

She sighs. “That’s it then. I understand there’s no point in trying to change your mind?”

You shake your head sadly. The past few weeks of turmoil and trepidation cemented that certainty. You can’t stay. Not when the fate of a nation falls on your shoulders… and certainly not with feelings as forbidden as the ones you harbour. 

“Is it because of him?”

“No. No,” you emphasize at Robin's doubtful expression. 

“Don’t lie,” she chides. 

You grimace. “Well, not entirely because of him.”

Robin scans the calm horizon with watchful eyes, a storm of thoughts whirling into action behind that piercing gaze of hers. The archaeologist has always been the most logical out of the crew, favouring rationality over emotion. It is the trait you admire most about Robin and the reason why you sought her counsel specifically, choosing to confide in her—and only her—about the decision you faced. 

“He deserves to know,” she says softly. 

You stiffen, the mere thought making your throat tighten up with anxiety. You shake your head, effectively ending the conversation. At the perfect time too, as one by one the rest of the crew pad up the stairs, ready to start the day. 

Luffy first, bounding up the steps with a large grin. Nami follows, then everyone trickles through the doors. Zoro is last. 

The swordsman yawns and stretches his arms behind his head, taut muscles glistening under the morning sun. He opens one eye, peeking at you from under sleepy lids. Your heart clenches at the lazy smile he greets you with. 

This is going to be difficult. 

“Mornin’,” Zoro mumbles, stifling another yawn behind his fist. 

The rest of the crew bustles about, running around the deck in preparation for the day ahead. You hear Luffy’s excited laugh somewhere in the background followed by familiar shouts of concern and beratement from Nami, Sanji and Usopp, each taking turns to scold the captain’s latest—and no doubt foolish—idea. Whatever it may be. 

The noise and chaos fades away the moment Zoro walks up to you, his warmth surrounding you despite the cold morning temperature. It makes it near impossible for you to focus on much else. Anything else. 

“Hey,” you say. 

He frowns, eyes scanning your face. You resist the urge to touch it, anxious. Was there something on your face? A pimple? An eyelash? 

“What? What is it?” You ask, nerves alight. 

“Did you stay up late?”

You blink, caught off guard. Did you really look that tired?

“Yes,” you answer plainly. There’s no point in trying to hide it from him. “I couldn’t sleep.”

Zoro arches a brow. “Why not?” Concern laces the question. You almost crumble, seconds away from confessing the truth you’ve been hiding for weeks, when someone barrels into Zoro, knocking him over and effectively ending your conversation. 

Luffy, unfazed, pops up onto his feet and dusts himself off, his signature toothy smile never having left his face. Despite his right-hand man groaning on the ground next to him, Luffy seems as chipper as ever. 

“Sorry, Zoro!” He apologizes, not sounding very sorry at all. 

“I… hate… you…” Zoro grunts, still recovering from having the wind knocked out of him. 

Luffy only laughs it off and runs back to the rest of the crew, chattering about some new adventure that is bound to be more effort than it is worth. 

“You okay?” You press your lips together in an attempt to stifle a laugh. 

Zoro takes the hand you offer, warm palm wrapping around your own. You can feel rough calluses against your skin—a testament to his training. You pull him up and watch him steady himself. He doesn’t let go of your hand. Nervous, you break contact first. 

He shoots you a puzzled look, but decides against commenting on it. 

“I will be once I knock him upside the head.”

“Let’s not give the poor boy brain damage.”

Zoro snorts. “You mean more than he already has?”

You laugh, the sound almost entirely concealed by a burst of raucous shouts coming from the other side of the deck. Curious, you begin walking over to the crew. Zoro follows suit with his hands in his pockets. As the two of you make your way across the ship’s expanse, the sight of Nami and Luffy arguing comes into view. The others stand off to the side, exasperation and amusement colouring their expressions. 

“It’s too risky!”

“It’ll be fine, why are you being so boring?”

“I am trying to keep us from getting killed,” Nami seethes. Her face is set in a tight scowl that twists her features into something alarmingly frightening. You haven’t seen her this angry in quite some time. 

“Not if we’re careful,” Luffy defends. The captain looks bored and irritated at the same time. 

Nami’s right eye twitches.  

Oh dear. 

“And since when are you careful?” 

“I’m not. But [name] is.” Your captain jerks a thumb in your direction. 

All heads swivel to look at you. 

You raise your palms up, placating. “I… just got here.”

Nami runs up to you, eyes pleading. The ginger-haired woman grabs your shoulders and gently shakes you. 

“Please knock some sense into him!”

You tilt your head and lean to the left in order to peek at Luffy from behind Nami’s frame. The boy scratches the back of his head with a toothy grin. 

“Would you care to explain, Captain?” You ask bemusedly. 

Luffy’s eyes dance with mischief. “We’ve got a mission!”

It’s Zoro that steps in this time. “Just the two of you?”

“Well, yeah,” Luffy answers plainly. 

You gently pry Nami’s hands off. “Why?” 

“You’re the only one who knows the layout of the place,” he explains. 

You frown. “What place?”

“Aracorn Palace,” Robin interjects. There’s a small smile on her face as she watches the situation unfold. Always assessing. Always dissecting. 

Aracorn… such a familiar name. It takes a second before a sliver of memory tickles the edges of your mind. An image forms; one of a mighty castle built from silver and stone erected in the heart of a powerful city. 

You used to travel there for important delegations and social banquets. Luffy is right. You do know the area well. 

“We’re going there? What for?”

“And why only the two of you?” Zoro questions. 

“To be stealthy,” Luffy grins. 

“Right. Stealthy. You.” Zoro stares, unconvinced. 

Luffy ignores his second-in-command. “We’re going to go rescue someone. He’s being kept in the dungeons.”

So many questions. 

“Who is it?”

Robin, again, speaks up. “His name is not important. He may not even own such a thing. His role as an ex-member of an underground information guild named Kleios is what makes him useful to us. An execution date has been set for tomorrow evening, so if we are to save the man, we must do it soon.”

“Well? What do you say?” Luffy's enthusiasm is palpable. 

The rest of the crew watches you, assuming that you would wave it off. The danger is obvious, and you are—among most instances—level headed enough to pull the plug when needed. 

One last adventure. 

You surprise them. 

“I’m in.”

✧ ˚ 　· 　　 . 　  

You should have known it wouldn’t be easy. In fact, you should have known that the entire plan would fall apart because of course it did. Nothing ever seems to go right for the crew. Right now you curse such rotten luck. Although… it isn’t even luck, not really. It’s the captain… Zoro… Nami… Sanji… the whole lot of them! No matter how organized—how meticulous—a plan was, it never actually fucking went to plan. You suppose you’ll miss it. That unmanned chaos. You suppose you’ll miss all of it. As for who you’ll miss most…

“Zoro!” You stare up at the swordsman in both relief and horror. He dangles from a rope ladder, cascaded off the side of a strange looking vehicle—one with wings and whirring motors that suspend its large metal body in the open air. Usopp sits in the pilot seat manning the impressive contraption. Sweat beads on his forehead from concentration. The others are likely protecting the ship from the nation’s naval cavalry. 

 You increase your pace despite the burning sensation in your lungs. Hot on your heels is a stretch of armed guards mixed with strange looking creatures that look to be a gruesome mismatch of different animals—both natural and mythological. 

Chimeras. 

Luffy, for once, listened and fled alongside you when shit hit the fan—albeit with extreme reluctance. The captain was able to deal with the first rush of soldiers and their Chimera, but the monster was vicious and even Luffy struggled. That was a mere one. The royal guard owned five. And all of them, snapping their fanged teeth and snarling in hunger, are quickly closing the distance between themselves and you—their prey. 

The prisoner was long dead. The whole thing was a trap designed to ensnare the Straw Hats, and Luffy and you had walked straight into it. By the time you both realized you had been played, the cavalry had already surrounded you. Thankfully, Luffy was the master of creative escapes. He was not, however, a master of subtle ones. What was originally one guard unit and its accompanying Chimera quickly turned into all of them chasing after you in a vicious frenzy. 

“Don’t engage! We’ll come to you!” You shout towards Zoro, urging him to stay aboard. You can see a sort of panic in his eyes, mottled by excitement. He’s itching to fight. But doing so would be his biggest mistake yet and likely his last as well if he does not heed your words. 

The murderous soldiers are practically breathing down your necks, and even with Luffy trying to fend off as many as possible, you will quickly be overwhelmed by the strength of the Chimeras. The monsters growl and roar as their heavy steps thunder behind you, bloodlust practically soaking them through. If Zoro abandoned the ladder and tried to fight them off… it would be sheer suicide. You won’t let that happen.

Luffy manages to stretch out and grab hold of Zoro in the near distance. With a yell, he swings himself up and grabs you along the way. You yelp, the sudden movement catching you off guard. You shut your eyes as the wind whips you in the face. With a soft thud you land against a warm mass.

Zoro catches you, arms encircling your waist. 

“Are you okay?” He murmurs into your ear. 

You sag into him from relief. “Yes. Is Luffy…?”

“He’s completely fine,” Zoro smirks. 

Luffy, who is sprawled across the floor, gives you two thumbs up in reassurance. You can’t help but laugh. 

“Usopp! Take us away.”

The pilot gives you a smile and a salute before he presses a button and pulls the wheel up. Slowly, you feel the contraption tilt upwards. Smooth and steady. 

CRASH!

Out of nowhere, you and the rest of the crew are violently thrown to the left as something punctures the metal wall of the vehicle and jerks the entire thing back. Before you go slamming into the wall, Zoro twists himself around and cushions the blow. 

“What the hell?” Zoro’s grip on you tightens protectively.

A strange red pincer curls into the crumpled sheet that—just a moment ago—was the side hull. It looks to be the same sort of armour that is found upon the back of a crab, except it bears a darker color. Not unlike a deep pool of blood. Its shape is almost identical to that of a scorpion's tail but riddled with sharp ridges that cover its surface. The thing is the size of your head—a grotesque limb extended from one of the Chimeras, no doubt. 

Zoro and Luffy both immediately jump into action, the former slicing at the pincer while Luffy tries brute force. Neither works. Solid and unbending, the pincer trembles then stills. The next second you are staring into the howling winds and open space. The army roars beneath you, fifty feet below. The ugly beast with the scorpion tail isn’t finished. It narrows its beady eyes and with astonishing speed, it whips its tail upwards, spearing the floor. 

Usopp does his best to recenter, managing to keep everyone upright and away from the gaping hole left by the ripped wall.

“Shit,” Zoro hisses. “The damn thing is too tough. I can’t cut through.”

“I can’t rip it out!” Luffy frowns, throwing punch after fruitless punch at the immovable pincer. 

Panic threatens to overwhelm you.

Shit, shit, shit. Shit!

Something glints in the corner of your vision. A solution strikes you and you scramble towards a device on the floor. 

“The laser cutter! I can–” but your voice is lost to the bellowing winds as the monster yanks its tail once more, causing the entire machine to shake. You fumble with the device and clumsily clasp it in your trembling hands. Vertigo strikes you as you look down for a split second. 

The ground is nearing at an alarming rate.

It’s too close. Too—

Zoro jumps. 

“NO!” You reach out in an attempt to pull him back but you're too late. The fabric of his shirt slips out of your grasp and Zoro goes tumbling down—straight into the unhinged maw of the monster below. 

You aren’t sure if the screams piercing the air are your own or if they belong to the dying men below. With fluid ease, Zoro manages to sidestep the beast. He dives into the mass, slashing through their ranks. It is beyond impressive. 

But it is not enough. 

The Chimeras have zoned in, their attention drawn to Zoro. Snarling and snapping, they circle their prey. 

Its suicide. 

“No…”

Luffy steps forward, ready to leap into the chaos, when familiar shouts sound from below. 

The rest of the crew are here. 

You collapse in relief, adrenaline draining from your body. 

He’s okay.

✧ ˚ 　· 　　 . 　  

“This is such a stupid fight,” you sigh. 

“This isn’t a fight,” Zoro frowns, unnerved by the very idea of arguing with you. 

Sanji pipes up. “It sounds like a fight.”

Nami pinches him by the ear and drags the chef out of the kitchen, scolding him as he protests and apologizes. 

“But Nami! They’re in my workspace!”

You and Zoro both ignore him, too preoccupied with the argument at hand. 

“I saved your life. His too. If anything, you should be thanking me.”

You scoff in disbelief. “I’m not going to thank you for your recklessness.”

“And I won’t apologize for it,” Zoro says firmly. 

“You’re going to get yourself killed one day! I refuse to stick around and watch it happen.”

He freezes as he catches onto the underlying meaning behind your words. “What do you mean by that?”

“I…” you hesitate, unprepared for this conversation. You didn’t mean to let news of your departure slip out. This isn’t how it was supposed to go. You’re both too agitated. Too riled up. 

“What do you mean by that?” He echoes. His voice is low and careful, tip toeing on the edge between urgency and trepidation. 

You want to turn around. Walk away. Lie. 

But this is Zoro. A man you entrust with your life and, occasionally, your heart as well. Secrets don’t belong in your relationship—as muddled as it is—and they will only consume what trust you have forged through the years. 

It is time to bear the truth in front of the most terrifying witness. 

With a rough swallow, you tell him everything. Your plan to leave the crew, to retain your birthright, and to finally settle your country’s score, once and for all, by bringing peace through union. A marriage between royal heirs. You and a foreign prince. 

You can’t look at him as the secret you’ve been harbouring finally spills over your lips like oil. If you look at him, you’ll cry. 

“…I leave in two weeks,” you finish. You’re still staring at the ground, heart racing a mile a minute. 

There’s no answer. Silence stretches on for a while, so quiet a person’s breath could be mistaken for thunder. So cloying, it stains your lungs. Finally, you can’t take it anymore. You snap your head up, ready to demand a reply from the swordsman, but the look on Zoro’s face wipes anything you have to say from memory. 

Shock, anger, disappointment, sadness. Those are all too shallow of description for the depth of what he is feeling. The best he settles on is desperation. An intensely unpleasant anxiety that borders on panic. That is what currently thrums in his veins. 

You’re leaving…?

“You won’t change my mind Zoro.”

He doesn’t answer. 

“Nothing will,” you add softly. 

Especially not him. 

This is your goal—your dream. He can’t take that away from you no matter how much he resents it. He simply can’t. But he can be angry, can’t he? He deserves that anger. Needs it to keep him sane. But before he can articulate it, you speak up again, turning the subject back to the argument before. 

“The point is you’re too rash.”

He’s barely listening. “It’s my job.”

“No,” you reply firmly. “No it’s not. You put that title on yourself—placed that burden on your own shoulders, never asking for a hand. Not even when so many would offer.”

“I don’t need help. I protect my friends. That’s what I do,” he grits out. 

“Even at your own expense?”

“Yes.”

You scoff in disbelief. “It's idiotic.”

“It’s my duty.”

“So you say!” You throw your hands up, exasperated and frustrated. “But that’s not all it is, is it? You fear losing that part of yourself—the protector, the bodyguard, the shield—because you would lose yourself in the process. Your entire life—your purpose—does not revolve around meaningless self-sacrifice and protecting us from a world we choose to exist in!”

He scoffs in sheer disbelief. “And you? What exactly is your role? Don’t you dare stand there and attempt to psychoanalyze me when you’re just a damn coward!”

You suck in a sharp breath, his words striking deep. “I am not a coward.”

“Then why the hell are you running away?!”

“Running? Running?!”

He nods, jaw clenched. He avoids looking straight at you—at the hurt in your eyes. “Yes. The only thing you know how to do.”

Anger replaces hurt. “You fucking hypocrite,” you spat out.

He shakes his head. “I’m just calling it like I see it.” 

“You are nothing without your so-called duty,” you hiss. “So you do not get to judge mine.”

“Is that why you abandoned it in the first place? I wonder where this valiant change of heart came from.”

“You could never understand.”

He drops his gaze to the floor and takes a heavy step back. Zoro can barely look at you. “You’re right. I could never understand turning my back on people who needed me.”

Those are the last words he says to you. The next morning, you are gone. All of your things and belongings cleared from your room—like you had never existed on the ship in the first place. 

[anto-pops]

Possessive Touch - Sebastian Sallow x Female!Reader

Summary: Sebastian has never been the sharing sort. He was happy to loan people notes or quills, maybe even the occasional book from the Restricted Section. But not you. Never you. 

Alternatively summarized as Sebastian acting incredibly possessive after watching you hug someone else and then staking his claim on you the only way he can.

Word Count: 3.4k

Warnings: 18+, aged up characters, explicit sexual content, possessive behavior, rough sex, yandere!Sebastian

Locked away in my drafts for months and unearthed by this ask I received. Everyone say thank you anon

Full fic can also be found here on Ao3 (with better tags as usual)

There were a number of words you could use to describe Sebastian Sallow. He was smart, loyal, and daring, to name a few. As brave as any Gryffindor and as insightful as any Ravenclaw, he had many positive attributes that you found to be remarkable. But every coin had two sides, and as much as you admired his more positive attributes, he could also be equally callous, brash, and vindictive when circumstances called for it. His moods fluctuated frequently and gave you whiplash half the time, because more often than not– despite it being accidental– you had a tendency to be the root cause of his emotional turbulence. 

You hadn’t meant for your conversation with Ominis to last for so long, much less for it to cut into your allotted study time with your boyfriend. The Gaunt scion had, in a moment of weakness, confided in you about the burdens of his personal life with a kind of desolate demeanor that tugged at your heartstrings and made you genuinely feel bad for him. You had lent him your ear for nearly an hour, and eventually your shoulder as he came to rest his head against it to embrace you in thanks. It was simply you comforting a friend; offering him a brief moment of reprieve from the dreary thoughts that had plagued him for Merlin knew how long before the two of you had gone your separate ways. Nothing more, nothing less. 

It had apparently looked like something more to Sebastian, though. He had been watching from the end of the Dark Arts Tower corridor with narrowed eyes, jealousy burning in his veins as he took in the sight of his girlfriend holding his former best friend in a manner he deemed reserved for him and him alone. You didn’t know how much of the exchange he had actually witnessed, but all that mattered was that he had seen the two of you hugging. Wracked with a silent yet palpable fury, Sebastian had dragged you down the steps of the Undercroft before tossing you into the room without a second thought, your protests and justifications falling on deaf ears. 

A new word came to mind to describe Sebastian shortly thereafter. One that scared you as much as it excited you. 

Possessive. 

His fingers had branded you as he’d stripped you bare, pressing and pulling incessantly against your clothes until you were clad in nothing but your undergarments and left shivering under the intensity of his stare. He had stretched you out along the cool stone floor, his hands holding you down without a measure of care while he touched whatever parts of you he could reach. Your breasts were tender and sore by now– no doubt covered with tiny fingertip sized bruises from the sheer strength of his groping. His breathing was heavy and tinged with the occasional grunt when he shifted his hips over yours, the telling bulge in his trousers more than likely causing him discomfort, but he paid it no mind as he took his time focusing on you. An unmistakable wetness had gathered between your legs despite the depravity, and as much as you wanted to clench your knees together to ease the rampant ache there, Sebastian’s own leg between yours prevented you from doing so. 

He was toying with you, that much was certain, and he was enjoying every blasted second of it. 

In response to your absentminded squirming, Sebastian moved so his knee was nestled directly against your core, the sudden pressure causing you to gasp and arch beneath him. He took advantage of your closer proximity and looped his arm under your back, holding you flush to him with a desperate sort of yearning that made you dizzy, and the way he inhaled your scent before groaning was almost primal.

A choked moan slipped from your lips as Sebastian ducked his head into the crook of your neck to bite and suck fervently, the pain laced pleasure blinding you to his true motives, but not for long. There was no doubt in your hazy mind that he was behaving so brutishly in some attempt to remind you of who you belonged to. Leaving visible marks would only further his intentions, and you found yourself whimpering as you trembled against the floor. 

After he bestowed a particularly playful nip against your marked flesh, Sebastian sat back on his haunches to admire his handiwork, taking in the sight of you dazed beneath him. You made quite the pretty picture; skin flushed, hair mussed, and an eclectic assortment of finger shaped lesions decorating your neck, breasts, and thighs. The knowledge that they had been put there by him only appealed to him more, and Sebastian hummed appreciatively at the sight. 

You, on the other hand, were coiled tighter than a spring. The Slytherin man had been edging you like this for what seemed like an eternity, but it realistically could only have been half an hour or so. Time was something of an illusion at present, and all you could truly focus on was your ardent need for release. The fiery sensation that stayed stubbornly aflame in your lower stomach was beginning to drive you mad, and you gazed longingly up at Sebastian, who in turn bit his lip at your watery stare. 

“Please, Sebastian,” you implored him, voice catching. His hands trailed down your chest and over your pert nipples before eventually settling on either side of your waist. Then with a grip tighter than Devil’s Snare, he tugged you harder against his knee with a wicked smile, forcing a low groan from your throat in response to the friction that he seemed to revel in. “Please.”

“I don’t know what you’re begging for,” he admonished in a low voice. “You’re going to have to be more specific, darling.”

Fuck, he was still upset. That much was obvious to you. It was evident in his tone, in the way his fingers dug sharply into the skin of your lower back– but mostly it was his eyes. The usual spark that danced behind his irises when he was with you was dull, and his gaze was anything but soft. It was hard and unyielding, cold and unfeeling. You were going to have to talk your way out of this one. 

Licking your chapped lips, you did your best to still your writhing as you grit through your teeth, “I need you. I can’t take any more of this, please Sebastian.” 

Both of his hands left your waist then. One of them braced flat against the floor to support himself while the other curled under your neck, pulling your head off of the ground to press your forehead against his own. The unrelenting pressure against your cunt didn’t lessen as he hunched over you and forced you to stare directly into those dark, greedy eyes of his, and you whimpered pitifully beneath him as he took in the delicious expression you bore. “Is it really me you need, or would any man do, hm? Should I fetch Ominis? Let the two of you continue where you left off earlier? Or maybe you’d prefer Garreth instead– your standards seem to be all over the place, so I wouldn’t be surprised.” 

“N-No–” you stammered around the word when his fist clenched painfully in the hair at the nape of your neck. “Just you– only you– I swear, we were only talking earlier–”

“That’s not what it looked like from where I was standing…” he muttered darkly, releasing your head and letting it thunk back against the floor softly. His hand was akin to molten fire as it trailed along your clavicle before he moved his thumb to lightly brush across your bottom lip. You barely had time to take note of the movement before he dove forward to capture your lips in a heady, domineering kiss that stole your breath from you completely, and all you could do was mewl softly when you felt his tongue sweep along the inside of your mouth. Sebastian groaned into the kiss, cupping the side of your jaw with his hand as he shifted his knee away from your core to give him the space he needed to drop his hips and grind his solid manhood against your thigh. He broke away for a split second to breathe out, “Say it again.” 

It was hard to get a word out with how ferociously Sebastian was kissing you, but eventually his mouth trailed wetly to the side of your face to suck another mark into the skin below your ear, and you managed to gasp out, “Just you, Sebastian. There’s only you, I love you.” 

The sound of his nails scraping against the stone floor beside your head drew your attention, but before you could roll your head to look, he was sitting up once more with a new sort of emotion glinting in his eyes. Those brown orbs of his were no longer flat or cold and instead appeared to be scalding with blatant lasciviousness, his want for you as potent as Firewhiskey. 

Through hooded eyes you watched as Sebastian reached for his belt, the sound of metal and leather coming undone filling you with a kind of urgency that left you biting the inside of your cheek hard enough to draw blood. Finally he would give you what you wanted– what you’d been craving from the moment he stripped you bare and pinned you to the floor. The version of your boyfriend above you hurriedly shoving his pants down his hips was unfamiliar to you; he seemed wholly animalistic, driven forth by some inherent, primitive need to claim you all for himself, and as much as you loathed his inability to rein in his jealousy at times, an equally intrinsic part of you craved his possessiveness. 

You were his, and he was yours. 

Freed from the confines of his trousers, Sebastian knocked your legs to the side so he had more room to situate himself between them. He slid his knees under your bent legs, caging the limbs under his arms as he ran his calloused palms down the tops of your thighs and the head of his cock slid through the overwhelming wetness that had gathered at your center. The rampant ache in your stomach roared back to life tenfold at the mere feeling of his thick shaft, and you twitched in anticipation while Sebastian fixed his lustful gaze on you. 

“That’s right,” he started to slide into your wet heat as he spoke, your mouth falling open around an airy groan at the sensation of being filled. “You’re mine. Everything you have to offer is for me and me alone, don’t you ever forget it.” 

Sebastian was stretching you out torturously slow, stuffing every inch of himself into you with a measure of control that went against his earlier behavior. He was utterly transfixed as he watched your chest rise and fall with panted breaths, and when he finally bottomed out with his hips flush to the backs of your thighs, a wanton groan ripped from your throat as your head fell to the side. Your hand shot up to push back against his lower stomach– silently trying to convey that you needed a moment to adjust– but Sebastian merely pulled his hips back and plunged back in, drawing a keen whimper from you that lit a fire in his blood. 

Overwhelmed tears pricked at the corners of your eyes as you struggled to breathe through the sheer size of him breaching you, and you threw your arm over your face to hide the sudden flush you felt heating your cheeks. “S-Sebastian, I can’t– ah–” 

His hands slid down your thighs to grip at your waist once again, pulling you impossibly closer to grind against your ass before he began pumping into you steadily. It stole your breath– all of it; the angle, his bruising hold on you, his pulsing cock brushing against the deepest parts of you. It was exquisite agony, and a quivering moan tore from your lips when he leaned forward to spear downward into you, the head of his shaft hitting something that made you jolt against him. 

Your arm fell away from your face in that instant, your fingers scrambling for purchase against the stone floor beneath you, to no avail. “F-Fuck, you’re too much– Sebastian!” 

With your neck tipped back and your eyes squeezed shut, you felt Sebastian lean forward to brace his elbows on either side of your head before grasping your cheeks in his large hands. He lifted your skull from the ground and held your forehead to his again, prompting you to look at him as he slowed his pace. He continued to drive his hips into yours, but the mind numbing intensity had mercifully lessened. 

“You’ll never do this with anyone else,” he said brusquely, his breath fanning across your lips. You could only moan in response, especially when he started to grind against you after each plunge of his cock. “This is all for me– every bit of you was made for me– do you understand?” 

The grating moans that had been sounding from you transformed into gentler ones, Sebastian’s wave-like movements with his hips delivering tantalizing friction against your clit that had you melting beneath him. You nodded dumbly, and your boyfriend released your face to sit up so he could better watch as you fell apart under him. With one hand on your waist and the other propping him up, Sebastian held fast to you while he upped his tempo, pistoning his hips into you so fast and rough that the wet sounds coming from where you were connected were all you could hear. 

More choked whimpers cascaded from your lips, sounding like an angelic symphony as far as Sebastian was concerned, and he threw his head back as he got lost in the sensation of your velvety walls clamping down on his cock. You could tell he was close based on how ragged his breathing became, and your own looming climax frayed the remaining tethers of your self-restraint. You surrendered completely to him, relishing in the overwhelming fullness of him as well as the scrape of the stone floor against your shoulder blades. Pain faded into pleasure, the cold air of the Undercroft transformed into a blazing inferno, and you swore you had never been so thoroughly fucked in your life. 

When Sebastian’s gaze fell back on you, his eyes darkened and he practically snarled as he bent you clean in half. He nudged your knees over his shoulders so he could wrap his arms around you, burying his fingers in your hair and clenching the strands in his fists, and as he rammed his cock into you harder– more feral and beastly than ever– the air in your lungs was expelled with every intoxicating thrust. 

All you could see, smell, hear, and feel was him. He had effectively rendered you brainless as he claimed your mind, body, and soul, and the only thing you could do was submit to him and take it. 

Your clammy hands blazed a trail along his skin as you wrapped your arms around him, your nails digging into his back so hard that it had to sting– but if Sebastian’s throaty groan was anything to go by, he fucking loved it. 

“Gods, it’s so deep, isn’t it?” he asked you, the words coming out in-between panted breaths. A shiver ran up your spine at the thought before you clenched around him even more, the unmistakable feeling of his cock hitting your cervix making you see stars. “I’ll come inside– fill you up so good that you’ll walk out of here with it dripping down your legs. See what everyone else has to say about that.” 

You couldn’t even formulate a response. The most you managed was a witless, muffled cry of his name against his shoulder, the weight of him pressing down on you smothering any of the unintelligible noises that escaped you. His rapid, uncompromising pace drove you higher than you had ever thought possible, and your climax steadily built from a whisper to a deafening clamor. 

“Ah– Sebastian, please–” you babbled, spittle hanging from your lips as you begged. “Please, please, please–” 

The hands he had fisted in your hair tightened even more, prompting you to crane your neck back to ease the prickling feeling. “Please what? Come on darling, tell me what you want.” 

The bestial way Sebastian fucked into you intensified in that moment, his toes digging into the stone floor to lend him the support he needed to chase his own pleasure while simultaneously amplifying yours. It was too much– it felt too good– and you had to fight tooth and nail to get the words out before his efforts left you a useless, twitching pile of limbs beneath him. “Please, let me come!” 

“Swear that you’re mine,” he growled in your ear, the rough timbre to his voice making you tremble in earnest. “Tell me that no one else will ever have you like this– swear it.” 

“I s-swear– I swear it– I’m yours, Sebastian. Only yours, I swear, please please please– I swear–” 

Sebastian said nothing else, instead rewarding your admission with a toe-curling roll of his hips as he plunged in all the way to the hilt. He kept moving like that, the chill-inducing friction against your clit combined with his sinfully precise, cervix-kissing thrusts more than enough to drag your finish from you. Your walls fluttered around him as you lost control of your voice, your entire body quaking and jolting as an assortment of moans, cries, and and airy gasps poured from your throat. 

“Fuck–” Sebastian swore roughly, both of his hands abandoning their hold on your hair to brace against the floor to better support his body as you seemingly sucked him in deeper. “Good girl, fuck– I’m close. You're going to take it all, yeah?”

There wasn’t a chance in hell you could respond– not that Sebastian was waiting for you to. With a husky groan, he pushed himself as deep into you as he could go, getting a few last thrusts in before he bottomed out and unraveled. Hot, potent strings of his seed painted your insides, causing your eyes to roll back in your head before he began rutting and grinding his hips into you to milk as much of himself as he could. You could barely hear him mumbling for you to take it all– not that it was even up for debate– and when he finally relented and stilled his movements, you were too dazed to so much as glance at him. 

A warm, featherlight feeling brought you back to the present after a couple of heated moments. Sebastian’s hands brushed a few stray strands of hair away from your forehead, his eyes unapologetically roving over you as he took in the sight of your fucked-out expression. He seemed pleased with himself, a barely there smirk revealing itself as he dropped his hand to your waist to dig his fingers into the bruised skin there. You inhaled sharply, but beyond that, you didn’t so much as wince. You were far too weary for that. 

“In the future,” he started to say as he rocked forward, pressing his still-hard length into you briefly before withdrawing halfway, only to repeat the motion again. “I’d rather you keep your hands to yourself when you’re with your ‘friends’. Especially where Ominis is concerned…” he trailed off, his hands skimming along all the love-bites and bruises that littered your body. “That is, unless you want more reminders as to who it is exactly you’re dating.” 

One look into Sebastian’s dark, piercing eyes told you that he wasn’t bluffing at all. You already knew that he was more than willing to stake his claim on you should the need arise, and part of you even wondered if he would have the decency to do so in private next time. 

Next time? Would there even be a next time? He had certainly made his point.

The pleasant ache that lingered throughout your body had you second guessing yourself, however, and you honestly wondered if it would be worth it to rile Sebastian up again in the future. As terrifying as the thought was, you couldn’t help but entertain it as you smiled up at him innocently, a flurry of unholy visions racing through your mind as you relished in the possessive way he continued to touch you. 

When he began to move his hips again, you decided to label the notion as a ‘maybe’ for now. Clearly he was far from finished with you, and despite the mildly terrifying side of him you had just been made privy to, you couldn’t help but shudder in anticipation. 

Maybe rousing the sleeping dragon again wouldn’t be such a terrible thing… right?