#throbs with this hollow ache

[butts-bouncing-on-the-beltway]

The worst feeling in the world was being mid motion and experiencing a muscle just spasming like a 13 year old at a black light themed dance party for a solid two minutes until suddenly every muscle in my torso and my entire intestinal tract relaxed like bitch what the FUCK was that and why did you decide to Crazy Frog your way to a sense of emotional and physical security?

I have spent the last five days in varying levels of pain from *curled up in the fetal position on the floor sobbing* to *dissociating to survive the day* and sleeping barely 3 hrs a night and absolutely nothing has helped, not ice packs, not hot baths, not my pain meds (otc or prescribed), not physio, nothing.

I drag myself to therapy today (bless wifey for driving my whimpery butt in) preparing to mumble my way thru a session and my therapist just listens like he has been, starts the same somatic work we've been doing for a month now, and within THIRTY GODDAMN MINUTES I FEEL FUCKING FINE??????

Therapist gently reminds me that you can't just turn on all the signals again after they got turned off for literally never not having sething wrong and expect to not be in pain. Right. Tuning into the body again means becoming aware of all the things that hurt. Becoming aware of all the things that hurt means having a panic response and trying to "survive" overwhelming and unliveable amounts of pain. I have to keep responding to and winding down that pain as well as my body's autonomic response, or all I'm doing is retraumatizing my system. Hahahahahaha. Fuck.

I fucking hate my flesh suit. It is the worst. Apparently I get to spend all day every day doing somatic exercises now or my body collapses in spasming horrors. Anyway, I feel like a fucking cement roller has been dancing the Moringa on my fucking spine, but at least I'm capable of lying down without screaming again.

Time for another round of stupid somatic body/breath work again I guess.

[screampied]

Imagine riding choso so good that he feels like he's the one who's going to get pregnant

☆ cw. fem! reader, reverse cowgirl, overstim, premature ejac, spanking, milkin’ him, breedīng, mdni.

“h- holy shit..” choso’s eyes widen, leaning back against his fluffed-out pillows. you’re straddling him in reverse, being in the prettiest fuckin’ arch he’d ever seen as you’re playfully wriggling your ass against him. just a few more centimeters and your dripping cunt would’ve been stuffed full of his aching cock. it’s veiny, and multiple veins throb from the lanky sides with pre-cum decorating his ruby tip. “you look so pretty in t.. this view,” he nearly choked on his breath, openly staring at the way your ass continued to still itself to hover over his length.

“tell me when to start, baby,” you softly hum, both hands of yours planting deep in the velveteen sheets. they create a print as your palms sink into the mattress, and your sopping cunt’s so teasing. with a tiny shimmy of your hips, you start to smear your entrance over his tip and you could hear him loudly sucking his teeth.

with a deep, protracted sigh, choso’s hand traces over the outline of your rear - so pretty. he stares at its shape from all angles before feeling his dick twitch the second you arch your back further. “you can start,” he shakily murmurs, and once you gradually start to plop yourself down on his cock he loses it. as his hooded eyelids start to droop, he lets off a soft whine once his cock’s slowly delving inside, pushin’ past the tight ring of your hollow entrance. “o- oh my god, your pussy’s gonna kill me.”

“hng-” you let off a quivering moan, biting the inside of your cheek once it takes him a few seconds to successfully bottom out. choso’s thick, and with the slight add of a prodding curve to his dick, you felt him expand everywhere. in you and through you.

he’s lean ‘n tall, easily fitting inside of your cunt like a puzzle piece.

choso’s got his bare hands glued to your hips the entire time, watching as your ass teasingly presents his pelvis with one big wet flop! choso groans, already feeling his knees starting to get weak at the stability of your greedy hips once you’re starting up a frenetic pace. “mhm, that’s it, baby. jus’ hold my hips.”

“god- you’re so hot,” he lets off a gruff huff, the tips of his ears burning over hundreds of degrees the moment you start to accelerate. your exposed backside was so pretty, especially in this position. choso stared at your jerking body - studying your tensing, flexing muscles and all of their glory. he can’t help but start to feel the inside of his mouth swelling up with salty saliva, and oh- he’s drooling already. “look back at me, princess. w- wanna see you while you ride me good.”

with a playful smile, you twist your torso just a bit to get a short glimpse of choso through your peripherals.

he’s so cute, slouched all the way back against the bed with the neediest pout plastered across his lips. he’s already sweating too - tears of sweat poured down the sides of his forehead and his usual ponytails were more unkempt than usual. “hi baby.” you mirthfully purr, and he grunts once he feels your rhythm starting to quicken. fuck, your hips were a menace.

“h…. hiii.” he hiccups, trying to smile but he only ends up moaning once his tip thrashes its way against your g-spot. right there, right-fuckin’-there, and you let off a small yelp. it’s so tender and choso starts to spasm underneath you. it was something about you riding him in reverse that made him lose his mind. the way you look back at him as you ride him to lewd oblivion, sexily tossing your hips in a circle with that cheeky grin on your sheeny lips—christ..

choso’s rock-hard abs through his white tee tenses against the fleecy fabric of his shirt and he moans. “f- fuck, don’t stop. don’t…fuckin’ stop—yeahhh, yeah like that,” and as your hips relentlessly smack back against him, nearly giving him whiplash, he whimpers. “ah. s- so warm inside, think ‘m hah- gonna make a…mess again, princess. y- your hips, ohmygoddd.”

and he’s just continuing to babble and ramble out all sorts of words with his hands still attached to your waist. he was holding on for dear life, never wanting to let go. choso’s cock dragged through your gummy walls through ‘n through, searching its way through every sloppy orifice and cavity..

you can see how his naturally drowsy eyes were already starting to roll back and his pretty pink tongue’s starting to loll out his mouth. oh- he was definitely drooling, all because of your sweet, sweet pussy. the grip you had was maddening, and each slam of your ass onto his pelvis had him whining out for more. dark thin brows of his crease into a crimped furrow as he’s trying to weakly guide your hips back into him. “mhm, touch me more baby. don’t be.. shy.”

you could feel how hesitant his fingers were, but he couldn’t resist allowing his hands to gently trace and explore down the outlines of your curves. “ughhh, i’m g- gonna,” and he pauses, letting off a husky groan the moment your ass rudely smacks back into him. it’s so impactful that for a second—the half curse was speechless. choso gasps, his eyes widening before he sobs out a crooning whimper. “faster, p…pleaseee. fuck me, r- ride it like it’s your princess. ‘m all yours, a-all yours.”

“s- shit,” you moan, snagging the edges of your teeth with your bottom lip. his dick’s steadily caressing your walls with his fat curve, locating and reaching every spot just to make you whine right with him. each pivotal thrust was killer, and you’re starting to puff out heaving breaths yourself.

choso’s fully laid back now as he watches your ass bounce itself up and down on his length before he starts whimpering again. he sounds so pretty the entire time too—

just babbling out sweet nothings, chanting your name over ‘n over as his swinish hands greedily try to reel your hips back into him. he’s addicted, and your hypnotic rhythm had him hungry for more. choso could almost taste his incoming release—syrupy pollen that’s slowly but surely salivating on his parched flat tongue.

“m..mngh,” he grunts, giving your ass a soft spank. he hears you playfully ‘oooh!’ at the swat of his hand and choso’s cock twitches inside of you. “wanna marry your hips. ‘m gonna…marry y-your hips, baby,” he starts rambling again, moaning at the speed of your rotating ass.

each wet thrust sends him shivers an abrupt rabble of butterflies, and choso’s damn near fully fucked dumb before he starts to whimper aloud yet again. he’s soso sensitive. the wide tip of his reddened shiny tip continues to swirl its way around the bulb of your clit before within seconds later—he finally cums… hard.

“oh, fuuuck—fuck,” he lets out a gargled whine and the carnal squelches of your cunt slamming against his lap get louder. choso erupts like a violent volcano - active ribbons of his handmade lava slowly pumping inside of your deprived cunt. choso’s sharp breaths become raspy as he feels your hips coming to a devastating halt, and he licks his lips. “t- thank you, thank you, thaaank you baby.” and you didn’t even know what he was thanking you for.

choso’s eyes close as he’s still filling slimy thin clods of cum inside of your puffed pussy.

it’s hot - and you then bring a hand toward your left ass cheek, squeezing it while still gradually fucking back against him. you’re reaaaal slow, working your hips on his active cock that’s spilling so much from the tip and the twitching sides. choso grabs onto the back of the wooden creaking headboard, and his abs clench as he watches the mess start to dribble further down between your thighs. a white puddling mess of his seed that’s drooling straight out of your flooded cunt makes him moan. “b- baaaby..” he swallows thickly, his ravened eyes fixated on your pretty plump ass that’s perfectly arched over his lap. “hah- think you just…impregnated me.”

“cho, that’s not possible,” you tease, and he moans once the warmth of your cunt starts to fade the second you get up. right away, a sloppy string of his cum glosses onto your slick entrance as you ‘pop’ his dick from between your sprawled numb legs. you turn around, straddling him from the front now, before kissing the side of his twitching mouth. “i can’t impregnate you, silly.”

“o- oh! right… um,” he breathes, sticky black bangs running down his eyes.

choso grabs your waist, a thumb shamefully swiping down the center of your runny pussy. so . . much. he locks eyes with you for a long four seconds as you’re now grinding your drenched folds against his flaccid cock that rests on his tummy. choso cutely scratches his head, and he lets off a soft whine once you sneak a wet kiss on his rosy lips. “i mean- i can try to impregnate you then.”

with a hum, you nibble on his chin. “mhm, wanna test that theory then, baby?”

choso’s so cunt-drunk that’s he’s just entirely dumbfounded. intently, he’s staring right into your eyes—barely registering a thing you just said before he cups your chin, panting at the shocks of rapture. choso’s still faintly whining under his breath before he smears a thumb over your wet-slick lips, lovingly.

“l- let’s get married,” and you gasp once he gingerly spanks your ass, an inaudible sign for you to ride him again—this time from the front so he could visibly watch your pretty face. “make me a daddy, princess, w.. wanna be all yours. please..”

[sheloveschai]

bathing with ambessa (18+)

dom! ambessa x fem! reader

older woman/younger woman, slight exhibitionism, thigh-riding, sub! reader

i cannot get this woman out of my head sitting on her lap (or her face) would solve so many of my problems URRGGHHH

“breathe, child.”

water sloshes against the sides of the luxurious bathing pool- a shuddered gasp echos back off the blue and gold mosaic walls of the room.

a bead of sweat rolls down your spine as a partially nude worker dumps another vessel of water near your bodies, and with it, a veil of steam rises giving the illusion of intimate privacy from the guards on standby.

ambessa, in all her esteemed glory, lounges lazily with her head tipped back over the edge of the pool- a warm cloth draped over her eyes. a goblet, which lays in a large rugged hand, is filled near to the brim with a rich red wine.

the other rests on the hollow of your throat- a calloused thumb ever so gently brushing over your slick skin.

“good, little one,” the warlord practically purrs. a grin graces her lips as she feels your hands slip from her shoulders and down to her submerged abdomen, your hands pressing against her scarred v-line for leverage.

her hand, in return, glides from your throat, over your shoulder, before disappearing down under the water to rest on the curve of your rocking hips- not guiding, not pushing, just to simply rest upon.

“such a needy little thing,” she hums. “taking what you so desire.”

a shaky exhale escapes your lips at her words. her low and husky voice adding to your sinuous desires. your nails ever so slightly dig into her intimidating physique as your cunt throbs in need.

with your slick folds spread open over the impressive muscle of her thigh, your clit rubs deliciously over the bumps and ridges of her battle-won scars.

your wanton gasps and whines ring throughout as your head tips forward in deadweight- causing your gaze to connect with the older woman’s breasts.

just beneath the water you can make out her soft nipples. her breasts are heavy and ripened with age, and though not littered with scars won over battles, stretch marks ripple over them like hieroglyphs seen carved into ancient monumental displays.

your hand moves quicker than your brain and suddenly you’re cupping one of her breasts, raising it up and out of the water- exposing it to the colder air. you practically watch in awe as her dark nipple hardens between your fingers as you press and flatten the heavy globe against her chest.

and without a second thought, you’re lurching forward and enveloping her nipple into your warm mouth. you would’ve swallowed her whole if you could’ve, but instead you resort to swirling the sensitive bud around your tongue; licking, nipping, sucking as though you were trying to milk her.

“look at you,” ambessa rasps, a hint of humor underlaying her lust. “starving for my body. my, you’d do anything to have a taste, wouldn’t you, child?”

a low groan rumbles out of ambessa’s chest at the feeling of the scrape of your teeth, the wet heat of your tongue. in an effort to take more of her breast into your mouth, your knee presses against the slick folds of her cunt as you slide further down her thigh.

and the fearsome warlords back, ever so slightly, arches off the edge of the tub.

“like a kitten in heat, you are” she taunts, though there is no covering how she bucks her hips up in order to grind her aching pussy against you.

she begins to move in time with you, the friction your knee provided sending bolts of pleasure straight to her core.

her position of leisure and relaxation did not slip, though. with her legs still spread wide, head tilted back, ambessa had the clear headedness to bring her steel goblet up to her lips without spilling a drop of the red liquid.

with an air of authority, she licks the remnants from her now stained mouth, stretching her arm back over the edge of the pool to set the cup down- without a tremor to be seen.

with both of her hands now free, she removes the cloth from her face, revealing her dark lust-stricken gaze.

her hand slowly delves between your legs, separating your slick cunt from her thigh. she teases you for a moment, smirking as she rubs your aching nub with a feather-light touch, before pressing a digit to your entrance.

“there you go, sweet girl,” ambessa praises, sliding another thick digit along her first, your walls fluttering around the intruding appendages. “now you may have my touch.”

her thumb continues to rub slowly circles on your clit as her fingers pump in and out of you at a relentless pace.

“cum for me” she murmurs huskily as she gazes down at your desperate form still suckling at her tit. “show me how my body brings you pleasure.”

she could feel your body tensing, your muscles coiling tight as she worked her fingers inside you. she could tell you were close, the way you desperately clung to her- the way your walls squeezed around her, urging her deeper.

and it wasn’t until she curled them just right, hitting that spot inside you that had you seeing stars, did you cum.

your body convulsed, muscles squeezing around her fingers as wave after wave of pleasure came crashing down upon you. ambessa held you close as you rode out your orgasm. your body shook, breath coming in short, sharp gasps.

she could practically feel your heart pounding against her chest. and as you slowly came down from your high, you pressed soft kisses and licks into the bitten skin of her breast.

“enough, child” she grunts, finally pulling you away from her raw nipple. “i desire your mouth elsewhere now.”

[freaktoru]

✰ cw; gun play, use of daddy, size kink

toji holds a gun to your head when he fucks you.

"eyes on me doll, wouldn’t want me to use this on ya would you?" he drawls, pressing the cold barrel of his loaded gun against your temple. sweat beads at your forehead and your eyelids grow heavier as you ride him for the fourth fucking time in a row. you're exhausted and fucked out by this point but he won't let you stop— and with a gun pressed to your head, you're not exactly willing to take that risk yourself.

why was his gun such an active participant in your sex? you didn’t actually know. but you what you did know, was that toji loved to fuck with you—loved to push and prod just to see how far he could take things with you. and to him, this was just another one of his twisted little mind games. he wanted to see what a pretty, innocent thing like you looked like when you came undone.

you let out a small yelp as he spanks the soft flesh of your ass, a sharp sting lingering in its wake. "ah- toji" you whine desperately, hoping he'll be merciful tonight and let you off after this round. wishful thinking.

"fuckin' whore, makin' daddy do all the work huh?" he snarls, tightening his bruising grip on your waist and pushing his hips up into you, practically splitting you open on his fat cock. toji is so fucking thick—despite this being the fourth time you're getting stretched out on his cock just tonight, it still fucking hurts.

"m-meanie" you utter, choking back a heavy sob. your thighs tremble around his, barely able to move another inch. and because of this, his patience with you has reached the end of the line. he's holding nothing back, fucking his cock up into you, rougher and deeper with each thrust—so deep that his fat tip hits your cervix, every. fucking. time.

toji chuckles deeply at your pathetic attempt at an insult. so cute. you flinch a little as he removes the gun from your temple and slowly drags it down the length of your body, passing over the sensitive skin on your nipples and pausing right below your belly button—right where the bulge of his thick length is visibly pressing from deep inside you.

"such a tight fuckin' pussy—fuck" he groans, dick throbbing with pleasure as he releases his warm seed inside of your tight, wet cunt again. you exhale shaky breaths, your aching hips just beginning to rise off his cock when the cold tip of his gun presses into the hollow of your neck, sending a jolt of fear through your entire body, locking you in place.

"i didn't fucking say we were done" he hissed, a rough hand pushing you back down on his cock. looks like the night was far from over for you.

[pin-k-ink]

NO ROOM FOR DOUBT ⋆✦⋆ miya osamu

synopsis ➸ marriage isn’t supposed to feel this empty, but osamu’s starting to think you’re slipping through his fingers. he doesn’t mean to accuse you of anything, but when your coworker’s name leaves your lips one too many times, he snaps. you barely get a word in before he’s on you—angry, desperate, and determined to remind you who you belong to.

tags ➸ jealousy, insecurities, hurt/comfort, mild angst, profanity, mild dom/sub dynamics, degràdation, nípple play, dírty talking, breéding kínk, creampíe, rough séx, hand job, oral séx, praise kìnk, facial, unprotécted sèx

wc ➸ 11k

The bedroom was thick with tension as Osamu closed the book he'd been pretending to read for the past hour. Across the room, you remained diligently hunched over your desk - brow furrowed, pen scratching furiously, completely absorbed in your never-ending work. Just like every other night lately.

"Ya plannin' on joinin' me over here anytime soon?" Osamu finally broke the silence, unable to stomach being ignored and alone a moment longer. "Gettin' kinda cold and lonely in this big bed all by myself."

He made sure to inject just the right amount of heated suggestion into his tone. The kind that used to have you instantly abandoning your tasks to satisfy the mutual craving you couldn't resist giving in to. But just like every other attempt at intimacy lately, you didn't even look up from your paperwork.

"I can't, Osamu. This proposal is really important and I've got to have it ready to present first thing in the morning," you replied distractedly, hiding behind that same worn-out excuse as always. "It's going to be another couple hours at least before I can call it a night."

A muscle ticked in Osamu's chiseled jaw as his patience began eroding. This was just a never-ending cycle - you constantly burying yourself in work until you were too drained for anything other than collapsing into an exhausted, dreamless sleep far away from his arms. Meanwhile, he lay awake most nights, body thrumming with unbearable arousal and need as his mind tormented him with memories of how ravenous you'd once been for each other.

Osamu could vividly recall the exact curve of your arched spine as you'd kneel over him, all nude feminine softness and aching desperation. How your tongue would trail hot, openmouthed kisses from his navel to the drooling tip of his iron length, never taking your lidded eyes off his as you hollowed those perfect lips around his girth. The way you'd moan shamelessly around his cock when he fisted those silky tresses, using that divine warmth and pressure as the first of many selfish indulgences for the night.

He could picture the exact flare of your hips as you rode him cowgirl, riding his cock until he thought he'd slip into unconsciousness from the sheer unbearable pleasure. Those lush breasts would sway and jiggle with each erotic roll of your body, nipples pebbled with rapture as your slick walls massaged and milked every maddening inch of his thickness. Osamu always had to fight with everything in him not to lose control and start jackhammering up into that molten, velvet glove squeezing him to oblivion.

And even in the afterglow of coating your convulsing insides with his thick seed, their passion never dimmed. There was always another round of foreplay to indulge - his calloused palms branding the plush silk of your ass cheeks as he rutted against you from behind. Or his lips dragging over the aching throbbing of your clit as you shrieked through full-body shudders of bliss, actively ruining his face with your cream.

Osamu didn't care what degrading, filthy acts you subjected him to when your inhibitions were lowered. All he craved was wringing pleasure from your trembling form until you were both mindless, depraved wrecks overdosing on endorphins and the scent of your mingled passion.

But lately, his hunger went completely unslaked. You were always shutting him out, too preoccupied with your work to even touch or be touched. That blazing passion you'd once indulged so spontaneously and shamelessly had dimmed to bitter embers of resentment and stifling, endless tension.

Which was what led to Osamu's newest, most insidious torment - the poisonous creep of envy and anxiety whenever you mentioned that coworker constantly singing your praises.

Osamu tried not to let the jealousy show, but it was becoming increasingly difficult to bury those insecure feelings. You talked about your coworker constantly - this brilliant, ambitious "guy" you collaborated so closely with on major projects. Osamu couldn't help wondering if the intense admiration in your voice when you praised this man's professionalism and impressive work ethic hid something more.

After all, everyone in your family had been vehemently against you marrying someone like Osamu when you first got together. They'd wanted you to find a wealthy businessman, someone who could properly provide the lavish lifestyle they felt you deserved. But you had fallen even more deeply in love with Osamu's steadfast determination to make your chosen partnership work, despite your relatives' objections.

You'd stood firm in your commitment to the humble yet passionate chef who stole your heart. But now, years into your marriage, Osamu could feel the insidious tendril of doubt and anxiety taking root. Were you regretting your decision? Did some part of you regret not listening to your family and choosing stability and status over being saddled with someone like him?

He tried smothering those poisonous thoughts underneath the soul-deep love and adoration he had for you, convincing himself it was just irrational possessiveness. But the more you spoke about this mysterious coworker, the more Osamu's sense of inadequacy flared. This man seemingly had everything he lacked - money, ambition, societal respect. No wonder you were burying yourself in work to spend more time around someone who exemplified the qualities your family had pushed you to seek in a partner.

Osamu missed the way your relationship used to be before this gulf opened between you - back when he could surprise you at your office for a spontaneous lunch or quickie in the bathroom. He grinned reminiscently at the memories of having you bent over the desk, documents and office supplies clattering to the floor as he hungrily explored your body. You'd beg for him not to stop, to take you harder and deeper even as your coworkers milled about just outside none the wiser.

But those impromptu encounters had all but stopped over the past couple of months. Now when Osamu tried to initiate anything intimate, even at home in the privacy of your bedroom, you gently but dismissively waved him off - too tired, too preoccupied with work, or simply "not in the mood" thanks to stress. Each repeated rejection was like another dagger to his heart and his increasingly fragile ego.

So Osamu did his best to bury the hurt and the aching need you weren't fulfilling. He told himself it was just a rut your marriage was going through, that the scorching passion would inevitably rekindle once this busy period passed. You loved him - you'd sacrificed so much to be with him against your family's wishes, after all.

And yet...Osamu couldn't fully silence the nagging doubts constantly echoing in the back of his mind every time you mentioned that mysterious coworker's name. He couldn't ignore the way his chest clenched painfully whenever you praised the other man's intelligence, ambition, and impressive accomplishments - all things Osamu knew he could never provide you no matter how successful his onigiri business became.

It made him wonder if some part of you did regret the life you'd chosen, no matter how deeply you still loved him. Osamu couldn't help feeling increasingly like he wasn't enough of a man to truly satisfy the brilliant woman he'd married and adored for so many years. Like a legitimate future with someone like your admired coworker was the path you deserved, even if you didn't realize it yet yourself.

So Osamu simply withdrew more into himself, burying his hurt and hunger for your intimacy and unconsciously giving you even more space to invest yourself in work - and perhaps in another man's company without even realizing it. All because some traitorous part of his heart couldn't help wondering if he'd forever be seen as the wrong choice as a husband, no matter how selflessly he loved you.

A couple more hours dragged by in tense silence, the only sound being the occasional scratch of your pen against paper as you continued working diligently at your desk. Osamu's eyes kept flicking over to you, noticing the way the lamplight accentuated the furrow in your brow and the purse of your lips as you remained fully immersed in the proposal.

He felt the knot of frustration and desire tightening in his gut with each passing minute you diligently ignored him and the intimacy he was silently begging for. This couldn't go on any longer - he needed to feel that physical connection with you again before the ache drove him mad.

"Enough, sweetheart," Osamu stated firmly, unable to keep the sharp edge out of his voice as impatience finally won out. "Put the work down and get your gorgeous ass over here already. I'm done waitin'."

You finally looked up at him, startled by his uncharacteristically stern tone. For a beat, Osamu thought you might protest and dig your heels in about finishing the proposal. But something in his expression must have conveyed the simmering need, as you hesitated before giving a small nod.

With palpable reluctance, you set your pen aside and began gathering up the strewn paperwork into some semblance of order. Osamu watched every agonizing movement hungrily, from the way you licked your lips to the distracting sway of your hips as you pushed away from the desk at last.

He drank in every inch of you as you padded slowly toward the bed, unable to tear his eyes away. You looked disheveled yet impossibly beautiful in that oversized shirt - the one he loved seeing you lounge around in because of how easily it could slip off those soft curves with just a bit of impatient tugging.

Osamu's arousal spiked painfully as you finally settled onto the mattress beside him, close enough now that he could smell the lingering hint of your shampoo and feel the warmth radiating off your body. He didn't even try to mask the pure, wanton hunger in his gaze as it raked over your form shamelessly.

Unable to resist a moment longer, he surged forward and captured your lips in a searing, needful kiss. You made a muffled sound of surprise against his mouth but didn't pull away as his tongue boldly sought entrance. Osamu growled at the first teasing taste of you, fingers already clutching at your waist as if to pull you fully against him.

But you went rigid in his embrace, keeping a deliberate slice of distance between your bodies. When you broke the heated kiss, you turned your face away with a soft, "Not tonight, Osamu...I'm way too tired from working."

He fought not to let the biting sting of rejection show on his face, swallowing hard against it. "I've missed ya, darlin'...missed this," Osamu murmured, letting the rough pad of his thumb trace the plump swell of your lower lip in a silent plea. "Isn't there any part of ya that's missed me too?"

You hesitated, gaze skittering guiltily across his features. Something flickered in the depths of your eyes - that same dimmed spark of desire he saw more and more rarely these days. Then it was gone again, shuttered behind bone-deep weariness and excuses.

"I'm sorry, I know it's been a while..." you began, genuine regret lacing your tone. "But this proposal is really important, and I've got to be rested enough to present it to the board in the morning. I promise, after this is all over, we can..."

The unfinished reassurance trailed off into tense silence as you averted your gaze, unable or unwilling to even voice a promise of making time for intimacy again. Osamu swallowed hard, pulse thundering with mingled frustration and humiliated rejection.

So this was what it had come to - empty platitudes and obligatory excuses to avoid being touched by the husband who had once been unable to keep his hands off you. Somehow your flourishing career and singular focus on work had managed to obliterate any space for him in your world.

Osamu's jaw clenched hard against the torrent of bitterness and sorrow he refused to let overwhelm him. Without another word, he rolled over to put his back to you, fighting against the urge to simply leave and go sleep on the couch. At least then he could sink into his misery in solitude without your unintended presence serving as a constant reminder of everything he'd lost.

The next morning, Osamu awoke to the soft sounds of you getting ready for work. He lay there for a few minutes, eyes still closed as he tried to savor these final moments before the day inevitably pulled you away from him again. God, he missed the times when you used to linger in bed together before reluctantly untangling and starting your day.

Eventually, he couldn't resist sneaking a look at you. Osamu rolled onto his side, sheets pooling around his waist as he allowed his hungry gaze to roam over the alluring display you made. You were bent over the dresser in just a crisp button-down and lacy underwear, applying your makeup with those little focused furrows in your brow that he found so endearing. The firm swell of your ass was positioned enticingly in the air, practically begging for his calloused palms to shamelessly grope and knead the supple flesh.

Arousal began smoldering low in Osamu's gut as he drank in every lush inch of you. Your hair was still sleep-mussed, silky strands spilling over one shoulder in a way that made him ache to brush them aside and trail openmouthed kisses along the naked column of your neck. He found himself licking his lips instinctively, imagining the way you'd taste - how you used to whimper and arch shamelessly into his questing mouth whenever he leisurely explored your body with his own first thing in the morning.

Unable to resist the siren call a moment longer, Osamu threw off the sheets and padded silently up behind you. You jumped a little when his arms wound around your waist, the hard planes of his chest pressing flush against your back. But you didn't immediately push him away as he nuzzled into the crook of your neck, sucking in a deep breath of your intoxicating scent.

"Mornin', gorgeous," Osamu rumbled, voice still gruff with sleep. He punctuated the gravelly endearment by walking his fingers tantalizingly up the soft panes of your stomach, reveling in the sharp hitch of your breath when they grazed the lace-trimmed underside of your breasts. "Ya got any time to spend with your husband before leavin' for work this mornin'?"

Something in you seemed to soften at his words, the perpetual tension temporarily ebbing from your frame. Osamu couldn't deny the molten rush of arousal that licked through his veins when you arched subtly back against him - a blatant, wanton invitation despite the strict professional attire.

"I might be able to spare a few minutes," you murmured, tilting your head to allow his lips better access to your throat.

Osamu hummed deep in his chest, the vibration thrumming against your skin as his fingertips continued their leisurely stroking and teasing. His teeth grazed the thundering pulse point at the juncture of your neck and shoulder, not quite biting but exerting enough pressure to make you stifle a whimper. He took his time working over that same maddening patch of sensitive flesh - laving with his tongue, sucking harsh little marks against your salty-sweet skin, utterly worshipping you in a way he hadn't been able to in far too long.

By the time his questing mouth finally slanted over yours, you were already pliant and shamelessly seeking more in his embrace. The kiss quickly turned molten, all clashing teeth and dueling tongues as weeks of pent-up hunger and need poured out between you both. Osamu's hands roamed greedily from your hips down to the lush curves of your ass, squeezing with shameless possession before yanking your lower body flush against the undeniable ridge of his arousal.

You mewled into his mouth, the wanton little sound shooting straight to his cock and making it judder eagerly. For an endless moment, it seemed as though you were on the precipice of giving in fully. Osamu could already envision bending you over the dresser and stuffing you absolutely full of his aching cock, uncaring of how late you'd be to work. He was drunk on the honeyed taste of your mouth, the sultry roll of your hips grinding back eagerly against him.

Then, all at once, you were breaking the heated kiss with a strangled gasp. There was a beat where you simply clung to one another, panting harshly as if struggling to rein in your spiraling lust. When you finally managed to speak, your voice was thick and throaty in a way that made Osamu's cock throb with need.

"Gods, I've missed this, missed you..." you confessed in a throaty murmur, sounding genuinely contrite. You turned in Osamu's embrace then, locking your heavy-lidded gaze with his in a way that made his heart stutter behind his ribs. The naked yearning and simmering desire he saw smoldering in your hooded eyes was like a searing brand against his already feverish skin.

"I'm so sorry for being so distant lately," you continued, chest still rising and falling with dampened little pants from the heated make-out session. One of your hands stroked a tender path down the ridged planes of Osamu's abdomen, nails lightly raking through the crisp trail of hair disappearing beneath the waistband of his loose sleep pants. "I know the work can't be an excuse forever. I promise, tonight I'll leave the office early and we can have the whole evening together...just the two of us."

The husky timbre of your voice combined with that single, deliberate caress had Osamu's neglected cock stirring almost painfully against the flimsy fabric restraining it. He couldn't quite bite back the guttural rumble of need that reverberated up from his very core as your fingers continued their teasing exploration lower and lower. You offered the faintest of smirks as your palm finally cupped and squeezed the unmistakable shape of his rapidly stiffening length through the thin material.

"Fuck, darlin'...ya really know how to make a man suffer, don'tcha?" Osamu ground out through gritted teeth as he moved to sat down on the edge of the bed before his knees gave out entirely. He watched in rapt fascination as your tongue peeked out to wet your plump lips - a deliciously sinful invitation in its own right. But it was the imperious glint flickering to life in your eyes that truly made his cock twitch and strain against the confines of his pants, desperate to be freed and indulged.

You held his heated stare boldly as you continued shamelessly fondling and stroking him to full, throbbing hardness. There was something deliciously intoxicating about having your petite hand working his most intimate places so deliberately, as if he were powerless to resist giving you whatever depravity you desired. As if you knew precisely how badly he craved feeling that velvet grip moments before coating your knuckles in his shameless release.

"I'm not the one suffering here, babe," you purred, giving his aching shaft one final rough caress that nearly bucked his hips off the mattress. "You're the one walking around with this monster straining in your pants all damn day, just waiting for me to give it some attention."

The hairs along Osamu's nape and forearms instantly prickled at your crude observation - not from offense, but from the undeniable bolt of molten arousal zinging straight to his groin at being talked about so blatantly. He gnawed the inside of his cheek, glaring down at you with a heady mixture of reproach and smoldering desire flickering in the gunmetal depths of his stare.

You didn't back down from the challenge, letting your palm drag up and over his length in one torturously slow glide. Then deft fingers hooked into his waistband, tugging the loose material down just enough for his flushed cock to spring free with a harsh intake of breath punching from Osamu's chest. His hands fisted in the disheveled bedsheets as you wrapped your fingers around the thick, pulsing shaft in a firm grip.

"Maybe I should take care of this right now before I head into the office," you mused idly, giving him a few light pumps that had Osamu clenching his jaw to stifle a groan. "At least give me a few more hours before you start going stir-crazy thinking about me all over again..."

The words were barely out of your mouth before Osamu was surging forward, one calloused palm cupping the nape of your neck to yank you into a searing kiss. You let out a muffled yelp of surprise against his lips that was quickly swallowed by his questing tongue delving into the slick, honeyed heat of your mouth. Evidently you'd awoken the ravenous beast within by your blatant taunting and teasing - something dark and blazing now flickering to life behind Osamu's blown pupils.

"Be careful what ya tempt me with, baby girl," he rumbled in a low, gravelly warning as his hips lurched into the tight channel of your fist. "I might just take ya up on a hell of a lot more than that pretty little hand of yours..."

Your pupils blew wider at the explicit promise scorching every word, chest arching into his solid frame as your fingers instinctively tightened around his steely girth. Osamu hissed out a curse at the exquisite friction, thick droplets of precum already welling up and spilling over your pumping knuckles to ease the slick, heated glide.

You licked your lips unconsciously as your gaze dropped to drink in the vulgar sight of your fist working his flushed cock with more fervid urgency. There was an almost transfixed, rapturous look glazing over your features - as if you were utterly enthralled watching Osamu's thick length disappear between your fingers again and again in a messy rhythm. He could feel the rapidly mounting tension lancing through his spine, the telltale tingling heat sizzling out from his groin with each firm pull of your hand along his shaft.

But even as pleasure threatened to steal the last of his composure, Osamu still mustered the strength to reach down, fingers fumbling with the buttons of your dress shirt, intent on returning the favor. His pulse jackhammered against his sternum as he tugged the crisp white material away, revealing the lacy undergarment clinging to the supple swell of your breasts.

He felt the hot bloom of need flare in his gut, unable to resist the temptation to squeeze and knead the ample flesh. Your eyelids fluttered shut with a breathy moan as he toyed with your nipples, teasing them into stiff, rosy peaks that strained against the sheer lace. The air left Osamu's lungs in a harsh, strangled hiss as you tightened your grip around his swollen cock, a fresh wave of precum trickling down the flushed shaft.

It was all he could do not to simply rip the garment off you in a fit of desperate hunger. Instead, he pulled the cups down beneath the generous swell of your breasts, revealing the taut, pebbled buds and making a hungry growl reverberate deep in his chest.

"I've missed these so fuckin' much," Osamu rasped, voice hoarse with arousal. His thumbs dragged across the sensitive tips, reveling in the way they hardened further at his touch. "Been dreamin' of puttin' my mouth all over 'em again."

Without waiting for a response, Osamu leaned down and wrapped his lips around one eager nipple, letting his tongue swirl and flick over the bud. He was rewarded with a soft, breathy cry as your grip faltered, pleasure momentarily stealing away the ability to maintain the steady rhythm. But you quickly recovered, hand resuming its quick, urgent pace while the other tangled in the wild tresses at his nape, pressing his face closer into the inviting softness of your breasts.

A low, needful groan vibrated through the sensitive flesh in his mouth, making you whimper. Your nails bit into his scalp, holding him in place while his tongue worked and laved over the hardened tip, thoroughly lavishing the pebbled peak with his mouth and attention. Osamu's mind was spinning with the intoxicating blend of pleasure and need, the coil in his gut winding tighter and tighter.

He could already feel the tingling heat licking up his spine, signaling the impending explosion. There was nothing he could do to stop it, especially when your thumb swirled across the bulbous tip of his cock. Osamu tore his mouth away from your breast with a snarl, biting his lower lip until it almost bled as his hips shuddered and jerked, the first hot spurt of cum streaking across his abdomen.

He felt more than heard the satisfied hum reverberating through your chest as his cock pulsed and twitched against the slick warmth of your palm. Each new pump dragged a ragged grunt from his throat, milking the last of his release onto the flushed skin of his heaving stomach. It took a long, hazy moment for his vision to stop swimming, the aftershocks of his powerful orgasm still ricocheting through his frame.

In the delirious afterglow, Osamu couldn't resist the primal urge to roll you onto your back and splay himself over your pliant form. His body was still thrumming with the lingering tremors of ecstasy, every nerve ending humming like a livewire in the most exquisite way. But rather than feeling sated, that molten kernel of desire seemed to blaze even hotter at your flushed, thoroughly debauched appearance beneath him.

Your chest heaved with dampened little pants, spit-slick nipples straining against the thin fabric of your unbuttoned blouse. Osamu's gaze roamed shamelessly over the dusky flush staining your skin, down to where the scant lace of your underwear was already soaked through with arousal. He could still taste the honeyed tang of your essence on his tongue from devouring your mouth so ravenously.

With a rumbling groan of renewed hunger, Osamu dipped his head to trail a blazing path of open-mouthed kisses and sharp nips along the elegant column of your throat. You whimpered and arched into the delicious onslaught, clearly struggling to recover your senses enough to protest or push him away. Not that Osamu would have heeded any objections in that heated moment.

"'Samu..." you finally gasped out in a breathy whine as his questing mouth found the swell of your breasts. "I...I have to go or I'll be late..."

He merely grunted against the lush, silken mounds he'd bared so wantonly, tongue swirling over one pebbled peak before sucking the hardened nub between his lips. The broken, urgently tangled sound you made in response sent a scorching spiral of satisfaction lancing through Osamu's groin. For this solitary, lust-drenched instance, you were his again - the gorgeous, needy wife who used to tremble and beg for him to take his time devouring every lush inch.

"Don't think 'bout leavin' this bed until I've had my fill, darlin'," he rumbled, voice pitching even lower and rougher with naked longing.

Perhaps he should have been embarrassed by the wanton, possessive words spilling so unrestrainedly from his lips. But Osamu was too deliriously drunk on the taste and scent and feel of you, the opportunity to rekindle the blazing passion you'd both been so callously denying for far too long. He could already feel the thick insistence of his cock rapidly regenerating between your bodies, seeking that slick source of intoxicating velvet heat.

You seemed to read the explicit intent smoldering behind his hooded stare. With visible effort, you reached up to gently but firmly push against Osamu's shoulders, demurring even as your chest continued rising and falling with shallow pants of desire.

"I really do have to go," you murmured again, licking your plump lips in a completely unconscious gesture Osamu couldn't tear his eyes from. "But...I promise tonight will be just for us. No distractions or work, just you and me reacquainting ourselves properly."

Your sincerity and the dark, heated vow behind those words punched the breath from Osamu's lungs in a trembling exhalation. Part of him - the part that had been aching and insecure for so long now - longed to open his mouth and spill every pent-up insecurity and anxiety. To voice the ugly wonderings that had been festering over whether you harbored deeper regrets about the paths your lives had taken together.

"Do ya...have any regrets?" He found himself rasping out before he could reconsider voicing his private torment. "About us, I mean. Marryin' a guy like me instead of—"

The shrill trill of your phone sliced through the weighted air like a cold slash of sobriety, effectively derailing Osamu's spiraling train of thought. You both froze, heads whipping toward the maddening sound with identical expressions of startled disruption.

Then, as if through a physical force, Osamu felt his stomach plummet all over again when he saw the name that had lit up your screen, accompanying that godforsaken ringtone.

Him. That overly accomplished, smooth-talking coworker you were always praising and mentioning incessantly, whether you realized the implication or not. Osamu's jaw clenched hard enough to grind his molars audibly, hot lance of bitter jealousy flaring with staggering potency. He wanted to ignore the call completely, grab you by the shoulders and shake the truth out of you then and there. Demand honesty about the nature of your relationship with this asshole who always seemed to interrupt and insert himself into their lives, even inadvertently.

But just like that, the rapturous spell you'd both temporarily fallen under was obliterated. Perhaps sensing the drastic shift in Osamu's energy, you quickly sat up and smoothed your disheveled appearance before answering with a terse: "This is [Y/N]. Yes, I was just..."

Osamu barely registered your muffled conversation as white-hot lances of jealousy and resentment pierced through his heartbeat in crashing waves. He simply couldn't stomach listening to the familiar, upbeat tones you always used whenever discussing anything related to that insufferable coworker. The one whose very existence always sent Osamu spiraling into pits of doubt and masculine inadequacy no matter how much logic dictated otherwise.

With stiff, jerky movements, he swung his legs over the edge of the bed and stooped to hastily tug his pants back into place. His jaw was still clenched so tightly he could feel the tendons straining, every snapping motion charged with scarcely restrained frustration. Part of Osamu didn't even know where this combustible mixture of emotions was coming from - only that it had been abruptly stoked into an inferno within his chest at the sound of that man's name on your lips yet again.

He needed to get out, to escape the suddenly suffocating confines of your bedroom before he had a chance to let the uglier side of his temper detonate in your direction undeservedly. Osamu knew damn well you didn't owe him anything, let alone an explanation for simply taking a call about work in the middle of your morning routines. It was his own traitorous demons and self-doubts rearing their insidious heads yet again.

You'd just begun to make a sincere effort at bridging the distance that had calcified between you, after all. And then he'd managed to go and ruin the moment in spectacular fashion as always. Osamu cursed beneath his breath, shoving his feet into the nearest pair of sandals with jerky impatience as he prepared to storm out and spend the day holed up at the restaurant letting the ovens scour the resentment from his system.

Just as he was yanking on his t-shirt, your soft voice cut through the haze of turmoil ricocheting through his skull: "Osamu, wait..."

He froze in place, muscles coiled tensely as you stepped into his space and pressed your palms over the flushed, taut planes of his abdomen. Your eyes were large and imploring as you tipped your face up towards his, bottom lip caught between your teeth in an unconscious gesture that stirred his lingering lust despite the tangled knot of conflicting emotions.

"I know the timing was awful, but you have to know that call didn't change anything," you murmured, trailing the words against the stubbled line of his jaw in a soft caress. "Tonight is for us, 'Samu. Just you and me with no more interruptions, I swear it."

Those silky reassurances seemed to simultaneously drench Osamu's temper in a dampening balm while stoking the embers of longing and reaffirmation you'd awoken deep within him. He leaned unconsciously into your touch, letting his eyes drift shut as you pressed a lingering kiss to the thundering pulse at his throat. You knew just how to gentle the storm within him, how to properly tame the roiling storm of chaotic need and desire ever-present just beneath his surface restraint.

"You'd better keep that promise, my gorgeous girl," Osamu rasped out gruffly, suddenly lacking the energy to maintain any semblance of distance or aloofness. Abandoning his half-hearted escape attempt, he wound his arms around your waist and crushed you flush against his bare chest. God, how he'd missed the contoured perfection of your body molded to his, the soft delirious surrender of your mouth pillowing into his as the kiss deepened.

After several breathless, devouring moments, you were the one who finally broke away with obvious reluctance. There was an adorable, swollen temptation clinging to your features that made heat bloom anew in Osamu's groin.

"I should...I should really get going before I'm any later," you managed, despite the way your palms drifted aimlessly along his flanks in mute contradiction. "Just...try to have a good day, okay? And be ready to make good on that promise tonight."

The reminder of your imminent departure momentarily dampened the rekindled blaze licking through Osamu's veins, though he managed a faint nod through the disappointment. There would be no more delaying the outside world's demands this morning, he recognized begrudgingly.

"Yeah, darlin', you go on and take care of your business," he rumbled, forcing a tight smirk in place. "I'll be right here waitin' to take damn good care of you later."

With one final, searing look of naked longing and affection, you slipped from his embrace and bustled around to collect your things. Osamu leaned back against the wall and admired every efficient movement and enticing flash of bare skin exposed by your mussed attire. He knew better than to try stealing any further moments beyond what you'd already indulged. Tonight would come, and with it the chance to reconnect with you in all the ways he'd been starving for lately.

That glimmer of hope and rekindled anticipation was enough to infuse Osamu with much-needed patience as he finally watched you head out the door, throwing a coy glance over your shoulder. For the first time in months, the future felt more like an endless oasis to indulge in rather than an empty desert to be endured.

The muffled ticking of the bedside clock seemed to reverberate through Osamu's skull like a steadily amplifying drum of dread. Midnight had come and gone over an hour ago, each agonizing minute distorting into excruciating suspense as he waited impatiently for you to arrive home as promised.

He'd closed up the restaurant early for once, something he almost never allowed for fear of disappointing the loyal patrons who depended on the Miya name. But tonight was supposed to be different - a rare evening reserved solely for reconnecting with the wife he adored yet had been neglecting for far too long. So Osamu made the sacrifice without a second thought, eager to slip into your shared home and set the scene for a night of indulgent intimacies.

Which was why he currently sat perched on the edge of your rumpled bed, stripped down to just his loose sleep pants in anticipation. Flickering candlelight danced in a sensual halo across the dimly lit space, blending with the heated aromas of scented oils he'd taken care to prepare. An indulgent spread of chilled sake and decadent fruits had been arranged on the bedside table, standing ready for whenever you finally saw fit to arrive.

Osamu's jaw clenched hard as his eyes flicked once more to the glowing numbers of the clock, each one seeming to mock his vigil more cruelly than the last. Where the hell were you? What could possibly be keeping you so unconscionably late after making such emphatic promises about spending one uninterrupted evening reacquainting yourselves on every conceivable level?

He fought not to let his mind spiral down the darkest avenues, to those insidious tendrils of self-doubt and virulent envy that had taken root thanks to your increasing emotional distance lately. Osamu knew where those toxic paths led - to irrational accusations, defensive postulating, and the exact sort of explosive confrontation that could shatter the fragile new understanding you'd seemingly reforged earlier in the morning.

And yet the minutes continued their merciless tick...tick...tick down to oblivion, each one stoking Osamu's restless frustration into an inextinguishable furnace despite his best efforts. You'd sworn there would be no more distractions tonight, nothing to divert your attentions from properly reconnecting after so much strain and deprivation between you both. He'd believed you with every fiber of his soul, clinging to that hushed promise like a man dying of thirst finally being offered the sweetest oasis to drink from.

But here he sat, alone and slowly twisting within the flames of his own insecurities and irrational resentments as the night stretched on interminably. Surely you wouldn't be so cruel, so selfish as to actually disregard everything you'd—

The rattle of keys in the front door snapped Osamu from his spiraling torment like a rubberband violently released. He was on his feet in an instant, bare chest heaving from the rapid thundering of his pulse as hurried footsteps approached. There was only the barest glimmer of composure in his expression by the time you came into view, haloed in the soft lighting with your usual unruffled elegance noticeably brittle around the edges.

"Hey, I'm so sorry it took so—" You jolted at the utterly thunderous look twisting Osamu's normally unshakable features. It was as if you'd stepped directly into the crosshairs of a volatile storm system, the roiling tumult threatening to obliterate you where you stood.

"Don't," he bit out through gritted teeth, the words escaping on a scorched exhale. "Whatever excuse ya think ya got, I don't wanna hear it right now."

Your eyes widened fractionally at his harsh tone, so uncharacteristically biting and laced with venom he usually kept on a brutally leashed tether around you. Perhaps you sensed the dangerous inferno searing through Osamu's veins in that loaded moment, the rage and desolation rapidly overriding any attempts at patience or understanding.

"This was s'posed to be our night, just the two of us reconnectin' after so much bullshit strain and distance," Osamu seethed, taking an inadvertent step forward on legs that felt like they may give out from all the unreleased tension. "But ya blew that off, same as everythin' else lately. Can't even be bothered to show up and make an honest try at it—"

"Osamu, that's not fair at all!" You cut him off with a flash of your own bristling defensiveness. "You know this new project has been crazy for everyone in the office lately. Sasaki needed some files finished up for the big meeting tomorrow, so I—"

The mention of that name was like a razor slashing through the final taut threads of Osamu's restraint. His vision whited out momentarily, a primal roar of fury ripping from deep within his straining chest.

"Don't you dare say that snake's name in front of me right now, not after all his bullshit is what caused this whole fuckin' mess!" Osamu bellowed, unable to control the torrent of rage and accusation lashing out in every direction now.

You recoiled as if struck, eyes widening with genuine shock at the venom dripping from Osamu's words. "What the hell are you talking about, Osamu? Bringing Sasaki into this?"

He let out a harsh, derisive bark of laughter completely devoid of mirth. "Don't act so damn clueless! Ya really think I'm blind to everything that's been goin' on lately?"

Whirling away from you, Osamu raked his hands through his disheveled hair with a ragged groan. "Ya can't even be bothered to show up for one goddamn night after promisin' me - promisin' your own husband - that you'd actually make time for us. Instead ya let that wormy son of a bitch take priority over me, over this marriage, just like always!"

He punctuated his outburst by sweeping an arm across the bedside table, sending the sake bottle and plate of fruit clattering to the floor in a violent clatter. You flinched bodily at the outburst, more stunned than anything by the sudden shift into such ferocious rage.

"I don't understand... What does Sasaki have to do with any of this?" you demanded, hands curling into fists at your sides. "He's my colleague, Osamu - my coworker on this huge make-or-break project. You're acting completely insane right now!"

"Oh I'm insane?" he snarled, wheeling back to face you with eyes made incandescent by the inferno of betrayal raging within. "That's rich comin' from the wife who's been slowly driftin' away to give all her time and attention to another man!"

The vicious accusation seemed to hang there, reverberating through the tense silence as Osamu stared you down with heaving breaths. You opened and closed your mouth once, twice, before the hurt and outrage finally burst free in a trembling torrent.

"How dare you..." The whisper was barely audible over the thundering of blood in your ears. "How dare you even suggest that I would...that I could ever..."

You didn't bother finishing the thought, simply hurling it aside as you stalked towards him with fury lending each step a razor's edge. "You bastard! How could you accuse me of something so vile, so unfathomably disgusting?"

Osamu held his ground even as you drove into his space, eyes blazing and jaw so tightly clenched he wondered if molars might start fracturing under the strain. "Well why the hell else would ya keep brushin' me off like some irrelevant afterthought whenever that prick's name gets brought up?"

That earned him a hard shove to the chest that made him stumble back a step. "Because he's my project manager, you insensitive prick! We've been working around the clock to pull this massive deal together, not carrying on some tawdry affair behind your back!"

Osamu opened his mouth, a scathing retort undoubtedly primed to further stoke the raging inferno engulfing you both. But you barreled forward, far too swept up in your own torrent of indignation to give him the chance.

"I can't believe you'd think I was capable of that, of betraying you like that!" You were nearly shouting now, treading the terrifying line of pushing too far with your vehement denial. "Have I really fallen so low in your eyes, Osamu? Have you completely lost all respect for me as your wife just because I've been stressed with work?"

The words seemed to splinter something inside him, shattering the final vestiges of Osamu's tenuous restraint like a wrecking ball through glass. This wasn't how tonight was supposed to go - not even remotely close. Yet here you both were, lashing out with scorching recriminations and accusations so poisonous they could permanently scald the bond you'd been fighting so hard to preserve.

The tension escalated rapidly as deep-seated insecurities and resentments came pouring out from Osamu in a torrent of anguished words.

"You think I'm blind?" he rasped, hands clenching into white-knuckled fists at his sides. "I see the way ya talk about him - all admirin' and impressed. Like he's exactly the kinda successful, ambitious man ya wish ya coulda ended up with instead of a guy whose biggest accomplishment is plowin' rice into little seaweed pockets."

Osamu's throat bobbed convulsively, the swell of emotion he'd fought so hard to keep tamped down suddenly rupturing free without restraint. "Don't try denyin' it, darlin'. We both know your family never wanted this for ya - never wanted some third-rate chef as a son-in-law when ya deserved someone who could actually give ya a real, prosperous future."

You opened your mouth to protest - whether to rail against his baseless accusations or to deny the awful truth ringing out from his words, it was impossible to say. But Osamu simply barreled forward, finally giving voice to every twisted vine of anxiety and inadequacy that had been slowly strangling him from the inside out.

"I ain't blind to how impressive that asshole Sasaki must seem in comparison," he forced out in a guttural rasp. "'Course ya had to go fallin' for his fake charms and prestigious career instead of stayin' happy with a foolish dreamer like me who hasn't accomplished a godddamn thing outside the kitchen..."

There was so much raw, visceral pain laced into the venom now, to the point where it seemed to sap the very fire thrumming through Osamu's veins. His shoulders slumped infinitesimally as the next words escaped in a broken exhalation that may as well have torn straight from the tattered remnants of his heart:

"Bet ya regret it nowadays, don't ya? Regret waitin' around for me to finally become a man who deserves someone as outta my league as you..."

The weighted silence that followed could have been sliced with a heated blade. Osamu's chest heaved raggedly with the exertion of finally purging that bottle of poisonous self-loathing and desperate jealousy he'd allowed to steep unchecked for far too long. He couldn't even meet your widened stare, afraid of what condemnation or twisted sense of validation he might find reflecting back in your eyes.

When you finally did speak, the words were laced with a mordant, simmering fury that very nearly made Osamu flinch.

"You absolute fool..." Your voice shook with the sheer effort of leashing your own outrage at such egregiously unfounded accusations. "We've built an entire life together - made innumerable sacrifices and shed blood, sweat and tears to stay by each other's sides against all resistance. And you have the audacity to stand there and suggest I've been regretting my choice the whole time?"

Osamu did flinch then at the naked hurt bleeding into your tone, even as you took a threatening step forward into his space. "You think I give a damn about some uppity corporate suit's status or paycheck? That shallow, meaningless bullshit like money and prestige means anything to me compared to finding a man with the strength of conviction to relentlessly pursue his own dreams and passions?"

Your eyes glittered with unshed tears and something infinitely more searing - the look of utter betrayal that comes from having one's most profoundly held beliefs and principles insulted so grossly. "I chose you, Osamu. Not because I settled or had limited options, but because I saw a fiercely ambitious man who refused to let anything deter him from the path he'd chosen. Who am I to judge or look down on that resolve when it's the very thing that's taken you this far in life and made your wildest dreams into reality?"

You uttered a choked, incredulous bark of laughter then, thumbing away the treacherous moisture from your lashes. "And yet here you are, somehow twisting my admiration and commitment into some kind of damning regret? As if I'd ever be shallow enough to toss away everything we've fought for just because some stuffed shirt made more money than the husband I willingly chose to spend my life with?"

The words hung there, searing into Osamu's skin like a brand of recrimination and disgrace that he knew he'd never fully recover from. His throat worked uselessly as his mouth dried up completely, every fresh inhale feeling like shards of glass being slowly dragged down his esophageal lining.

"Darlin', I—" Osamu's words caught in his throat, the apology and desperate plea for understanding withering on his tongue.

Your expression hardened as you watched him struggle, lips pressed into a flat line. For a tense moment, it seemed like you might indeed turn and storm away, leaving Osamu to wallow in the shattered ruins of his unfounded accusations and misplaced jealousy.

But then your features softened almost imperceptibly. You seemed to truly take in the picture he made - shoulders slumped, eyes downcast with naked shame and regret, hollow ache etched into the lines of his face. Slowly, you bridged the distance between you until you could reach out and gently cup his bristled jaw, coaxing his gaze up to meet yours.

"Oh 'Samu..." you murmured, thumb tracing the sharp plane of his cheekbone. "How long have you been torturing yourself with all these insecurities?"

He worked his jaw but no sound emerged save a ragged exhalation. Osamu felt utterly flayed open and exposed under the weight of your searching stare. As if you could see straight through to the twisted tangle of self-doubt and desperate possessiveness that had steadily tightened its vice-like grip around his heart.

You simply shook your head, features etched with a complicated mixture of sadness, exasperation, and that bone-deep affection he'd watched himself slowly burying over the past weeks and months. "All this time, you've been utterly convinced I was unhappy, that I was regretting my choice to be with you. When the truth couldn't be more opposite..."

Leaning in, you pressed your brow to Osamu's and simply held there for a long, grounding moment. He could feel the featherlight sweeps of your exhales fanning across his skin, smell the warm, comforting fragrance of your hair enveloping his senses. It was like your mere presence acted as a balm against the rawest, most inflamed parts of him.

"I don't know exactly when or how we let ourselves drift so far apart," you eventually continued in a murmur meant only for him. "All I know is how unbearable the distance became, feeling you slipping further and further away from me with each passing day. Maybe I did get too wrapped up in work and missed the warning signs..."

Osamu shuddered out a shaky breath, feeling the knot of shame and guilt inside him swell larger. Your understanding, your infinite well of empathy and wisdom that he'd somehow deluded himself into believing you'd grown contemptuous of - it was all still here, still the most beautiful facet of the woman he'd fallen for all those years ago. How could he have been so blind? So deeply steeped in insecurity and baseless resentments to lash out at you in such a vile manner?

As if sensing his spiraling self-flagellation, you cradled the nape of his neck and pulled him into a searing kiss that he instantly melted into. It was a kiss filled with forgiveness and reaffirmation, a reminder of the profoundly deep love and unwavering devotion you'd sworn to one another through all the hardships thrown your way. When you finally parted, Osamu chased your mouth with a low, plaintive rumble of unvarnished need.

"I'm here, 'Samu," you reassured him with solemn conviction. "We're going to find our way back to each other, just like we always have. But you have to start learning to trust me again. To trust in the choice I made to have you as my partner through everything life throws our way, no matter what."

Osamu could only nod helplessly against the crown of your head, arms tightening their embrace as if you might simply evaporate into the ether without his anchor. He felt hollowed out, scraped raw from finally lancing the fetid well of poisonous emotions he'd allowed to fester for far too long.

But beneath the shame and regret still simmering dimly, a new spark of warmth kindled to life within his chest. You hadn't given up on him, on them, despite his unforgivable lapse of faith. If anything, your understanding and patience seemed to burn brighter in the aftermath of such an explosive confrontation.

"I never stopped trustin' you, darlin'," he rasped out in a voice made husky from the night's tumultuous purging. "Not really. Just got so twisted up in my own bullshit fears of not bein' enough for ya that I...I let it blind me to everythin' else."

Pulling back just enough to brush away the dampness clinging to your lashes, Osamu managed a wan smile that didn't quite reach his eyes. "Ya deserve so much more than some deadbeat who lets his own demons make him lash out at the best thing he's ever had."

You shook your head mutely, fingers tracing the sharp curve of his cheek with infinite tenderness. "That's where you're wrong, 'Samu. I don't want or need anything 'more' than you - than this life and family and partnership we've created together through the years."

Ducking your head, you pressed a soft kiss Just above the thundering pulse at his throat, seeming to savor the solidity of him against your mouth. "Maybe that's where I failed you too. Got so wrapped up in my own career ambitions that I didn't reassure you enough of how precious you are to me."

Osamu shivered at the whisper-light caress of your lips slowly mapping across the column of his neck, your breath fanning in warm gusts against his sensitized skin. There was an achingly familiar heat rapidly rekindling low in his abdomen despite his emotional rawness - like an instinctive, Pavlovian response to your intimate proximity and worship after so much bitter starvation.

"Ya still chose me over everythin' y'know," he managed in a low, strained rasp as your mouth continued blazing an indulgent path towards his collarbone. "Despite all the bullshit expectations and pressures tryin' to push ya towards greener pastures, ya fought to be by my side. Never really understood how that didn't scare a gorgeous, brilliant woman like you away for good..."

A tremor shuddered through Osamu's frame at the deliberate graze of your teeth Just below his ear, the shock of blunted sensation bordering on pain yet stoking the slow smolder between his hips into an inferno. He could feel his cock rapidly stiffening within the loose confines of his sweats, aching arousal pulsing thickly as your mouth meandered lower.

"Maybe the real question..." you purred in a voice gone husky with a new and deliciously different kind of need. "...is whether you think I regret my choice now when you're standing here all hard and fuckable and completely irresistible to me?"

The shockingly filthy endearment combined with the questing path your fingers had begun to blaze down Osamu's abdomen, dipping just below the tempting waistband of his clothes, made his eyelids flutter closed with a harsh exhalation. You knew exactly which of his buttons to push, what incendiary combination of pleasure and praise could undo his restraint at the drop of a hat.

Something wild and ravenous flickered to life behind his lust-glazed eyes as Osamu hauled you flush against him, the evident ridge of his arousal grinding into the soft give of your belly between your bodies. There would be no more talking for the moment, he decided with a low rumble vibrating against your mouth. Just the two of you indulging in the most profoundly intimate form of communication after being starved of it for far too long.

The raw neediness quickly bled away any lingering awkwardness or heavy emotional weight between you. In its place thrummed that deliriously familiar charge - the revved tension of two lifelong partners who knew every intimate tell and trick to unraveling one another with ruthless precision.

"God, I've missed this..." Osamu growled against the swell of your throat, teeth scraping just firmly enough to make you shudder. "Missed havin' ya spread out and whinin' for more of this cock like the rapturous little slut ya are."

You whimpered at the dark timbre of his words, tilting your head back on instinct to bare more of your neck's vulnerable expanse. Despite the crude endearment, you could feel slick arousal already dampening your inner thighs at Osamu's molten promises. This was the raw, unrestrained husband you'd been starving for too - the one who wielded filth and adoration in equally devastating measures.

"Then what are you waiting for?" you taunted breathlessly, raking blunt nails down the ridges of his abdomen. "Fill me up already, make me your whore for wasting so much time..."

A punched-out groan rattled up from Osamu's chest as he hauled you impossibly closer, thick cock twitching insistently against your clothed belly. "Oh I'm gonna take my sweet time, baby girl. Gonna ruin that greedy lil' cunt 'til you're nothin' but a soppy, overstuffed mess beggin' for air..."

There was no more need for foreplay or delicate reintroductions as you both rapidly descended into your basest headspaces. You simply tore at his sweatpants with ravenous impatience until Osamu's thick, flushed length sprang free and into your eager fist. He snarled against the sting of your palm working his shaft in rough, decisive strokes meant to bring him to the very precipice before you'd even entertained the idea of lining him up to your entrance.

But that was the beautiful dance you'd perfected over years of pushing each other's limits - winding one another up into such blazing states of desperation that the eventual payoff was nothing short of psychedelic euphoria. Osamu's huge palms were already shoving up the thin fabric of your top, exposing your bare breasts to his calloused adulation as he rutted shamelessly against your pumping fist.

"Not gonna last if ya keep that up, my gorgeous little cumslut..." he gritted out in a strangled rasp, foregoing any further niceties. "Better start puttin' that cock-hungry mouth to good use already if ya want a chance at gettin' bred tonight..."

Dropping instantly to your knees, you simply quirked a taunting brow up at your husband's wrecked expression before guiding the blunt, drooling tip of his length between your already slicked lips. Osamu gathered your hair in his fist and simply held for a beat, watching the obscene way his swollen girth disappeared in and out of your welcoming warmth with a rapturous expression.

"There's my pretty lil' cockwarmer," he groaned, canting his hips to sink a fraction deeper. "Fuck, been dyin' to have that hot lil' tongue of yours back on my dick..."

The rest of his words melted into a low, animalistic snarl as you bobbed down and swallowed around him, coaxing a fat, pearly droplet of pre-cum from his tip. The rich, salty flavor flooded your senses and made you moan eagerly, the vibrations making Osamu's eyes flutter shut and his cock throb heavily in your grasp.

He looked like a veritable Adonis standing there framed in the moonlight, towering and muscled and utterly, deliciously ruined by the way your lips and tongue were working him over. But the best part was the way he watched you with rapt, devouring attention, utterly spellbound by the lewd, wet sounds emerging from the union of your mouth and his swollen shaft.

It was a heady rush of power to have such a formidable man at the mercy of your mouth - to know you'd driven him so delirious with arousal and affection that he could barely restrain the need to come undone. But you could already feel the telltale tension beginning to tighten in his thighs, the rapid rise and fall of his broad chest as Osamu's breath turned ragged.

"Not gonna last," he finally grunted out in a gravelly rasp, the fingers fisted in your hair clenching involuntarily. "Want my cum all over that pretty lil' face instead of down your throat..."

You simply hummed an eager affirmative, working your fist faster as the wet, rhythmic sounds of suction and friction escalated. The lewd, filthy squelches of you worshipping his cock filled the space, along with the broken, needy groans and muttered obscenities that Osamu couldn't contain anymore.

His hips were snapping forward erratically now, driving his swollen length further and deeper until you were nearly choking. The sight of you kneeling there with his shaft buried down your throat and tears clinging to your lashes made something savage and possessive rear up inside Osamu, something that had been repressed and starved for far too long.

It didn't take more than a few seconds after you hollowed out your cheeks and swirled your tongue around his pulsing girth for him to finally come undone. You felt the instantaneous warning flex and throb of his cock against your tongue, heard the sharp curse ripped from his lips as Osamu spilled his thick, scalding release across your face and the slope of your breasts.

It was an obscene and utterly debauched picture, one that made you moan and rock your hips desperately against nothing as your own arousal flared to a fever pitch. But the look of awe and unhinged lust painted across Osamu's face was more than enough to send a fresh jolt of wetness slicking between your thighs.

He stood there panting for a long moment, staring down at you like the vision straight out of his most depraved dreams. His thumb slowly swept through the thick, pearly ropes painting your skin before tracing the swell of your bottom lip, coaxing your mouth open so he could feed you a few decadent, musky drops.

"God, look at that..." Osamu murmured in a gravel-rough voice, gaze glazed over with the kind of pure, primal desire that made you whimper helplessly as he slowly brought you back up to your feet. "Haven’t seen ya like this since our honeymoon, darlin'...Look so damn ravishing with all my cum paintin' that pretty lil' face..."

A breathless gasp punched out of your lungs at the first questing touch between your thighs, the shock of sensation nearly blinding as it ricocheted through you. You were so wound up from sucking his cock that Osamu could have probably slid home without any additional prep, the evidence of that fact seeping from your soaked entrance in a steady trickle.

"Already soaked through yer panties for me, huh?" he purred, thumb stroking your slit teasingly. "What's got ya so worked up, baby girl? Was suckin' my dick really that excitin' for ya?"

Osamu was already tugging aside the drenched scrap of fabric, exposing you completely to the cool night air and his ravenous gaze. He was hard again, already straining against the cradle of your hips as he dragged the fat, glistening head of his cock through your folds.

"Think I remember this bein' the most excitin' part for ya..." he mused, sinking just the tip in and groaning as you immediately clenched and fluttered around him. "When I'd fuck ya slow and sweet, lettin' ya feel every inch as I sank into yer cunt."

A helpless cry wrenched itself from your throat at the first slow, achingly decadent stretch, your spine arching instinctively and hips bucking for more. It was exactly as Osamu remembered, the perfect, sinful way you took him so eagerly - all hot, velvety grip and clenching pressure that drove him steadily closer to the brink.

But the pace was torturously, maddeningly slow - a sensual glide of friction and heat and breathless kisses until you felt like you were about to combust. You clung to him, clawing desperately at his back and shoulders as he pinned you to the wall with his weight, driving his cock into you again and again with a relentless rhythm.

"Oh god...yes..." you whined, voice pitching higher as Osamu's mouth latched onto your throat, teeth sinking in just sharply enough to make you sob. "Fuck, I missed this, 'Samu...filling me up so full of your cock...missed you fucking me like you own me..."

He swore viciously, hips snapping forward so sharply that you could have sworn his tip kissed the deepest reaches of you. Osamu's eyes were glassy and blown black with need, mouth swollen and red from the brutal kiss you'd pulled him into. He looked almost wild, a feral, untamed version of your husband who seemed ready to consume you whole.

"I do own you, baby girl..." he snarled, hand slipping between you to stroke your swollen clit. "This gorgeous little cunt was made for my cock, right? Can't get enough of the way I'm fillin' ya up, can ya?"

You cried out in agreement, legs locking tighter around his waist and nails raking across the planes of his back. Osamu's touch was unerringly precise, knowing just how and where to stimulate you to bring about the most devastating of orgasms. Your head fell back with a wordless wail, body going taut as the pleasure crested and shattered inside you.

Osamu kept driving into you, fucking you through the orgasm and straight towards the next one as he chased his own release. He was babbling filthy nonsense into the crook of your neck, praises and oaths and filth mixed together into a desperate, unintelligible litany. You could feel the slick glide of his cock and the renewed gush of your juices from the overstimulation, the obscene sounds of it all ratcheting your desire higher still.

It wasn't until his cock began to swell and twitch within the grasp of your cunt, spitting ropes of seed deep inside you, that Osamu finally slowed and went boneless against you. He slumped forward, trapping you between his sweat-slicked frame and the wall at your back, still buried to the hilt.

The silence stretched on, broken only by the harsh drags of your breaths and the distant sounds of the ocean lapping at the shore. There was no need for words, just the warm, comforting embrace of a bond and trust renewed.

"We're not done here," Osamu finally rumbled, voice low and raspy with lingering need. "M’ not gonna be satisfied 'til I've had ya in every single room of this place. On the porch. In the kitchen. Even the damn balcony."

A soft, incredulous laugh bubbled up from your chest, but it quickly morphed into a wanton moan when his hips rocked into you. You were already growing wetter, more sensitive, with each languid stroke of his cock.

"I don't think my body could handle a marathon sexcapade like our honeymoon, 'Samu," you managed to gasp out.

A wolfish smirk stretched across his face at the memory of how you'd spent most of your first week together as newlyweds - utterly debauched and insatiable and ravenous for one another.

"We'll see about that, darlin'."

[whosashan]

SELF-DOUBT

Pt. 2

PAIRING: Love and Deepspace men x reader (reader is implied to be the MC in Caleb's part)

SYNOPSIS: Doubt creeps in, unraveling the fragile thread between you, pulling you further from him before anything even takes shape. (relationship not established)

A/N: I wrote this with a glint of mischief—hope you enjoy it!

Xavier

You sat on a bench, swallowed by the vast silence of the night. Darkness draped over you like a heavy cloak, its quiet lull almost enough to pull you into slumber. Almost. But no matter how exhausted you were, sleep never came. The streets stretched empty before you, hollow and waiting, save for the restless whisper of leaves dancing in the wind.

Beside you sat a half-empty bottle of wine, an offering to quiet the storm in your mind. But instead of drowning your thoughts, it only seemed to amplify them, making every ache more vivid, every insecurity more unbearable.

You were burning—boiling in the realization of how effortlessly Xavier existed.

How carelessly he moved through life, how mistakes never seemed to chain him down. He would stumble, but he would never fall. And if he did, he would rise again, never sparing the past a second glance.

He was magnetic in ways he didn’t even try to be. People were drawn to him, lured by something unseen, something inexplicable. A presence so commanding, so sure. The kind of certainty you would never know.

And you—you were nothing like him.

Every small misstep clung to you like an unforgiving shadow, dragging you back, keeping you tethered to doubt. You were plain where he was extraordinary. Silent where he was effortlessly captivating. A mere bystander in the presence of someone who burned so brightly, he could outshine even the stars.

You exhaled sharply, pressing your palms against your temple, trying to steady yourself.

You were unfit for him.

He was a constellation—distant, celestial, unreachable. While you were the remnants of a flower long past its bloom, wilting under the weight of your own self-doubt. Once, perhaps, you had been something more. But now? Now you were just a shell of what you wished to be.

The thought alone made your head throb, your chest ache in that quiet, suffocating way that reminded you you were still alive.

How ridiculous—how utterly foolish—to believe you could ever be his equal. That you could be worthy of his attention, his time, his kindness. The very same kindness so many others already fought for, already deserved far more than you ever could.

Your gaze drifted upward, meeting the expanse of the sky. A tear slipped free, streaking down your flushed cheek. You let it fall. For once, you wished you could have something that was meant to be yours. Just one thing. Just this.

But fate had never been kind. And you had long since learned that some wishes were never meant to be answered.

Your phone buzzed, the brightness of the screen making you squint.

"You up?"

Xavier.

Probably wanting to watch a movie, play that new game he wouldn’t stop talking about. Something easy, something simple.

But doubt had already woven its way into your bones. You weren’t going to reply. You weren’t going to pretend.

And then, the phone rang.

You should have ignored it. You should have let it ring into oblivion. But maybe it was the wine, maybe it was the ache in your chest—whatever it was, you answered.

"So you're not asleep."

His voice was soft, wrapped in that familiar gentleness you had always admired. No matter what happened, no matter what he said, there was always that warmth beneath his words.

It was unbearable.

"You should stop contacting me." The words spilled from your lips before you could stop them, sharp and cruel, colliding violently with the tenderness of his voice. "I don’t want to speak to you."

A lie. A desperate, pathetic lie.

Silence. You could almost picture his expression—the slight furrow in his brows, the way his lips would part just slightly in confusion.

"What are you talking about?" His voice, once steady, wavered with the weight of worry. "What happened?"

You hated it. Hated that he cared. Hated that he was giving you an out, a chance to explain. Hated that he was proving, yet again, that he was good, too good.

And you? You were selfish. Weak.

"Goodnight, Xavier."

You didn’t wait for his response. Didn’t let yourself hesitate. You hung up, turned off your phone, and let the silence settle in.

It was just you and the stars now.

You wondered if he was looking at them too. If he could feel the weight of your absence the way you felt the unbearable gravity of his presence.

For now, you convinced yourself you were doing him a favor. Letting him go. Giving him the freedom to chase something greater, something more.

Because that something could never be you.

Zayne

Zayne was the kind of man who belonged to the world. A man of purpose, of unwavering resolve—one who mended shattered lives and stitched together the fragile threads of existence. He was a savior, a beacon, the kind of person people clung to in their darkest moments, the reason they saw another sunrise.

And you hated how much you envied him.

Because you, too, had once longed to be someone like that—needed, irreplaceable. Someone whose absence would be felt, whose existence bore meaning beyond the mundane. But the truth was far less poetic. You were no savior, no guiding light. You were painfully, cruelly ordinary.

Drifting through life on autopilot, grasping at dreams that always seemed just beyond reach. And then there was him—Zayne, the ever-composed gentleman. The embodiment of grace under pressure. Always calm. Always certain. Always right. And perhaps, in some twisted way, that certainty made you resent him. Because deep down, a part of you whispered—maybe you could have been that, too. Maybe, in another life, you would have stood beside him as an equal.

But you weren’t his equal. You were a footnote in his story, an afterthought. And it was foolish—so terribly foolish—to believe you had ever belonged in his orbit. To think, even for a fleeting moment, that you were worthy of his time, his presence, his affection.

Yet a quiet, desperate part of you clung to the fragile hope that perhaps—just perhaps—he needed something ordinary to anchor his brilliance. That in the midst of his immaculate world, he might have craved something simple, something real. That maybe, against all logic, there had been a space for you beside him.

But hope was a dangerous thing. And you had long since learned to silence it.

The notification of a new message shattered the silence of your thoughts. You glanced at your phone, breath hitching as Zayne’s name appeared on the screen.

"You’ve been awfully quiet these past couple of days. Is something bothering you?"

Your fingers hovered over the screen, but you didn’t type a response. Not yet. Maybe not ever.

You had become quite skilled at keeping your distance. At building walls around the parts of yourself that longed for him in ways you couldn’t control. And now, as your feelings for him grew into something perilous, something unbearable, your instinct was to retreat. To destroy what little remained before it could destroy you.

You prayed he wouldn’t push. That he would let you slip away unnoticed. But deep down, you knew better. Because Zayne was kind. So painfully, frustratingly kind. And his kindness made you furious.

You didn’t want his concern. You didn’t want his pity.

And then—the phone rang.

You stared at it, heartbeat hammering in your ears. For a moment, you almost answered. Almost let yourself believe in the impossible.

But instead, you let it ring.

It was better this way. That’s what you told yourself. That’s what you would keep telling yourself, over and over again, until the bitterness was all that remained.

Every time you stepped outside your apartment, a quiet dread curled around your ribs, squeezing tight. You feared crossing paths with him—not because you despised him, but because you feared what his presence would unravel within you. Would he say anything? Would he even care?

You followed a familiar path, the one your feet had traced countless times before. The setting sun stretched long, spindly shadows across the pavement, casting the world in hues of gold and sorrow. The evening breeze whispered against your skin, grounding you in the present, yet your mind was elsewhere—trapped in memories you had no strength to relive.

You sought solace in the scent of coffee beans and freshly baked pastries, in the soft murmur of a café that had once been a haven. But even that, it seemed, was not yours to keep.

As you scanned the display, preparing to order, a voice—low, steady, unmistakable—cut through the air behind you.

"A slice of cheesecake for me, and—" a pause, deliberate and weighted, "_____ for the lady."

Your heart clenched. Heat bloomed in your cheeks. You didn’t turn around—you couldn’t. But your fingers curled at your sides as if bracing for impact.

He remembered.

Even after everything, he still remembered.

Silence stretched between you like a fragile thread, taut with everything left unsaid. You should have walked away. You should have spoken, filled the empty space with something, anything. But hope—foolish, insidious hope—kept you rooted in place.

"Would you grant me a moment of honesty?" His voice, smooth and measured, held an undertone you couldn't quite place. A plea? A demand? Perhaps both.

You swallowed, your gaze fixed on the counter. "I'm not sure what you'd like to talk about."

"Come now," he said, his tone impossibly gentle, "do not insult my intelligence—or yours—by feigning ignorance. We are both aware of the distance you have so carefully placed between us. I only wish to understand why."

There it was. Direct, articulate, impossible to misinterpret.

Panic stirred in your chest, a quiet, insistent thing.

"Zayne, please—"

"Please what?" His voice softened, yet his words remained precise, deliberate. "Pretend I have not noticed your absence? Ignore the way you avert your gaze, as if the very sight of me has become a burden you can no longer bear? Is that truly what you wish of me?"

Your breath hitched.

"Sometimes," you whispered, "some things are best left unknown."

You turned before he could see the way your expression crumbled. Before he could see the way your hands trembled at your sides.

The café door chimed as you stepped outside. The reason you had come here in the first place—the pastry he had ordered for you—lay forgotten.

But he didn’t follow.

He didn’t reach for you.

And that, somehow, was the cruelest part of all.

Left standing in the empty hollow of your own choices, you wondered—was this truly the only way? Or had you simply chosen the path that hurt the most, just to prove to yourself that you still felt something at all?

Rafayel

It was all too easy to drown in self-doubt when standing beside Rafayel.

He moved through life with an effortless grace, as if uncertainty had never dared lay its hands on him. Confidence clung to his every step, an unshakable certainty in the way he spoke, the way he created, the way he existed. No matter the circumstance, he would find a way—because that’s just the kind of person he was.

And you? You were a spectator in his orbit, a mere shadow to his brilliance.

You hated how easily he captivated others, how rooms seemed to hush when he entered, drawn in by the cruel beauty he possessed—not just in his features, but in his very being. There was something infuriatingly magnetic about him, something that made people linger, hoping for even a fraction of his attention.

And you? You lingered too.

Not because of his art, though his talent was undeniable. Not because of the way the world adored him, though it was impossible to ignore. But because he was him—a force of nature, a storm and a masterpiece all at once.

You tried to keep up, you truly did. But no matter how quickly you ran, he was always ahead. Already reaching new heights, already standing atop mountains you hadn’t even begun to climb.

Rafayel was the ocean—vast, unknowable, and devastatingly beautiful. Deep with mysteries, with uncharted depths you would never be allowed to explore. You had always been afraid of drowning, but with him, you almost welcomed it.

How pathetic.

You resented how easily he had wrapped you around his finger, how effortlessly he kept you tethered without even noticing. You were there, always there, like a loyal dog at his heels, waiting for scraps of attention, pretending it was enough.

But it wasn’t. And deep down, you had always known it wouldn’t be. You wanted to be selfish, just this once.

Because one day, he would move on. He would walk into a world filled with greater things, greater people, and you would be left behind—forgotten, discarded, chained to memories he would not care to revisit.

You refused to let that happen. You refused to be another fleeting thing in his life, another season passing unnoticed. So, you did the only thing you knew how to do—you vanished before he could make the choice himself. You let yourself slip away, gradually, like the last breath of winter surrendering to spring.

Your phone buzzed. Unread messages. Missed calls. His name appearing again and again on the screen.

You read them. Or, at least, you skimmed the words before doubt crept in, wrapping itself around your throat like an invisible hand. You couldn’t do this. Couldn’t let him see you like this, drowning in the weight of emotions you could never voice.

"Cutieee, did you forget about my art exhibit??? You were supposed to be there."

No, it was better this way. You would return to the life you had before him—a quiet, simple life, untouched by the chaos he had introduced into your world. A life of routine, of predictability. That was what you needed, wasn’t it?

Then why did it feel like suffocating?

You exhaled, sinking deeper into the couch. The room was messier than usual—evidence of his recent visit, his presence lingering in every overturned book, every misplaced sketch, every forgotten jacket draped over the chair.

You refused to clean it up. Not yet.

Not yet.

Your fingers hovered over your phone, mindlessly scrolling—until an advertisement flashed across the screen.

His new exhibit. His name in bold letters, his work displayed for the world to marvel at.

You squeezed your eyes shut, as if that would erase the ache in your chest. As if it would silence the part of you that still longed to be near him, even now.

But longing was dangerous. It was cruel, deceptive.

Your jaw tightened as you closed your phone, fingers moving with practiced finality. One tap. Then another.

Blocked.

You shut your eyes, swallowing down the lump in your throat, willing yourself to believe the lie you had been repeating for days.

It’s okay.

You’ll figure it out.

Even if it kills you.

Sylus

The night air curled around you like an old lover—cold, indifferent, familiar. It filled your lungs, sharp and biting, yet no matter how deeply you inhaled, it wasn’t enough. You were suffocating, drowning in something invisible, something that clung to your ribs like a parasite.

The glass of wine in your trembling hand felt like an anchor. Heavy, grounding. The very same wine Sylus had once recommended, his voice smooth as he described its velvety texture, its lingering finish. You had listened, hung onto every syllable, because that was what you did with him. You listened. You remembered. You cared. And you hoped he did, too.

Your reflection in the glass balcony doors was pitiful—ruined mascara streaking your face like ghostly remnants of hope, smudged lipstick from where you had worried at your lip too many times. You looked desperate. Because you were desperate. And wasn't that the most humiliating thing?

You were nothing more than a fool playing house in a mansion you were never meant to enter. A child trying to hold onto a storm and then crying when it slipped through their fingers.

Because it had slipped.

You had slipped.

Sylus had made you believe, even if only for a fleeting moment, that you could be something—someone—to him. That you were different, special. That the way his gaze lingered meant something, that his rare smiles were meant for you alone.

What a lie. What a cruel, beautiful lie.

You tilted your head back and emptied your glass in one swallow. The burn was sharp, but it was nothing compared to the fire in your chest.

Foolish.Pathetic.Naïve.

You had let yourself believe you could matter to a man like Sylus.

Sylus, who was untouchable. Who could have anything and anyone. A man whose very presence commanded rooms, whose name carried weight heavier than entire empires. He was revered, feared, an unstoppable force of nature.

And you?

You were nothing.

A momentary amusement, an interlude between greater things.

The worst part?

He had never once given you a reason to think this way. Never lied to you. Never made empty promises.

No—this was all you. Your own mind, your own doubts, curling around you like a noose, squeezing, whispering, you are not enough, you were never enough, you will never be enough.

Your phone buzzed against the railing, the sudden vibration slicing through the quiet. You didn't need to look to know who it was.

Sylus.

Of course.

Your fingers hovered over the screen, but you didn’t answer. Not yet. Instead, you let your eyes fall to the lock screen, to the photo you refused to delete—Sylus, asleep, his features unguarded, softened in a way you rarely got to see. It had been a stolen moment, a cruel mercy the universe had given you, because you had wanted to believe he was yours in that moment.

But he wasn’t.

And he never would be.

Your chest ached so deeply it felt like your ribs would crack under the pressure.

You should block his number. End it now before it consumes you whole.

But you couldn’t. Because you were weak. Because even now, when every voice in your head screamed at you to run, you wanted him to call again.

You wanted him to tell you you were wrong.

You wanted him to chase after you, to demand answers, to prove you wrong.

But he wouldn’t.

Because Sylus didn’t need you.

And maybe, just maybe, that was the most painful part of it all.

With a heavy exhale, you turned off your phone, shutting out the only person who had ever made you feel alive.

For now, you would convince yourself this was the right choice.

That you were doing this to protect yourself.

That you weren’t just running away before he had the chance to leave first.

Caleb

Oh, how much you loved and hated that man.

Caleb, the golden child. The one who had always been effortlessly everything.

The one who turned heads when he entered a room—not just because of his sharp jaw or the way his stupidly soft hair always fell into his eyes, but because he was Caleb. Because he had that energy, that confidence, that natural magnetism that made people want to be close to him.

And you—well, you were just the one who had always been there.

The one who followed a step behind, the one who laughed at his ridiculous jokes even when they weren’t funny, the one who made sure he stayed grounded when his reckless nature got the best of him. His constant. His safe place.

But never his choice.

Never the one he reached for in the way you reached for him.

You let out a slow breath, staring at the ceiling of your dimly lit room, your fingers gripping your phone like it was the only thing anchoring you to reality. The screen glowed softly, Caleb’s name lighting up in the dark.

Missed call.

Another missed call.

A message: "Pipsqueak, Where are you? You good?"

It was almost funny. Caleb always knew when something was wrong. Always had that frustrating intuition when it came to you.

And yet—he never really knew.

He didn’t know what it was like to stand beside someone so bright, so undeniable, and feel like you were flickering out. Like you were just background noise in a song that was never really yours.

You clenched your jaw, heart twisting painfully. It was suffocating—this love, this stupid, unwanted love that had lodged itself in your ribs, too deep to remove without destroying something vital.

God, how had it come to this?

When had your best friend become the thing that hurt you the most?

You weren’t even sure when the shift happened. Maybe it was the first time you realized how beautiful he looked under streetlights, his laughter warm enough to make your chest ache. Or maybe it was when you started noticing the way his lips curved just slightly before he smirked—like he already knew exactly what you were thinking. Maybe it was the nights he snuck to your room just to ramble about some nonsense, and you let yourself believe—for those fleeting moments—that you were the person he wanted to be with.

Maybe it had always been this way, and you were just too blind, too hopeful to acknowledge it.

But hope was a dangerous thing. And you were so tired of losing to it.

Your phone buzzed again. Another call.

You squeezed your eyes shut, fingers trembling.

You wanted to answer.

You wanted to hear his voice, let him pull you back in with that stupid, teasing warmth, let him fix this in the way only Caleb could—without even realizing what needed fixing.

But you couldn’t.

Because every second you spent with him, you fell a little deeper. And Caleb… Caleb never even noticed he was holding the rope that could either pull you up or let you drown.

Your throat burned as you stared at the screen, thumb hovering over the call.

And for a moment—just a moment—you let yourself imagine what it would be like. If you answered. If you told him everything. If you laid your heart bare and let him see just how much of it he had taken without even trying.

Would he laugh? Would he be kind? Would he let you down gently, tell you that you were important to him, but not in the way you wanted?

Or worse—would he pity you?

The thought made something inside you shatter.

No.

You couldn’t do it. You couldn’t let yourself be that vulnerable.

So instead, you did what you had always done. You swallowed the ache, buried the yearning deep where he would never find it, and turned off your phone.

Maybe in another life, things would have been different.

Maybe in another life, Caleb would have looked at you the way you looked at him.

But in this one?

You were meant to love him in silence.

And he was never meant to hear it.

[evilgwrl]

Thinking about sucking Captain Price off while he’s on a business call…

Full lips sudsy with bubbles of spit as you choked on the length that penetrated your throat, sure to leave bruises later. Rough hands wrapped around your hair, making a messy ponytail as he guided you along his cock, your tongue running against the veins as his pubic hair tickled your nose.

“No Laswell, I can organise that myself - fuck - no, I’m okay just stubbed my toe.” His voice hissed as you gargled around his cock, sloppy hand gripping the remainder of his legs, another applying light pressure to his heavy balls that ached with the need to release down your slutty throat.

Spit dribbled down your chin, pooling at your chest as you gagged and moaned along his throbbing member. Price looked down at you, tear drenched eyes staring back as you smiled, soft coo leaving your lips as he began to fuck your throat.

“No I’m fine, just pain in my toe - Jesus Christ - I’ve gotta go,” he practically choked, messy fingers stumbling to end the call as he groaned, your cheeks hollowing out as you kept a rough pace, your eyes never leaving his.

“Fucking dirty whore for me, aren’t you? So desperate to have your mouth on your Captain’s cock that you couldn’t wait 5 minutes?” His voice was rough and degrading, hand gripping tighter around your hair before he held your head at the base of his cock, splutters and chokes filling the room before he pulled back slightly, his hips jutting as he came with a guttural groan, hot pumps of semen sliding down your oesophagus as you swallowed, pulling away from his softening cock as you gasped for air.

He landed a soft pat on your cheek as you sat stationary on your knees, tongue out before he gripped your face, squishing it together.

“Guess you are a good addition to the task force, hm love?”

[losermuse]

CW: 18+ (mdni), fem!reader, fingering, cunnilingus, rimming, deepthroat, squirting. AN: very short and rushed before I go to sleep. I just need this out from my brain!!

69 with Caleb, but he seems to have forgotten this is supposed to be mutual. You don’t know how long it’s been. Your jaw aches, your lips stretched wide around his cock, but he hasn’t let up for a second. 

His grip on your hips is firm, keeping you pressed against his face as he devours you like a man starved. The wet sounds of his mouth working against your cunt fill the room, obscene and relentless, while his cock throbs heavily on your tongue.

You try to keep up. Try to take more of him as you hollow your cheeks, the little hairs at the base tickling your nose as you press deeper but the way he’s eating you out makes it impossible to focus. Every time you suck him deeper, his mouth drags over your clit just right, sending sparks through your body, making your legs shake around his head.

He notices, of course.

Caleb hums against you, that smug bastard, his tongue dipping deep before dragging slow, torturous circles over your clit. With no warning, two thick fingers plunge inside you, stretching you open. His pace is slow at first, teasing, and testing, before he picks up speed, curling them just right. Your body reacts instantly, clenching around him, dripping down his wrist.

You don’t even realise you’ve stopped sucking him off, too lost in the way he’s working you open, fucking you with his fingers while his tongue flicks against your swollen clit.

And then his mouth moves higher.

A sharp gasp catches in your throat as he trails wet kisses past your entrance, his fingers still pumping deep inside you. He licks over the tight ring of muscle below, pressing a slow and deliberate kiss there before dragging his tongue over the sensitive skin. Heat rushes through you, making your back arch.

By now, you’ve lost count of how many times he’s made you cum. Three? Five? It doesn’t matter. Your body feels like it’s floating, overstimulated and boneless, while Caleb is still devouring you like he’s just getting started.

“Caleb—” Your voice is wrecked, muffled around the thick length in your mouth.

He pulls off just long enough to rasp against your dripping heat, “Go on. Make a mess for me, baby.”

You whimper, fingers tightening around his cock, stroking him lazily, feeling the heavy weight of him on your tongue. He twitches, precum spilling onto your lips, salty and thick, but you barely have time to swallow before he’s back to devouring you.

Your body locks up as pleasure hits you like a tidal wave, your thighs trembling violently around his head. A desperate moan rips from your throat as you gush all over his face, soaking his jaw, his chin, and the sheets beneath you.

Caleb groans like he feels it, like the way you come undone on his tongue is better than his own release. He doesn’t stop and will not stop until he’s wrung every last shudder from your body. He needs you spent and twitching beneath him.

He pulls back just enough to look at you, his lips glistening and his expression dark with hunger. His cock is still hard, aching, neglected, a mess against your lips.

He swipes a thumb across his mouth, tasting you, before murmuring, "Now, be a good girl and clean me up."

[xxsyluslittlecrowxx]

Sylus going into an uncontrollable frenzy but it's his dragon rut, compelling him to breed MC over and over again until she lays his eggs. Rinse repeat until his rut is over. How's that?

𝐓𝐡𝐫𝐨𝐮𝐠𝐡 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐅𝐥𝐚𝐦𝐞𝐬

— 𝑺𝒚𝒍𝒖𝒔

𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐇𝐄𝐀𝐓 𝐂𝐑𝐀𝐖𝐋𝐄𝐃 beneath his skin again.

Not the kind that sweat could cool, or water could soothe, or even pain could drown.

This heat came from somewhere deeper—older. It had lived in his marrow since birth, smoldering quiet and patient, waiting for the right season to ignite and consume him from the inside out.

It always started the same.

A flicker behind his ribs.

A dull throb in the back of his skull.

A tension in his chest, like some ancient chain was being pulled tight—one link at a time.

Then came the ache.

And the ache—gods help him—never fucking let up.

Now, it curled low in his belly—coiled, pulsing—like something inside him had begun to stir.

Something wrong.

Something ancient.

Something with teeth and claws and no fucking concept of mercy.

Sylus clenched his jaw and shifted against the cold stone wall, his shackled wrists dragging with a metallic scrape that scraped raw. The iron cuffs had scorched him the moment he locked them on—runes hissing to life with the sharp sting of burning flesh.

He hadn’t flinched.

Pain was easy.

Pain, he knew.

It was the need he couldn’t fucking stand.

His cock had been hard for forty hours. Maybe longer. He’d stopped counting somewhere between agony and obsession. It throbbed with every heartbeat—each pulse a cruel, relentless reminder of what he couldn’t have.

What he shouldn’t have.

Not when wanting meant claiming.

Not when claiming meant breaking her open and filling her until her body bowed beneath the beast clawing up his spine.

A guttural sound tore from his throat—half snarl, half sob. He dropped his head back against the stone wall and stayed there, breathing through clenched teeth, every muscle trembling from the effort of holding still.

He’d built this chamber with his own hands. Designed it not just as a tomb—but a prison. A sanctuary. The only place he trusted to hold him when the rut came raging.

Not because the chains would hold.

They wouldn’t.

Not forever.

But down here, buried beneath the world, there was no one to hurt but himself. No one for the dragon to scent. To claim. To ruin in the name of instinct.

No one like her.

Gods.

He hadn’t seen her in three days—and he could still fucking taste her.

Not literally.

Not yet.

But her scent clung to him like a sin he couldn’t wash off. Her laughter echoed in the hollow pit of his chest like a memory carved too deep. The shape of her lived beneath his skin—hips, lips, the delicate slope of her throat—and when he closed his eyes, she was there.

Always.

Fucking. There.

Kneeling between his legs.

Whimpering his name.

Begging him to let go.

He could see it.

Her hair a mess. Her lips swollen. Her legs trembling around him. Marked. Bitten. Bred.

The image slammed into him like a punch to the ribs. He growled and jerked forward, chains rattling violently as he doubled over, his cock throbbing so hard it hurt—leaking, aching, demanding.

The pain in his gut twisted sharp, laced with pressure, instinct, and the unshakable, soul-deep knowledge that—

She was meant to carry him.

She was his mate.

Not by choice.

Not even by fate.

By blood.

By biology.

By the old, feral magic running through his veins—twisting him into something not quite human.

Something older. Crueler. Hungrier.

The rut was sacred to dragons. That’s what the archives called it.

A biological imperative.

A rite of claiming.

A holy tradition woven in blood and instinct.

Sacred, his ass.

There was nothing holy about what he wanted to do to her.

Not when he knew—knew—what would happen the moment his skin touched hers.

He wouldn’t stop.

He couldn’t.

The first time would be brutal.

Fast.

Desperate.

The kind of fucking that left bruises shaped like his hands. His teeth. That filled her so deep she couldn’t walk. So hard she couldn’t think of anyone but him.

And then he’d do it again.

And again.

Until her belly swelled with his seed.

Until her voice gave out and her eyes glazed with surrender.

Until she looked at him like he was the only thing she’d ever worshipped.

Until she was ruined.

And even then, it wouldn’t be enough.

His rut wouldn’t stop until he knew—down to the final flicker of instinct—that she’d never walk away.

Not physically.

Not emotionally.

Not spiritually.

She wouldn’t just belong to him.

She’d be him.

Not a lover.

Not a partner.

A mate.

His.

Down to her blood.

Down to her bones.

Down to the place inside her that only he would ever touch again.

He shuddered and let his head fall between his knees, breath coming in shallow, broken gasps. Every inhale stoked the fire. Every exhale whispered her name like a curse he couldn’t shake.

He hated himself for it.

Hated the way his body betrayed him. Hated the way his mind crumbled at the mere thought of her—how she flickered through him like a ghost he couldn’t exorcise.

He should’ve told her weeks ago.

Should’ve warned her.

Should’ve shoved her away the first time she looked at him like he wasn’t a monster.

But she hadn’t looked away.

And gods help him—She still hadn’t.

And that terrified him more than the rut itself.

Because Sylus could survive the fire. He could survive the hunger, the pain, the madness.

But her?

She’d burn.

And he’d be the one to light the fucking match.

There came a point when pain stopped feeling like pain. He wasn’t sure when he crossed it—somewhere between the second nosebleed and the moment his claws shredded the inside of his own palm.

Now it was just static.

White noise behind his eyes. A low, bone-deep buzz that never stopped.

Sylus didn’t know how long he’d been down here. There was no light. Only heat. A trembling, relentless fever under his skin that refused to break.

His thoughts came fractured.

Blurred.

Sometimes, he remembered who he was. Other times, all he remembered was her.

She slipped through his mind in pieces—The slope of her shoulders when she turned away. The flicker of her pulse when she stood too close. The way she lingered after speaking… like she was waiting.

Waiting for him to say something more—

Something he didn’t know how to give without destroying it. Without destroying her.

She was gentleness wrapped in fire.

A miracle in mortal skin.

And his body was tearing itself apart just to reach her.

Sylus shifted against the wall and felt the slick drag of his own blood down his thigh—warm, wet, sticky.

It wasn’t hers.

Not yet.

But his rut didn’t know the difference. It just wanted.

It wanted her wet and open and trembling.

Wanted her split wide and sobbing beneath him, nails clawing at his shoulders as he poured himself into her again and again—until the beast finally stopped howling.

But she wasn’t here.

Not really.

Still, his mind conjured her like a fever dream he couldn’t wake from.

Sometimes she whispered his name. Sometimes she knelt in front of him, voice trembling, pupils blown wide, legs parted in offering.

Sometimes—gods—he could feel her fingers on his chest. Light. Lingering. Like she sensed what was happening to him even from miles away.

But the worst was her scent.

That delicate, devastating blend of clean skin and soft things.

She smelled like warmth.

Like home.

And now, that memory was tangled with blood and sweat and fire—and it was driving him fucking insane.

His hips jerked without warning, his cock aching—flushed dark, the head slick from hours of helpless arousal.

He’d stopped pretending.

Stopped trying to ignore the instinct when every part of him was already preparing for her.

For claiming.

For ruin.

A low growl tore from his throat as he yanked at the chains again—not to break free. He didn’t want freedom. He didn’t trust what he’d become beyond this wall.

He just needed something.

Friction. Resistance. A reason to stay tethered.

But all he felt was her.

Her thighs wrapped tight around his waist. Her voice breaking into that helpless little moan when he bottomed out. The way she’d arch for him—like her body was crafted for this. For him.

The sound of skin slapping skin.

The wet drag of her cunt sucking him in—milking him.

Demanding more.

Always more—

No.

No.

His head slammed back against the wall with a sickening crack. Blood spilled over his lips—he’d bitten straight through them.

He didn’t care.

“Stop,” he rasped into the dark. “Stop showing me things that aren’t real.”

But the tomb stayed silent.

And his mind?

His mind wouldn’t shut up.

Now she was on top of him.

Riding him slow.

Cruel.

Like she knew exactly what she was doing.

Her fingers tangled in his hair. Her mouth brushed his ear, warm and sinful.

“I want to feel you lose control.”

He made a sound he didn’t recognize. A broken gasp. A choked cry. He curled in on himself, yanking at the cuffs until bone scraped against iron.

This was what the rut did.

It wasn’t just heat.

Wasn’t even lust anymore.

It was hunger.

Soul-deep.

All-consuming.

A compulsion so violent, sanity wasn’t just out of reach—It was extinct.

And it would only end one way.

With her under him. Screaming his name.

Covered in bruises. Flooded with seed. Marked by promises he’d never be able to take back.

She’d never walk the same.

She’d never be clean again.

She’d be his.

And some feral part of him—ancient, ugly, honest—rejoiced in it.

He was shaking now.

Every muscle locked.

Every breath too shallow to soothe.

His body strained to shift—scales rippling beneath skin, claws itching to break free—but he kept it buried.

Barely.

Just barely.

He wanted to weep.

Instead, he laughed.

A jagged, broken sound—splintered like bone. Echoing off stone like a death rattle.

This was what he was.

At his core.

Not a soldier. Not a protector. Not even a man.

A beast.

And if she walked through that door—if she made the mistake of touching him—

He’d take her.

Ruin her.

He would fucking take her.

And the worst part?

She’d let him.

He was lying on the floor when a shift happened.

Face pressed to cold stone. Breath shallow. Muscles locked tight from hours of holding back the monster gnawing at his insides.

The pulse in his cock throbbed in cruel rhythm with the one hammering behind his eyes. His throat was raw from all the things he hadn’t screamed.

He blinked—slow. Sluggish.

Something shifted.

Not light. No—light didn’t touch this place.

This was deeper.

Like the chamber exhaled. And in that breath, he felt it.

A trace.

So faint it could’ve been nothing.

So familiar it hurt.

Not heat. Not fire.

Something clean.

His fingers twitched.

Jaw clenched.

The scent was impossible. It didn’t belong here. It shouldn’t exist here.

But he knew it.

His body recognized it before his brain did—his hips shifted. His mouth parted. A low, helpless whimper dragged from his throat like confession.

No.

No, no, no.

His eyes snapped open.

The hallucinations were getting worse.

More vivid.

More cruel.

This one smelled like her skin after a storm. Like the smile she wore when she thought he wasn’t watching. Like the place behind her ear he dreamed of biting, licking—claiming.

He froze.

Eyes wide.

Chest barely rising.

Because hallucinations didn’t move.

And this one did.

Footsteps. Soft. Hesitant.

The kind made by someone who wasn’t afraid.

Yet.

His entire body went rigid.

The chains groaned.

He told himself it wasn’t real.

Couldn’t be.

She’d never make it past the outer wards—and if she had... gods, if she had—she wouldn’t be walking. She’d be running. Screaming.

Gone.

But the footsteps kept coming. Closer.

And then—

“...Sylus?”

His heart stopped.

That—

That wasn’t a hallucination.

He didn’t imagine it. He couldn’t have.

Her voice didn’t slither through his head like the others had. It cut.

Clean through the fog. Sharp. Trembling. Real.

Too fucking real.

He rolled onto his side, breath caught behind his ribs.

No.

No, she couldn’t be here.

Except—

There she was.

Standing just inside the threshold. Frozen mid-step, like even she had just realized what a mistake it was.

Hands hovering. Eyes wide. Barely breathing.

She looked like an angel—trapped in a cathedral built to worship monsters.

His monster.

His gaze dragged over her—slow, hungry—like it didn’t belong to him anymore.

Because it didn’t.

Not now. Not with her standing there, real and soft and so fucking close.

She hadn’t changed.

Not even a little.

But he had.

He’d rotted from the inside out.

Burned himself down to bone and built new flesh from fire and madness and her name.

And now she was here—and it was too much.

Too fast.

Too bright.

For a moment, they just stared at each other.

No words.

No breath.

Only ruin and recognition.

Then he turned his face away.

“Get out,” he rasped. His voice scraped like gravel. “You need to leave.”

She didn’t move.

She didn’t fucking move.

His chest convulsed.

And then—he felt it.

The moment his rut caught her scent.

It struck like lightning through bone.

The shift was instant. The fire inside him exploded, surging up his spine, locking his jaw, forcing his claws to extend with a sharp, sickening crack. His back arched against the wall. His cock—already hard—throbbed violently, leaking, twitching, aching.

He squeezed his eyes shut. Clenched his teeth so tight his molars groaned in protest.

“Don’t come closer.”

It wasn’t a threat.

It was a prayer.

Still, she came.

One step. Then another.

And with each one, the space between them unraveled—disappearing like it had never existed.

He could hear her breathing now. Could feel it in the air, trembling and human and hers.

It was her.

Not a hallucination.

Not a dream.

Not some cruel fantasy conjured by a brain boiled alive in rut.

She was here.

And the weight of that truth shattered something inside him.

He broke.

Not with a roar. Not with violence.

With silence.

Everything inside him folded inward—collapsed beneath the gravity of her presence.

The dragon stilled.

The fire raged... quieter.

Because she was real. And she was close. And he was no longer chained by stone—

Or rune.

Or duty.

Or guilt—

He was chained by her.

By the soul-ripping, terrifying truth that he wanted this.

Not just the rut. Not just the claiming.

Her.

He wanted to drag her to the floor and bury himself so deep inside her she forgot her own name. Wanted to make her scream, beg, break—until her voice replaced every sin etched into his soul.

He wanted to knot her.

Mark her.

Own her.

And he couldn’t.

Because he loved her.

And if he touched her now—he wouldn’t stop.

He’d never stop.

He wouldn’t just ruin her body.

He’d ruin everything.

She stepped closer.

Not boldly. Not recklessly. Not like someone who didn’t know fear—

But like someone who knew him.

And that made it worse.

Unbearable.

Sylus kept his gaze fixed on the floor, terrified that if he looked up—the dragon would see her.

And forget who it belonged to.

Forget the silence. The restraint. The bloodied palms and swallowed prayers.

Forget every line he’d carved into his soul to keep her safe.

Her footsteps echoed across the stone—soft at first. Then louder. Like even the walls had begun to listen.

He tasted copper.

His lips had split open again—reopened by the tension knotted in his jaw like wire.

She was close now.

Too close.

He could feel the air shift around her. Pressure folding inward. Like gravity had changed its allegiance. Like the chamber had always been waiting for her—to step inside it.

To fill it.

Like even the room knew she belonged here.

“Sylus,” she whispered.

Her voice wavered. Just barely.

He closed his eyes.

“I know I shouldn’t be here,” she said, gentle and unsure. “I know that.”

He didn’t answer. What else could he give her now but silence?

“But I couldn’t find you,” she continued. “No one could. You disappeared.”

Her breath hitched—soft, cracked.

“I thought… I thought something had happened to you.”

He almost laughed.

Something had happened to him.

She happened.

Every time she entered a room—every time she looked at him with those soft, searching eyes—something inside him shifted.

Shifted until it cracked.

Until it wasn’t just a feeling anymore—but a thing with wings and claws and a single, maddening purpose:

To take her.

To keep her.

To fuck her so deep into the stone that the world forgot her name and remembered only his.

He inhaled sharply through his nose. It burned like punishment.

“I didn’t mean to invade,” she added quickly, her voice fraying at the edges, soft as worn linen. “I just… I couldn’t stay away.”

Gods.

She meant it.

She hadn’t come here out of recklessness.

Or curiosity.

She came because she felt something pulling her. Because the string tying them together had started to fray—and she couldn’t bear the unraveling.

Because somewhere deep down, she knew—he was coming apart in this tomb.

And her absence was the blade.

Sylus’s shoulders trembled.

“I want to help you,” she said. “Please. Let me help you.”

No.

No.

No—

“You can’t,” he croaked.

His voice wasn’t human anymore. It was a rasp of shredded control, every word chewed raw by the beast he kept caged inside.

She dropped to her knees in front of him.

He felt it like an earthquake under his ribs.

Too close.

Too willing.

“Sylus…” she breathed.

Eyes wide.

Lips parted.

She didn’t touch him. Not yet. But her fingers hovered—aching to reach, to comfort.

He flinched.

Not from pain.

Not from fear.

From the unbearable truth: If she so much as brushed his skin, the chains wouldn’t matter.

Nothing would.

He would tear free. He would ruin her.

And gods help him—

It would be glorious.

Her gaze swept over him. The blood at his wrists. The heat shimmering off his skin. The unnatural curve of his spine, strained by what fought to escape.

Her breath caught.

But she didn’t back away.

“I can’t leave you like this.”

“You don’t understand what this is,” he growled.

Every word dragged up from the pit of his stomach like they weighed a hundred pounds each.

She leaned closer.

He wanted to retreat—but there was nowhere to go.

“I know it’s your rut,” she said softly.

Every nerve in his body froze.

The word curled in the air like a blade unsheathed.

His eyes snapped to hers before he could stop himself.

Bad idea.

Fucking terrible idea.

Because she was crying.

Barely.

Not from fear.

From understanding. From wanting to understand.

And that wrecked him more than any scream ever could.

“You shouldn’t have come here,” he said hoarsely. “I’m not safe. I’m not even a man anymore. I’m a weapon wrapped in flesh.”

“I don’t care.”

Her voice cracked.

And it cracked him.

A fractured exhale tore from his chest.

It felt like breaking open. Like he’d been holding his breath for centuries.

“I can’t control it,” he warned. “If I touch you, I’ll… I’ll do things I can’t undo.”

“You won’t hurt me.”

His head dropped forward, forehead nearly brushing her knee. Not a choice. Just gravity giving out.

His body trembled.

Not from heat.

Not from lust.

From the agony of being this close.

She reached for him.

Her hand hovered—just above his cheek. Not touching. Yet.

He wanted to lean in. He wanted to bite her wrist. He wanted to weep.

“I’m not afraid of you,” she whispered.

He looked up.

And saw everything.

The softness.

The sorrow.

The impossible willingness.

It wasn’t bravado.

It was belief.

She believed in him. Still. After everything.

After seeing what this place had done to him. What the fire was making of him. What little was left.

She still chose him.

And that—that was the final nail.

His vision blurred. The cuffs began to crack.

The dragon inside him stopped pacing.

It leapt.

She touched him.

The lightest graze—fingers along his cheekbone. Barely pressure. Barely movement.

But it was enough to end everything.

Sylus didn’t move. Couldn’t.

The chains held. The runes etched into the iron glowed with warning—dim, pulsing red, reacting to the blood roaring through his veins.

His arms stayed locked behind him, metal biting into burned skin.

You’re not safe. You’re not fit to touch her.

But she didn’t care.

Her fingers lingered.

And he shattered.

Not loudly. Not in a way she could see.

But inside—where things broke clean and never healed right—he came apart.

Because after days of agony—

After blood soaking the stone—

After losing track of what was real—

She touched him like he was still a man.

Not a monster.

Not a weapon.

Just him.

A low, broken sound tore from his throat.

A plea.

The cuffs didn’t break. Not yet.

But the runes flickered.

A warning. Or a promise.

His jaw clenched so tight his teeth ached.

He wanted to turn into her palm. To bury his face in her skin and bite. Mark her. Claim her. Breathe her in until she drowned on it.

But he stayed still. Shackled. Shaking.

Her breath brushed his lips.

“Sylus,” she whispered—a breath shaped like mercy. “I’m here.”

His eyes squeezed shut.

The runes sparked and the iron groaned.

He breathed through his teeth.

Her scent—soft, warm, fatal—saturated the air.

The runes sparked and the iron groaned once more.

Still, he didn’t move.

She leaned in closer.

Her forehead rested against his.

No pressure.

Just presence.

He felt her breath on his mouth.

It didn’t comfort him.

It damned him.

The rut surged beneath his skin like molten metal. Ripping through nerves. Boiling bone.

His hips twitched. His cock throbbed—violently. Dripping. Desperate.

“Sylus,” she said again.

Softer this time.

Not a plea.

A vow.

“Let it go…”

He turned his face into her palm and exhaled—a full-body shudder rolling through him like surrender.

“I can’t,” he whispered.

“You can.”

The final rune sputtered.

His right cuff cracked.

The sound was so quiet she didn’t notice. But he did.

He felt it like a fault line splitting open beneath a city—small. Deadly. Final.

And still—he didn’t move.

Because he knew what came next.

If the chains gave—there’d be no stopping it. No dignity. No gentle restraint.

Only instinct. Only fire. Only her beneath him—breaking. Begging. Blissed out of her mind.

She leaned in. Pressed her chest to his. Folded her legs around him.

And the heat of her body sank into his like gasoline to a live flame.

That was when the left cuff snapped.

No light.

No flash.

Just—a break.

Quiet.

Lethal.

His hand fell free.

He didn’t use it. Not yet.

He held it still—like a condemned man savoring one final breath before the executioner’s blade.

She didn’t notice.

She was too close.

Too focused on his face—eyes wide, full of something between terror and tenderness.

And in that moment, Sylus knew—he couldn’t let her go.

Not even if it ruined them.

Not even if it wrecked her.

Not even if the man inside him was already gone—swallowed whole by the thing that wanted to fuck her until she forgot her name and begged to wear his mark forever.

His free hand moved.

Slow.

Shaking.

Like he was reaching for divinity.

He didn’t grab.

Didn’t pull.

He just lifted that trembling, bloodied hand—and let it hover beside her cheek.

She turned her face into it. Let his fingers brush her skin.

And when she did—when she leaned into his ruin like she wanted to belong to it—his last thread of control snapped.

He surged forward.

His mouth crashed into hers—hard, hungry, desperate.

His whole body ignited with the need to taste her.

To feel her.

To consume her.

The last cuff shattered behind him—but freedom meant nothing now.

He didn’t need freedom.

He needed her.

And he’d never stop.

He didn’t remember moving.

One second, he was kissing her—frenzied, messy, too much teeth and not enough air—

And the next, she was on her back beneath him.

Hair fanned over cold stone like a crown of fire. Mouth red and kiss-bruised. Chest rising and falling like she couldn’t breathe.

And her legs—

Spread.

Just enough to welcome him in.

And gods help him—He fit there.

He hovered above her, panting like an animal, hands planted beside her head. His whole body trembled with restraint—the last shred of it pulled tight around his ribs like barbed wire.

His hips surged forward—instinctual.

His cock dragged against her clothed core—hot, throbbing—and the friction nearly made him sob.

Her eyes met his.

She nodded.

Once.

Slow.

And that—that was the end.

No more hesitation.

No more chains.

No more mercy.

He tore her clothes open with both hands—not undressing.

Destroying.

Fabric shredded beneath his fingers. Sleeves split. Her top peeled away in ruins.

She gasped—and the sound hit him like lightning to the spine.

The dragon inside him didn’t purr.

It roared.

He dropped to his knees between her thighs.

Yanked her underwear down with shaking hands—snarling when the lace clung to her skin like defiance—and threw the scrap across the chamber like it offended him.

Then he looked down—

And gods.

There she was.

Bare. Glistening. Open for him.

The sound that tore from his chest was so low, so guttural—it made the stone beneath them seem to vibrate.

“Sylus—”

She said his name like she’d never say it again.

He didn’t answer.

He grabbed her thighs—

Tight.

Possessive.

Claws barely held in check.

And he dragged her into his lap.

Like she was nothing but gravity’s favorite offering.

His cock brushed against her folds—

Hot.

Leaking.

So thick it looked almost inhuman—the ridge swollen from too much denial,the base already beginning to swell—a promise of the knot to come.

He didn’t line up. He didn’t tease. He just thrust.

Hard.

Deep.

Final.

He buried himself to the hilt in one brutal stroke.

And her scream—

Her scream—

Was fucking divine.

Her walls clamped down around him like her body had been built to break for him.

Tight. Wet.Hotter than fire.

And the second he bottomed out—something inside him howled.

His head dropped to her shoulder, fangs bared at her throat, and his hips—they moved.

Not rhythmically.

Not gently.

They claimed.

Grinding.

Dragging.

Devouring.

Each thrust punched a moan out of her—her nails raking down his back like she didn’t know whether to hold him close or tear herself free.

He didn’t give her a choice.

He slammed into her again.

And again.

Hard enough to knock the air from her lungs. Fast enough to erase thought. Deep enough to brand the memory of him into her soul.

“You were made for this,” he growled.

His voice was wrecked—shredded and low, carved out of heat and hunger. Each word forced between thrusts like a vow.

“For me.”

Thrust.

“For my cock.”

Thrust.

“For my knot.”

His fingers dug into her shoulders, claws just barely restrained.

“Say it,” he snarled.

He dragged his cock out—slow, brutal—until only the tip remained. Then slammed back in with a wet slap that echoed off the walls.

“Tell me you’re mine.”

“I’m yours,” she gasped.

“Louder.”

“I’m yours, Sylus—fuck—I’m yours!”

His hips stuttered.

Her cunt clenched around him so hard he saw stars.

But he wasn’t done. Not even close.

The dragon demanded more.

He flipped her—one moment she was under him, the next she was on her knees. Face pressed to the stone. Ass arched high. Thighs trembling.

And gods—

She offered herself.

Like instinct had taken over. Like her body remembered what it had been made to do.

He slammed into her—so hard they both cried out.

Her hips jolted forward. Her hands scrabbled for grip.

There was no pretending now.

This wasn’t soft.

This wasn’t sweet.

This was breeding.

He fucked her like the world was ending—like the only thing that mattered was driving so deep she forgot how to walk.

His knot began to swell.

She felt it.

He knew she did—

The way she choked on a cry. The way her body arched back into him, desperate to take all of it.

“Don’t fight it,” he growled into her ear—voice reverent, destroyed. “Let me tie you. Let me fill you.”

“Please—” she whimpered.

He sank in to the base—

And locked.

The knot caught.

And she screamed.

Her whole body convulsed—cunt clenching, pulsing, milking him for everything he had.

And gods, he gave it to her.

He came so hard he saw white.

His vision went black. His roar shattered the silence—thunder in a tomb of stone and sin.

His cock throbbed violently, pulsing rope after rope of heat into her until she was full.

But he didn’t stop.

He couldn’t.

He kept pouring into her—

Until her belly was taut.

Until her back arched from the sheer force of it.

Until her body went limp.

She whimpered beneath him—trembling. Slick. Painted in sweat and bite marks and the sound of her own ruin.

He held her there.

Locked.

Claimed.

His.

She was shaking beneath him.

Sweat clung to her thighs. Her arms had collapsed. Her palms slid uselessly across cold stone. Her cheek rested against the floor. Lips parted. Eyes glassy.

She looked wrecked.

And gods—

It was the most beautiful thing he had ever seen.

But Sylus wasn’t finished.

Not by a fucking long shot.

His knot was still locked deep inside her—still pulsing, still throbbing with the aftershocks of his first release.

And his cock?

Still thick. Still twitching. Already hardening again—inside her.

The dragon didn’t rest.

The rut didn’t cool.

It escalated.

He leaned over her—chest pressed to her trembling back, mouth dragging across the slick heat of her neck.

His fangs grazed her shoulder.

Not biting. Not yet.

But there.

Always there.

A promise. A threat. A vow.

“You’re not done,” he growled—voice low and broken, rasping against the shell of her ear. “Don’t you dare be done.”

A whimper escaped her—half-protest,half-plea.

She was exhausted. Her thighs trembled from strain. But when he rolled his hips—grinding his knot deeper, cock twitching inside her—

She gasped.

Like he’d lit her on fire.

And gods, she squeezed him.

Tight. Reflexive.

Like her body already knew—knew to cling. Knew to keep.

He moaned into her skin.

“Look at you,” he breathed, thrusting shallowly—as deep as the knot would allow. “Already gripping me like you don���t want to let go.”

“Sylus…” she whimpered.

One trembling hand reached back—fingers brushing his hip—barely holding on.

It wasn’t enough.

He pulled out slowly.

Painfully.

The knot dragged free with a wet pop—and both of them groaned.

The moment he slipped out, cum spilled down her thighs in thick, messy drips.

He watched it.

Watched it slide down her skin like proof.

Proof she was his.

She tried to shift—maybe to roll over, maybe to catch her breath—but Sylus growled. Wrapped an arm around her waist and dragged her up to her knees again.

“Not yet,” he muttered. Breathless. Wrecked. “Don’t you dare close those legs.”

She obeyed. Whether from instinct or surrender, he didn’t care.

He just needed to be inside her again.

But this time—he didn’t slam into her.

This time—he knelt behind her.

Spread her open with both hands—thumbs parting her slick folds, so he could see.

So he could worship.

Every ruined inch of her—dripping, flushed, swollen from taking every inch of him.

She was panting.

He leaned in. Pressed a kiss between her thighs.

Just one.

Then his tongue followed.

A full, filthy lick—from her entrance to her clit.

Her whole body jolted.

She cried out—

Loud.

Raw.

And he groaned into her heat.

“Sweet fucking gods,” he rasped, gripping her hips tighter. “You taste like heaven after sin.”

And then—

he ate her.

Like a man starved.

Like her pleasure was the only thing that could cool the fire still devouring him from within.

His tongue circled her clit—

Relentless.

Lips closing around it to suck. While two fingers thrust deep—curled exactly right. Precise. Devoted.

He found that spot—the one that made her hips jerk, her voice break.

And he didn’t stop.

She was sobbing now.

Shaking.

Gasping.

Trying to pull away—

He didn’t let her.

“Stay there,” he growled. “Take it.”

“I—I can’t—” she whimpered.

“Yes, you can.”

And she did.

Her back arched—thighs trembling violently—and then she broke.

Clenching around his fingers, sobbing through a climax that sounded like a prayer wrapped in punishment.

He didn’t stop.

Didn’t even slow down.

He kept his mouth on her—dragging out her orgasm until she was twitching, babbling, eyes rolling back.

Only then did he pull away.

Only then did he lift her—gently, reverently—

And press her down onto her back.

She looked dazed.

Hair wild. Lips bruised. Chest rising in frantic, uneven bursts.

Sylus hovered over her—panting, his cock already hard again.

Flushed.

Slick.

Leaking across her stomach.

“You’re gonna take me again,” he told her.

It wasn’t a question.

Her legs opened.

It was instinct.

He lined up. Thrust in—one smooth, brutal stroke.

Buried to the hilt.

He groaned—low, broken, animal.

She gasped—half in shock,half in greedy need.

And gods—

She was so wet.

So fucking ready.

Her cunt swallowed him like it missed him—like the brief moments he hadn’t been inside her were somehow unnatural.

And this time?

This time he fucked her.

Not slow.

Not sweet.

Brutal.

Deep.

Obsessive.

He held her legs wide, drilled into her, watched her fall apart beneath him.

Her moans became cries.

Her hands gripped his arms like he was the only thing keeping her from floating away.

“You’re mine,” he snarled, fucking harder. “Do you hear me?”

She nodded frantically, gasping—

“Y-Yes—yes—yours—”

His lips curled into something dark. Something sacred.

“I’m gonna knot you again,” he growled. “Gonna fuck you so full you forget who you were before me.”

Her eyes rolled back.

He bent low, kissed her mouth—bit her lower lip—and fucked her harder. Faster.

His knot swelled again—thick and demanding—pressing against her entrance with every brutal thrust.

And when it caught—

When it locked—

She screamed.

And he came.

Again.

Harder than before.

Hot, pulsing waves of release spilled into her.

Filling her.

Stretching her.

Until her belly lifted from the pressure—until her cunt clenched down like it never wanted to let him go.

She sobbed beneath him.

Not in pain.

In ecstasy.

And Sylus—

He roared.

Head thrown back. Eyes glowing. Hands gripping her like she was the only thing anchoring him to existence.

And the dragon inside him—the beast that had burned and waited and hungered—it sang.

She was limp beneath him.

Skin slick. Flushed. Trembling.

Her thighs had stopped shaking—not from relief, but from exhaustion.

Her voice was wrecked. Her eyes—glassy. Her lips—parted in a soft, ruined sigh that made his cock twitch inside her.

Still locked. Still pulsing. Still not enough.

Even after two full rounds—

Even after he’d emptied himself so deep it should’ve broken them both—

His rut didn’t ease.

The fire still raged.

Hotter. Hungrier. Holier.

He watched her body twitch with aftershocks—and something inside him shifted.

Something sacred.

Something old.

A primal instinct unfolded in his chest like wings.

He hadn’t just claimed her.

He’d begun the claiming.

And he’d do it again.

And again.

Until her body bloomed with his legacy.

Until her womb swelled with the future their blood demanded.

Until she was full of his fire-born clutch.

His hand dragged slowly down her stomach—fingers tracing the gentle swell from the sheer amount of cum stuffed inside her.

“You feel that?” he whispered.

She blinked slowly—wrecked.

But her body answered for her—clenching softly, involuntarily.

He moaned.

Fangs bared.

“You’re holding me so tight,” he breathed. “Even now. Like your body knows what it’s for.”

He leaned down—teeth grazing the curve of her breast.

And this time?

He didn’t graze.

He bit.

Hard.

Deep.

Enough to leave a mark that would never fade.

Her back arched under him—a gasp breaking from her throat.

Not pain.

Not exactly.

It was all too tangled now—pain, pleasure, possession.

Her body didn’t know the difference anymore.

He suckled her breast—tongue circling, lips sealing over her nipple.

And his hips began to move.

Slow, shallow thrusts—grinding his knot inside her,stretching her open all over again.

Her fingers tangled in his hair.

And she moaned.

Gods.

She moaned.

Even ruined.

Even drenched in his cum.

Even trembling with overstimulation—

She wanted more.

And so did he.

— © 2025 by Sylus’s Little Crow

【 𝐂𝐥𝐢𝐜𝐤 𝐡𝐞𝐫𝐞 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐏𝐚𝐫𝐭 𝟐 】

[flux1563]

THE BEST PARTY

Tags : a lot of squirting, gangbang, anal, holden shower

*my first story, so sorry if unperfect

Chaewon chuckled, a sound that was both comforting and predatory. "Why not? You're an adult, aren't you? It's time to live a little." She sauntered over to a table laden with unmarked bottles and gleaming syringes. Her movements were fluid, like a dancer performing an intimate routine, and she exuded a confidence that was both alluring and slightly intimidating.

Minju took a deep breath, trying to ignore the racing thoughts in her head. The plan was unlike anything she had ever done before. It was wild, risky, and utterly exhilarating. But as she watched Chaewon's skilled hands mix the contents of the bottles, she couldn't shake the feeling that she might be in over her head.

The door creaked open, and six figures filed in, their faces obscured by shadowy masks. They looked more like guests at a masquerade ball than participants in an underground celebration. Chaewon greeted them with a smile that could have melted steel, her eyes lighting up like a cat who had just caught a canary. "Welcome, gentlemen," she purred. "Allow me to introduce your entertainment for the evening."

With a dramatic flourish, Chaewon presented Minju, who felt a blush creep up her neck. The men's eyes raked over her, and she tried to hold her ground, but the weight of their gazes was like a physical force. They were all tall and broad-shouldered, dressed in sleek suits that whispered of wealth and power. And they were all looking at her with an intensity that made her knees wobble.

"Now," Chaewon announced, "let's get this party started."

Minju nodded, a thrill of excitement running through her veins. "What's the plan?"

"Simple," Chaewon said, her voice a seductive purr. "Today, it's going to be a different kind of celebration. Just six guys, and I'll be here to make sure you have the best time."

Minju felt a thrill at her words, her body already responding with a familiar ache. She watched as Chaewon stood and walked over to the first man, the one who had first claimed her mouth the night before. He stepped closer, his eyes never leaving hers, and she could see the hunger in them. Chaewon leaned in, her lips meeting his in a kiss that was anything but chaste. It was a kiss that spoke of need and desire, of a connection that went beyond friendship.

The second man didn't waste a moment, his hands sliding around Minju's waist, pulling her closer to him. His kiss was harder, more demanding, his tongue dueling with hers as if he was fighting for dominance. She could feel his cock pressing against her stomach, eager to claim her once more. The third man knelt before her, his eyes locked with hers as he began to kiss his way down her body, his lips trailing a path of fire across her skin.

"Get down on your knees," the first man said, his voice a low growl that sent a shiver down her spine. She hesitated for a moment, the command making her pulse race. But then she obeyed, her legs giving out beneath her. The cool marble floor was a stark contrast to the heat of her body, and she felt a strange sense of power in her submission.

Minju wrapped her lips around the first man's cock, her eyes locked with Chaewon's. Her best friend was already on her knees before the second man, her mouth open wide as she took him in. The sight of her friend, so usually composed and in control, in this submissive position was both shocking and incredibly arousing. She watched as Chaewon's cheeks hollowed with each bob of her head, her eyes fluttering shut as she took him deeper and deeper.

The fourth and third men took their places beside Minju, each taking one of her hands in theirs. "Show us how eager you are," they murmured, guiding her to wrap her fingers around their throbbing cocks. The sensation of two more cocks in her grip was overwhelming, but she didn't protest. Instead, she began to stroke them in time with the rhythm set by the first man's hips, feeling the velvety skin slide beneath her palms.

The fifth and sixth men stepped closer, their eyes raking over her body with a hunger that made her tremble. They reached out, each taking one of her breasts in their hands, and began to squeeze and knead them roughly. The sensation was almost painful, but it only added to the delicious tension building inside her. Her nipples hardened, poking out from her chest, begging for attention.

The men watched her intently, their cocks jerking in her hands and her mouth as she worked them. The first two men groaned in unison, their pleasure palpable as they thrust into her eagerly. Chaewon's muffled sounds of pleasure echoed around the room, spurring Minju on to suck harder, to stroke faster. She could feel their precum leaking onto her tongue, the salty taste making her crave more.

The first and second man's grip tightened in minju and chaewon hair as he started to fuck her mouth, his hips moving faster and faster. She could feel the tension building in his body, his cock swelling even more in her mouth.

"Fuck, you're going to make me cum," he grunted, his breath hot against her face.

Minju felt the pressure in her mouth build, the man's cock thickening with each thrust. His grip on her hair tightened, guiding her movements. "Yes," she moaned around his cock, the word vibrating along his shaft. Chaewon watched from the side, her own eyes glazed with arousal as she took the second man's cock in her mouth, matching Minju's rhythm stroke for stroke.

Suddenly, the first man's body tensed, his hips jerking as he climaxed. "I'm coming so much," he groaned, and then his cock erupted, filling Minju's throat with a hot, thick flood of cum. She gagged and choked, her eyes watering as she desperately swallowed, trying to accommodate the deluge. "Glukk... glukkk," she heard the sound of his semen spurting into her, the wetness of it escaping from the corners of her mouth and down her chin.

Simultaneously, the man in Chaewon's mouth reached his peak, his cock pulsing as he unleashed his own load. Chaewon's eyes widened, her throat working overtime as she attempted to swallow every drop. Some of it dribbled out, staining the marble floor a pale white. The sight of her best friend's struggles only served to excite Minju further, making her want to do better, to take everything they had to give.

The two men who had been watching, stroking their own erections, stepped forward eagerly. "It's our turn now," one of them said, a wicked smile playing on his lips as he positioned himself between Minju's legs. He gripped his cock, the head slick with pre-cum, and lined it up with her gaping pussy. "Ready to get wrecked?"

Minju could only nod, her body already responding to the promise of more pleasure. As he pushed into her, she felt her walls stretch and clench around his thickness, her eyes rolling back in her head as she moaned. He didn't hold back, pounding into her with a ferocity that made the first few men seem gentle by comparison.

"Oh fuck," she gasped, her voice high and keening. "You're so big... oh, yes, like that, just like that."

The man in her pussy grunted his approval, his strokes growing more demanding. He was thick and long, stretching her to the limits of pleasure. She could feel his cock hit her cervix with every thrust, the sensation so intense it bordered on pain. But it was a good pain, a pain that made her toes curl and her eyes roll back in her head.

At the same time, the man behind her took position, his cock nudging at her tight, unprepared hole. She tensed for a moment, the anticipation making her breath hitch. But then she relaxed, her body welcoming the new intrusion. "Oh yes," she moaned, her voice thick with desire. "Fuck my ass like there's no tomorrow."

He didn't need any more encouragement. With a single, powerful thrust, he pushed inside her, the sound of skin slapping skin echoing in the quiet room. Minju's eyes rolled back in her head, and she couldn't hold back the scream that ripped from her throat. The pain was intense, but it was quickly overridden by the pleasure that followed.

"Wow, you really are a slut for BBC, aren't you?" Chaewon said, her voice filled with a mix of amazement and amusement. "You can't think of anything except big black cock, can you?"

Minju could only moan in response, the words lost to the haze of pleasure clouding her mind. The man fucking her pussy had hit just the right spot, sending waves of ecstasy crashing over her. Each thrust was a declaration of ownership, a claiming of her body that she couldn't deny. Her eyes remained locked on Chaewon, her best friend's gaze both grounding her in the present and pushing her further into the depths of depravity.

"Yess, this cock is so big and stretches me so well," she managed to murmur, the words forced out between gasps. Chaewon's smile grew wider.

The two men who had been waiting their turn didn't waste any more time. One of them grabbed Chaewon by the hips, spinning her around so that she was facing away from Minju. He didn't bother with any preamble, pushing the tip of his cock against her tightly puckered asshole and sliding in without mercy. Chaewon's eyes watered with pain, but she bit her lip and took it, her body bouncing back against his with each powerful thrust.

The second man stepped up, his cock jutting out like a weapon ready to conquer. He didn't bother with gentle caresses or sweet nothings—instead, he plunged into her pussy with the same ferocity as his companion. Chaewon's body was stretched to the limits, sandwiched between them as they used her simultaneously. She gripped the marble counter, her knuckles white with the effort of holding on, her eyes never leaving Minju's.

"Ahh, so tight," he grunted, his voice filled with a mix of satisfaction and greed. "You two really know how to pick 'em."

Chaewon's eyes watered with pain as she nodded. "Yeah," she gritted out, "she's a virgin there." Despite her words, the pleasure was evident in her voice, a deep, carnivorous hunger that matched the men's own.

Minju watched as her friend was used, her own arousal reaching a fever pitch. She couldn't believe the transformation in Chaewon, the way she had given herself over to the experience. It was intoxicating, watching her best friend lose herself in the moment, just as she had done the night before.

"Ahh, I can't think, please stop," Chaewon moaned, her body convulsing with each thrust from behind. But it was clear she didn't mean it. Her words were a plea for more, a demand for the men to push her further. The man in her ass chuckled, his strokes growing more forceful. "You love it, don't you?" he said, his voice deep and mocking.

"Y-yes," Chaewon gasped, her body betraying her as she pushed back against him, her pussy clenching around the cock inside her. "Don't stop. Please, don't ever stop."

Her words were barely coherent, lost in the symphony of pleasure that consumed her. Minju watched, her own arousal spiking at the sight of Chaewon's submission. Her pussy clenched around the man's cock, and she felt her orgasm building, a crescendo of sensation that washed over her like a tidal wave. The man in her ass hit a particularly sensitive spot, and she couldn't help but scream, her body arching off the marble counter.

"Oh god, I think I'm going to come," Chaewon whispered, her eyes wide and unfocused.

The men took this as their cue to redouble their efforts, driving into the two women with a frenzy that was almost animalistic. Minju felt her own climax building, her body tightening around the cocks filling her. The man in her pussy hit a spot that sent stars shooting through her vision, and she couldn't hold back any longer

Chaewon and minju orgasm hit her like a sledgehammer, her body convulsing as she squirted all over the marble floor. The sensation was so intense she thought she might pass out, the force of it making her muscles spasm uncontrollably.

But the men didn't stop. They just chuckled, their strokes unrelenting. "We didn't cum yet," one of them said, his voice a low growl that sent a shiver down her spine. "And we're not going anywhere until we do."

The two men in her began to pick up their pace, their movements growing more erratic as they approached their own climaxes. Minju felt her orgasm subside, only to be replaced by a new, building wave of pleasure. Her pussy clenched around the cock inside her, desperate for more, for the release she hadn't quite reached. Chaewon's moans grew louder, her body writhing with pleasure as she was pounded from both ends.

"Fuck, I'm coming again," Minju screamed, the words tearing from her throat. The man in her ass grunted his approval, his strokes growing more erratic as he neared his own peak.

Chaewon's voice joined hers, a desperate wail of pleasure as she too reached climax. "Together, baby," the man fucking her pussy grunted, his hips slapping against her ass. "I want to cum with you."

The two men in Chaewon didn't need any more encouragement. They pounded into her with renewed vigor, their cocks thick and demanding as they claimed her in a display of pure, raw power. She could feel the tension in their bodies, their muscles tensing as they approached their own peak.

Minju and chaewon felt the man in her pussy and ass swell even further, his grip on her hips tightening as he neared climax. She braced herself for the onslaught, her body already primed for the explosion of pleasure she knew was coming.

And then, it hit them both. With a roar, the man pulled out of Chaewon's ass, his cum spurting out in a hot, sticky arc that splattered against the wall. At the same time, the man in her pussy reached his peak, filling her with his seed. The sensation was overwhelming, a mix of pain and pleasure that made the two women scream in unison.

Minju felt her own orgasm crash over her, more intense than any she had ever experienced. Her body shook uncontrollably, her muscles clenching around the cocks inside her. She squirted, her juices mixing with the cum that was already leaking out of her, soaking the marble counter beneath her.

Chaewon's eyes rolled back in her head as the men finally pulled out, their cocks glistening with the evidence of their conquest. She collapsed onto the floor, her legs giving out beneath her. Minju watched as cum dribbled out of her friend's abused holes, painting the floor with their shared passion.

The men didn't miss a beat, their semi-erect cocks already starting to thicken again at the sight of the two women's exhausted forms. One by one, they lined up, their cocks bobbing with excitement as they prepared to shower Chaewon and Minju with their golden rain.

The first man stepped up, his cock still partially hard. He aimed it at Chaewon's face, a smug smile playing on his lips as he began to piss. The warm, golden stream hit her cheek, sliding down to her chin and dripping onto her chest. She flinched but didn't move, the humiliation written clearly in her eyes.

Minju felt a strange mix of emotions as she watched—disgust, arousal, and a perverse sense of pride. This was what she had become, a plaything for these men to use and discard. And yet, she couldn't deny that she had never felt more alive.

The second and third men took their positions, their cocks already hardening again as they took turns urinating on Chaewon's prone body. She gagged as some of the urine went into her mouth, but she didn't protest. Instead, she swallowed, her throat working to keep up with the steady flow.

The fourth and fifth men focused on Minju, their streams hitting her in the face, her hair, her breasts. The sting of the piss on her skin was surprisingly erotic, making her nipples peak and her pussy throb with need.

The sixth man, the one who had fucked Chaewon's ass, stepped back. He admired his handiwork, the two friends soaked in a mix of cum and piss, their bodies trembling with exhaustion and pleasure. "Your turn," he said to the others, gesturing to Minju.

The first man stepped closer to Chaewon, his cock still half-hard as he leaned over her, his eyes gleaming with malicious intent. He aimed his cock at her chest, letting a thin stream of piss arc out and splatter against her breasts. She gasped, her body jolting with a mix of revulsion and arousal. The warm liquid ran down her body, mingling with the cum that was already there, creating a sticky, humiliating mess.

The second man approached Minju, his cock pointing at her face like a gun. He smirked as he began to urinate, the stream hitting her cheek and running down her neck. She flinched at first, the sensation foreign and degrading. But as the warmth spread, she found herself leaning into it, her tongue flicking out to catch the salty drops. The taste was surprisingly erotic, a reminder of the power dynamic that had been established in the bathroom the night before.

The third and fourth men took turns dousing them, their piss raining down like a perverse shower, soaking their hair and stinging their eyes. Minju and Chaewon were reduced to whimpering, writhing masses of pleasure and pain, their bodies responding to the humiliation in ways they never could have imagined. The fifth man stepped closer, his cock aimed at Minju's open, eager mouth.

"Swallow," he commanded, his voice low and demanding. She did as she was told, feeling the hot liquid fill her mouth and throat.

"I can't take it anymore," Chaewon groaned, her voice thick with a mix of pleasure and pain. She looked up at Minju, her eyes pleading for release from the relentless assault. Minju stared back, her own body a canvas of cum and piss, her eyes gleaming with an intensity that took Chaewon's breath away.

"Seriously?" Minju asked, her voice a hoarse whisper. "You bring me to this moment of pure ecstasy and you expect me to give up now?"

Chaewon's eyes searched Minju's, a mix of surprise and amusement playing on her face. "I didn't bring you here to watch," she said, her own voice thick with arousal. "I brought you here to experience."

The first two men who had stepped back stood up again, their cocks now fully erect. They approached Chaewon, who was still on her knees, panting and covered in cum. "You can take it, Chaewon," one of them said, his voice a mix of reassurance and challenge. "Just push yourself a little bit more."

The first man grabbed her by the shoulders, his grip firm but not painful. "Get on all fours," he commanded, his tone leaving no room for argument. Chaewon and minju complied, they movements sluggish but determined. They knew what they wanted, and a part of her craved it—the feeling of being used, of being nothing more than a receptacle for their pleasure.

The two men who had been watching, stroking their cocks with a mix of anticipation and hunger, stepped closer. They didn't bother with gentle touches or sweet whispers—instead, they simply thrust into them, one in each pussy, filling them to the brim with their thick, pulsing erections. Chaewon gasped as the man entered her, his girth stretching her more than she ever thought possible. Minju's eyes went wide as she felt the pressure of cock in her own pussy, the sensation overwhelming in its intensity.

"Fuck, after all your pussy is so tight," the man in Minju murmured, his voice thick with lust. She moaned around the mouthful of cock, the words resonating through her body like a bass drop in a dance track. She could feel her walls clench around him, trying to adjust to the sudden intrusion.

"Yeah, Chaewon's pussy is tight too," the other man said.

Chaewon's eyes rolled back in her head as she felt the man's cock stretching her to her limits. She was so full, so used, but she couldn't deny the way her body responded. "Your... cock... is so big," she panted, her voice barely a whisper. "It's... ahh... so good."

The man in her pussy chuckled, his strokes growing more confident as he heard her words. "Yeah, it's like you were made for this," he said, his voice thick with satisfaction. "A perfect little slut for us to use."

Minju's cheeks burned with a mix of embarrassment and arousal at the label, but she couldn't deny the truth of it. Her body was responding to him in a way she had never experienced before, each thrust sending shockwaves of pleasure through her core. She felt her pussy clench around his cock, eager for more of the delicious friction that was driving her insane. "Nine... inches...," she moaned, her voice trailing off as she struggled to form coherent thoughts.

The man in her pussy grunted, his strokes growing more powerful as he approached his own climax. "You're going to take it all, aren't you?" he demanded, his voice filled with the confidence of a man who knew he was giving her the ride of her life. Minju nodded, her eyes glazed with lust as she felt his cock hit her deepest spot, sending her spiraling towards the edge of another mind-shattering orgasm.

"I think I'm gonna squirt again," Chaewon murmured, her voice barely audible over the sound of skin slapping against skin.

Minju nodded in agreement.

"Squirt for us, then," one of the men holding her said, a sadistic grin playing on his lips. "Show us how much you love being a cumslut."

And just like that, the men inside her pulled out, allowing Minju and Chaewon a moment to catch their breath.

"Ahh, it's coming," Minju whispered, her voice tight with anticipation. Her body felt like it was on the verge of exploding, the pressure in her pussy almost unbearable. Chaewon nodded, her own breaths coming in ragged gasps.

And then it happened. With a sound that was half scream, half moan, a torrent of cum gushed from Chaewon's pussy, a gallon of hot, sticky liquid that painted the floor in a glistening arc. The men who had been pounding into her only moments ago stepped back, watching in amazement as the evidence of their pleasure spurted out of her, a testament to the intensity of their encounter.

Minju felt her own orgasm building, her body responding to the sight of Chaewon's release. "Ahh... it's coming," she gasped, her own pussy contracting around the cock inside her.

The men's amazement grew as Minju's body began to spasm, her squirt soaking the floor beneath her. "Wow, after all this time, you can still squirt," one of them murmured, his eyes wide with a mix of disbelief and excitement.

The men who had just been watching stepped forward eagerly, their cocks hard and demanding. One by one, they took their places, lining up to fuck the two women like they were at a buffet.

"Yeah, spank my ass, please," Minju begged, her voice a mix of need and desperation. "Punish me for being such a slut."

The man holding her hips took her words as a challenge, his hand rearing back before connecting with a resounding crack against her ass cheek. Minju yelped, the sting mixing with the pleasure that was already overwhelming her senses. Chaewon nodded in silent agreement, her own desire for pain and pleasure a mirror to Minju's.

Another smack echoed through the room, this time aimed at Chaewon's round, reddened cheeks. She gritted her teeth, her eyes squeezing shut as she took it, her pussy clenching around the cock inside her. "More," she gasped, her voice a needy whine that seemed to drive the men wild.

The man holding her hips took her words as a challenge, his hand coming down with a series of stinging slaps that had her crying out in pleasure. Each blow sent waves of sensation through her, her orgasm building with a ferocity she hadn't thought possible. "I think I'm gonna cum in your pussy, baby," he grunted, his strokes growing more erratic.

Minju could feel her climax approaching, the pressure in her pussy so intense she thought she might burst. "Please," she begged, her voice desperate. "Just let it out. Fill me up."

The man didn't need any more encouragement. With a final, brutal thrust, he released his load deep inside her, his cum mixing with the mess already there. Chaewon watched, her own pussy clenching with need as she heard the wet, gushing sound of his release. "Yeahh fill my pussy too," she said, her voice a low, hungry growl.

Chaewon felt the warmth spread through her, the sensation of being filled so completely sending her over the edge.

The men pulled out of them, their cocks glistening with the evidence of their pleasure. Chaewon and Minju collapsed to the floor, their bodies trembling with exhaustion. Sperm spurted out of their abused pussies, forming a pool on the cold, tiles that made them both shiver. They lay there, panting, their eyes locked on the men who had just used them so thoroughly.

As the seconds ticked by, something strange began to happen. Minju felt the familiar warmth building in her belly again, the beginnings of another orgasm that she hadn't even realized she had the capacity for. Her pussy clenched and spasmed, and suddenly she was squirting again, the liquid shooting out of her with a force that made her gasp.

"Oh fuck, here it comes," she whimpered, her body responding to the intense pleasure that the men were giving her. Chaewon watched, her eyes wide with a mix of shock and envy. She had never seen anyone squirt like that before, let alone experienced it herself.

But the night wasn't over yet. The man who had been fucking Minju pulled out, his cock slick with cum. He stepped back, his eyes never leaving hers as he took aim. "Open your mouth," he ordered, his voice thick with desire.

Minju did as she was told, her lips parting slightly. The warm stream of his piss hit her face, mixing with the cum and sweat that already covered her. She felt the urine fill her mouth, the salty taste of it mingling with the bitterness of the cum. She swallowed, her eyes never leaving his, the power dynamic of the situation making her pussy throb with need.

The other men watched, their cocks already hard again as they took in the sight of the two women, used and abused, yet still begging for more. "We're not done with you yet," one of them said, a predatory smile crossing his lips. "But first, let's clean up."

The men stepped back, their cocks still erect as they began to piss again, this time aiming for the puddles of cum on the floor. The sound of their urine splattering against the tiles was the only thing that broke the silence in the room. Chaewon and Minju watched, their own bodies still trembling with aftershocks of pleasure.

As the men finished, they turned to leave, their eyes lingering on the two friends. "We'll be back tomorrow," one of them called out over his shoulder. "Rest up. You're going to need it."

The door closed behind them, leaving Minju and Chaewon alone in the bathroom, their bodies a mess of cum and piss. They looked at each other, their eyes glazed with a mix of shock and arousal. "What have we become?" Chaewon whispered, her voice trembling.

Minju reached out and took her hand, giving it a squeeze. "Whatever it is, we're in it together," she replied, a small smile playing on her lips. Despite the depraved scene they had just endured, she felt a strange sense of camaraderie with her friend.

They both stood up slowly, their legs wobbly from the intense pleasure that had just ravaged their bodies. Chaewon took a tentative step towards the shower, her pussy still throbbing with a dull ache. "My pussy was so sore," she murmured, her voice still hoarse from screaming.

"Yeah, me too," Minju agreed, wincing slightly as she took a step. The pain was a stark reminder of the night's events, a delicious reminder of their shared secret.

They stumbled into the shower, their bodies moving in unison despite their exhaustion. The warm water cascaded over them, washing away the sticky remnants of their encounters. They sank to the floor, the tiles cool against their burning skin, and let the spray wash over them. It was a moment of quiet respite before the next wave of pleasure-induced pain hit.

As the water rinsed the cum and piss from their bodies, Minju couldn't help but feel a sense of liberation. The sensation of the water was almost too much, every drop sending a shiver down her spine. But it was also soothing, cleansing her of the guilt and shame that threatened to overwhelm her. Chaewon's eyes met hers, and she knew her friend felt it too.

They leaned into each other, their bodies entwined as the water beat down on them. It was a silent affirmation of their friendship, a bond that had grown stronger through their shared experiences. They had faced the darkness together, and emerged the other side, forever changed.

Their laughter echoed in the steam-filled bathroom, a strange contrast to the raw, primal noises that had filled the room just moments before. They were alive, more alive than they had ever felt, and the pain was a part of that. It was a reminder of their power, of the control they had given up and the new world they had discovered.

Their bodies grew limp, the water running red with the evidence of their night. They had pushed themselves to the brink, and somehow, they had come out the other side. Chaewon leaned her head on Minju's shoulder, her breaths coming in deep, shuddering gasps. "Thank you," she murmured, her voice barely a whisper.

Minju looked at her, surprised by the earnestness in her eyes. "For what?" she asked, her voice still thick with the aftershocks of pleasure.

"For bringing me here," Chaewon replied. "For showing me that I'm not broken. That I can still feel something."

Minju nodded, understanding all too well. She had invited Chaewon to this party, to this mess, to show her that she wasn't alone in her desires. To prove that she could find pleasure in the most unexpected places. "We're in this together," she said, her voice firm. "Whatever happens next."

They climbed out of the shower, their legs trembling with the effort. They wrapped themselves in the plush bathrobes that hung nearby, the fabric sticking to their sticky skin. They made their way to the bed, the plush comforter beckoning them with the promise of oblivion.

As they lay down, the reality of their situation began to set in. They had been through so much, given so much of themselves. But there was a comfort in the darkness, a comfort in the knowledge that they had each other.

"You're not a bastard," Chaewon murmured, her eyes closing. "You're my friend."

Minju squeezed her hand, feeling a warmth spread through her chest. "And you're not just a slut," she replied. "You're my partner in crime."

They fell asleep, their bodies entwined, their hearts beating in sync. The dawn would bring a new day, and with it, the start of their next adventure. But for now, they were content in the aftermath of their decadent night.

The next morning, the sun streamed through the windows, casting a warm glow over the rumpled bed and the two women who lay within it. Minju stirred first, her body stiff from the night's exertions. She looked over at Chaewon, who was still sleeping peacefully, her face a mask of contentment.

With a wicked grin, Minju reached for her phone and typed out a message. "I will pay for that party," she wrote, her thumbs moving deftly over the screen. "Maybe a better party with 20 men next time?" She hit send and watched as the message disappeared into the digital ether. She couldn't wait to see the look on Chaewon's face when she read it.

[ddejavvu]

mean!logan noticing you’re obsessed with his biceps so he makes you use them to get off one day >:)))

Greed - Logan Howlett x Reader

send me mean!logan requests!

contents/warnings: mean!logan, degradation, arm/bicep fucking, strength/power imbalance, don't like don't read

thank you to @hanasnx for helping me workshop some possible positions, even if mine differs slightly from indy's 2 examples i had to consult the arm kink professional for guidance

"'Wish you'd speak up for yourself," Logan grunts one day, voice free of criticism but scrutinizing all the same, "Would be a hell of a lot easier to get you off."

"What?" You blink bewilderedly at him, watching as he slings a wife beater over his head, the white fabric barely stretching to cover his broad chest.

"Every time I flex my arms in front of you, you get all crazy. You never say it," Logan stands at the foot of the bed, watching as you squirm, "But I always smell it."

"Your arms are nice." You supply weakly, throat suddenly dry and hollow, "I like them."

"I know." Logan laughs, a huff that's not mean but might as well be for the way it mortifies you, "Like I said, I can tell. But you never say anything, honey. Why's that?"

You detest the way his attention is fixated solely on you. It makes you writhe in your seat, it makes an ache throb between your legs while your brain desperately grasps at straws to figure out what to say.

"I dunno," Is the brilliant response you land on, and his chest rocks with a silent scoff.

"I know why," He prods, crossing his arms. The arms that you can't stop thinking about. "You think talking about what you like is dirty, and you think you're oh-so-pure. But I can smell you- you smell filthy. You're no saint. I've had you choking on my cock before, you're not fooling me. So what do you want?"

Your eyes fall to his arms without any thought behind the motion. He notices, of course, because he's studying you for any miniscule reaction.

"That's not enough." Logan growls, frustration tinging his gruff voice, and you're sure he's smelling the growing arousal between your thighs, "I said tell me."

"I- I want..." You falter, the words on the tip of your tongue but more raunchy than you'd ever be brave enough to voice.

"If you can't ask for it, you're not getting it." Logan decides, the muscles in his biceps flexing as he tightens the way they're crossed against his chest.

You consider abandoning ship. Seceding into silence, and letting Logan down as well as yourself. Taking the safe route.

But you're throbbing. You're aching, Logan's scrutiny combined with the look of his flexed arms is sending you into overdrive, and there's a steady heartbeat between your thighs that's begging for attention. It works the same way booze does, emboldening you, and you blurt out with courage never-before-seen, "I want to ride your arms."

He looks half impressed that you'd said anything at all, and half stunned that you'd said that much, that plainly.

His brows raise, bushy and angled to create a perfect arch.

"Wow. Pretty nasty stuff." He muses, faux-considerate as if he hadn't demanded a voice from you. Still, he doesn't move- so why had he asked?

You shift gently in your seat, but his eyes track your every move like a hunter.

"Well," He lingers in place, arms still crossed, the perfect eye-candy for you, "You gonna say please, or what?"

"Please," You blurt with burning cheeks, and he snickers at your eagerness.

"See? You're not so sweet." He advances, arms coming uncrossed to brace his weight on the bed, meaning thick cords of muscle strain against the confines of his skin, showcased as he crawls towards you, "You couldn't even remember to say please, just demanded to get off on me like I'm some toy."

"Logan, that's not-"

"Inconsiderate." He decides, eyes on your body instead of your face as he scans over your thinly-clad chest, "You're only in it for the sex, aren't you, you little minx?"

"Stop." You plead, feeling as dirty as his words imply. You're not- Logan is the love of your life, but you won't pretend you hate sex with him. But he's making you feel so dirty, like a fiend who wants nothing but his dick.

His hand trails between your thighs but it's different this time, and his fingers toy with your clit only as a prerequisite. You let him open you up, you let his fingers ease your muscles looser as his mouth eases your own loose. His tongue dips inside and licks you into submission, your brain activity lowering the more he kisses you. He soon snakes his arm between your legs, offering you up your real prize: the thick, muscular width of his bicep.

It's an awkward angle, you won't lie. But squeezing your thighs around his arm presses delicious friction against your clit, and the rocking of your hips is an instinct more than it is a thought-out motion.

Logan rests on his stomach on the bed, his arm stretched out in front of him to provide your seat. It means he has to crane upwards to see you, and you thank his supernatural strength for the way that he doesn't break a sweat as you rub yourself wantonly on his arm. His face is not exactly at your own level, which means you can't kiss him silly like you want to. But craning his neck upwards means that his face lands between your tits, and you feel the rough burn of his scruff against your skin as he nestles into your warm skin.

Logan is, perhaps, the ideal individual to suit your cravings for arm muscles. Not only does he have the perfect build, but his increased strength means that he's able to bare his bicep for you to get off on, even lifting it off of the bed to offer you increased friction. Perhaps a normal man would tire in seconds, but Logan- Logan could hold on longer than you.

Grinding against the plentiful mass of muscle in his bicep means that you're rutting up against him, and you have to spread your legs as far apart as possible to ensure that your cunt is met with the already-slickened surface of Logan's bare arm. You're making a mess despite still being in your pajamas, because the shorts you'd been sleeping in offer very little fabric to defend Logan's skin from your copious arousal.

Logan nips at a spot on your left breast, humming gruffly into your chest as you gasp slightly at the intrusion. It breaks your concentration and you have to grip harder at the sheets to fall back into your laborious rhythm.

"Not easy, hm? You've gotta work for it," Logan grunts, mouth moving against your chest as he takes a nipple into his mouth, "Nasty girl, 's a real workout to fuck this dirty, isn't it?"

"Logan, I- I'm not dirty," You whimper, tears beading in your eyes at his gruff accusations, "I'm not."

His laugh is more of a bark than anything, and he ducks his head away from your chest to point with his chin at the mess you're making on his arm.

"That's not dirty? You're dripping- you're making a real mess'a my arm, sweetheart. Dirty little cunt's drooling all over me."

The image of your slick coating Logan's arm, glistening against his muscles throws your pleasure into overdrive. Your orgasm rapidly approaches, the memory of his fingers inside of you only minutes before making up completely for the lack of penetration you get from his bicep. You squeeze your thighs even tighter around Logan's arm, pinning it to your cunt with an almost painful force as you hump against it desperately.

"You're fucking filthy." Logan hisses against your tits, taking one in between his teeth and biting, hard, "Humping my arm like a damn dog. Feel good, honey? Feel how strong I am?"

He flexes harder, tenses his muscles just that much more, and you feel them stiffen impossibly harder beneath your pussy. It's that and the way he mouths at your tits, growling such indecent accusations into their flushed warmth that sends you over the edge, a feeble cry escaping your lips as your hips begin trembling, twitching as you grind against his arm impossibly faster to fulfil your orgasm.

You're sure the bedsheets have suffered your release as much as Logan's arm has, but he's never seriously chided you for making a mess, and you're sure he won't this time. He groans himself as you ride through your orgasm on his arm and you realize only now as you come down from your high that he's been rutting against the mattress, cock still trapped in the confines of his sweatpants. If he hasn't managed to get off on the mattress you'll help him now, granting him access to all the slick warmth that his arm provided.

Now the pressure of his bicep is overstimulating as it presses constantly against your cunt and you ease off of it, giving Logan a prime view of your ruined, sensitive cunt as you whine at the sensitivity.

"Impressive," He hums, "Never thought I'd have you rubbing all over my arm like that."

"It's really strong. You're- you're really strong, Logan, it's nice."

"Yeah?" He grins, more of a smirk perhaps, as something sharp invades his eyes, "All that muscle gets you going? Knowing I'm stronger than you?"

"You are," Your breath shudders as you let it out, and he pushes up on his arms, one still covered in your slick release. He seems suddenly intent on showcasing that strength difference, muscles bulging as he crawls across the mattress to slot himself on top of your fucked-out form.

"I am." He agrees, mouth pressing hungrily to yours as the same arm you'd just got off on curls around your back and cements you to him, his hips already rutting against your own, "Wanna find out how much stronger I am?"

"Yes. Logan, yes, I-" He seizes your mouth in another kiss, cutting off your desperate pleas.

"Fucking try to move." He grunts, almost a growl with how guttural and gruff it sounds against the hollow of your parted lips as his other hand holds your hip firmly, almost crushingly in place, "I'll pin you down 'n hold you still, greedy girl."

[gf2bellamy]

i love ur misleading fic and i was just thunking maybe reader being all comforting to spencer as she waits for his mri scan? and maybe she sits in and talks to him on the mic or something like that? thanks!

mri scan — spencer reid

pairing: spencer reid x fem!reader ( no use of y/n ) content warnings: friends who are in love with each other , spencer has headaches, they're in a hospital , mri scan a/n: hi hi hi ! hope this is what you asked for <3 ( also i might've gotten carried away )

Spencer Reid wouldn’t stop bouncing his leg.

You glanced over at him, your chest tightening at the sight. His sunglasses had slipped down the bridge of his nose, revealing the faint crease between his brows, the tension in his jaw. He hadn’t even noticed—too lost in the throbbing ache behind his eyes.

The moment you’d found out about his headaches, you’d insisted on coming with him to his MRI scan. It wasn’t even a question. The idea of him sitting alone in some sterile hospital room, waiting for answers while his head pounded relentlessly, was unbearable.

He’d tried to brush it off at first, muttering something about not wanting to inconvenience you, but you’d shut that down immediately.

“You’re not an inconvenience, Spencer.”

Without a word, you reached over, gently nudging his sunglasses back up his nose. Your fingers lingered for just a second, brushing a stray curl away from his forehead before settling on his thigh. His leg stilled beneath your touch, and you traced slow, soothing circles over the fabric of his pants with your thumb.

Spencer barely reacted—at least, not outwardly. But you caught it.

The way his nose scrunched up ever so slightly, that tiny, unconscious response he always had whenever you touched him. It was endearing, the way his body betrayed him even when he tried to play it cool.

A nurse approached then, clipboard in hand. “Dr. Reid?”

Spencer straightened slightly, though the movement seemed to cost him. He squinted up at her, his free hand lifting to press against his temple as if trying to physically hold back the pain.

“Yes?” His voice was tight, strained.

She ran through the standard questions—when the headaches started, their intensity, any accompanying symptoms. Spencer answered mechanically, his words clipped. “Two days ago. The light makes it worse.”

You felt his fingers twitch against yours before his hand shifted, his palm pressing more firmly against your own. You curled your fingers around his, giving a gentle squeeze.

The nurse nodded sympathetically. “We’ll get you in about ten minutes, okay?”

Spencer murmured a quiet “Thank you,” his grip on your hand tightening just a fraction as she walked away.

You didn’t say anything. There wasn’t much to say, really. Instead, you shifted closer, letting your shoulder press against his.

The silence settled between you again. You weren’t entirely sure what to say—no words could dull the pain behind his temples, and empty reassurances felt hollow.

Then, so quiet you almost missed it, Spencer mumbled, “Can you come in with me?”

His fingers loosened slightly in yours, as if he were already bracing for rejection, as if asking for this small comfort was something to be shy about. Your heart clenched at the hesitation in his voice.

Of course he’d think he was asking too much.

Without missing a beat, you tightened your hold on his hand, your thumb brushing over his knuckles. “Of course, Spencer.” You kept your voice soft, leaving no room for doubt. “I’m not going anywhere.”

The ten-minute wait crawled by. Spencer’s leg started bouncing again. You resisted the urge to fuss—he wouldn’t want that—but you couldn’t stop yourself from leaning in just a little closer, your shoulder pressing reassuringly against his.

Finally, the nurse returned, clipboard in hand. “Dr. Reid? We’re ready for you.”

Spencer stood, but before he could take a step, you cleared your throat. “Is it okay if I come with?” You asked, your voice quieter than you intended.

The nurse glanced between the two of you—Spencer’s slightly hunched posture, your still-entangled hands—and something in her expression softened. “Yeah, sure,” she said, nodding toward the hallway. “Just follow me.”

The walk to the MRI suite felt longer than it should have. Spencer’s grip on your hand was firm, his fingers laced tightly with yours, as if he were afraid you’d vanish the second he let go. When you reached the changing area, he hesitated, his gaze flickering toward the door.

“I’ll be right here,” you promised, giving his hand one last squeeze before letting go. “Just yell if you need me.”

He slipped inside without protest, leaving you standing in the hallway, suddenly hyperaware of the rhythmic tap of your own foot against the linoleum.

Tap. Tap. Tap.

You crossed your arms, uncrossed them, then leaned against the wall, trying to seem casual. But your thoughts spiraled—What if it was something serious? What if he was in even more pain than he was letting on?

The soft creak of the door snapped you back to reality.

Spencer peeked out, the hospital gown hanging loosely off his frame, the back tie around his neck dangling untied. His fingers fidgeted at his sides, like he was debating whether to even ask.

“Can you help me tie it at the back?” His voice was quiet, almost hesitant, as if he were imposing.

“Yeah, of course,” you said immediately, stepping inside before he could second-guess himself.

The small changing room was neat—Spencer had already folded his clothes into a careful stack on the bench, his belt coiled neatly on top. The sight was so him. You stepped closer, your fingers brushing against the fabric as you gathered the loose strings at the nape of his neck.

“There,” you murmured, smoothing the fabric down without thinking.

“Thank you,” he mumbled, so softly you almost missed it.

When he turned to face you, you couldn’t help but study his expression.

“You still want me with you?” you asked gently.

Spencer nodded immediately, but then, as if catching himself, he ducked his head slightly. “Only if you’re okay with that.”

“Yeah, of course,” you repeated, softer this time.

The room had two doors—one leading back to the hallway, the other to the MRI suite. A light knock sounded from the other side, the nurse’s voice filtering through. “Dr. Reid? We’re all set whenever you’re ready.”

You glanced at Spencer. “You ready?”

He took a slow breath, then nodded, reaching for the door handle. But before he could turn it, his fingers twitched—just once—toward yours.

You didn’t hesitate. You curled your hand around his, giving it a reassuring squeeze.

The nurse guided Spencer to the narrow bed that would slide into the MRI machine, her voice calm as she explained the procedure. You stood nearby, watching his posture—the way his shoulders hunched slightly, the tension in his jaw as he listened. He barely moved, his fingers gripping the edge of the table like he was bracing himself.

When the nurse finished, she glanced at you. “I’ll give you two a moment,” she said kindly, nodding toward the observation room. “You can join me in there when you’re ready.”

You murmured a quiet thanks before stepping closer to Spencer, until you were standing between his knees, your hands instinctively finding his. His grip was tight, his palms slightly clammy.

“I’ll just be in the other room, okay?” you repeated softly, though you knew he’d heard the nurse.

You weren’t sure what else to say. Good luck? You’ll be okay? The words felt hollow. Spencer wasn’t just nervous—he was terrified. Terrified of the machine, of the noise, of the possibility that this might be the beginning of something irreversible.

His throat worked as he swallowed hard, his gaze flickering toward the MRI tube before darting back to you. “It’s—uh. It’s going to be loud,” he said, his voice strained.

You squeezed his hands tighter. “I know,” you murmured. “But it’ll be over before you know it. And I’ll be right there the whole time, watching. If you need to stop, just—”

“Click the button,” he finished quietly, reciting the nurse’s instructions.

You nodded. “Yeah.” A beat of silence.

Spencer could tell you weren’t sure what to say—could see the hesitation in your eyes, the way you lingered even as the nurse waited. His fingers brushed lightly over your arm, a silent plea. You knew that touch by now—knew it meant I need you to stay, just for a second longer.

So you didn’t hesitate.

You pulled him into a tight hug, feeling his breath hitch as he buried his face into your shoulder. His lips pressed against the fabric of your shirt, trembling slightly, his arms winding around you with a desperation that made your chest ache.

“I’m scared,” he whispered into your neck, the admission so quiet you almost missed it.

Your hands slid up to cradle the back of his head, thumbs brushing over his hair. “It’ll only take some time, Spencer,” you murmured, voice steady despite the way your own pulse raced. “Soon enough, you’ll be done.”

You couldn’t stop yourself from adding the words you didn’t truly know the weight of—“And you’ll be okay.”

Spencer pulled back just enough to look at you, his eyes bloodshot. For a long moment, he just stared, searching your face like he was memorizing it. Then, finally, he exhaled.

“Okay,” he mumbled.

“Okay,” you echoed.

His hands lingered at your waist, fingers curling into the fabric of your shirt like he was afraid to let go. You leaned in again, before whispering, “I’ll see you in a bit, Spencer.”

He nodded, swallowing hard as he finally laid back on the table. You brushed another strand of hair from his face, and—just for a second—his lips quirked into the softest, weakest smile. It was barely there, but it was enough.

Then, with one final squeeze of his hand, you stepped away.

The nurse busied herself with the controls, adjusting settings and monitoring the screens as you settled into the chair she’d gestured to. You sat stiffly, fingers absently lifting to your mouth as you gnawed at your nails—a nervous habit you thought you’d long outgrown.

“How long have you been together?” the nurse asked casually, shifting in her seat as she glanced between you and the window where Spencer lay motionless inside the machine.

You blinked, tearing your gaze away from him to look at her. “We’re not dating,” you corrected softly, tucking a loose strand of hair behind your ear.

“You’re not?” Her eyebrows lifted in genuine surprise before she turned back to her computer, typing something.

You shook your head, eyes drifting back to Spencer. Even through the glass, you could see the tension in his frame—the way his fingers twitched slightly at his sides.

The nurse hummed, tapping a few more keys before nodding toward a small microphone you hadn’t even noticed. “You can talk to him if you want to,” she offered. “Sometimes it helps to hear a familiar voice.”

Your breath caught. You weren’t sure what to say—didn’t know if your voice would steady enough to be comforting. But then Spencer’s hand flexed again, and something in your chest tightened.

Leaning forward, you pressed the button on the mic.

“Hey, Spencer,” you said, voice soft. “You doing okay in there?”

A beat of silence. Then—

“It’s loud,” came his muffled reply.

You couldn’t help the small smile that tugged at your lips. “Yeah, I bet. Sounds like a robot throwing a tantrum.”

A huff—almost a laugh. “Accurate.”

The nurse shot you an approving glance, but you barely noticed. Your thumb hovered over the mic button, your mind racing for something else to say.

“Remember that time Garcia tried to microwave her coffee for twenty minutes?” you blurted.

Another pause. Then, “The fire department still won’t let her live that down.”

You grinned. “Exactly. So if she survived that, you can survive—” A sudden, metallic whir cut you off as the machine kicked into a higher gear.

Spencer’s breath hitched audibly.

“Hey,” you said quickly, voice firm now. “Look at me. Well—listen to me. You’re fine. You’re Spencer Reid, genius, trivia champion, and the only person who can out-stubborn Hotch. This is nothing.”

A long silence.

“…You’re right.” His voice was steadier this time. “It’s just noise.”

“Just noise,” you echoed, exhaling slowly. “And I’m right here.”

Through the window, you saw his fingers uncurl slightly against the table.

A few minutes ticked by, the rhythmic thrum of the machine filling the space between you.

"Thank you for coming with me." Spencer's voice crackled through the speaker, softer now, more vulnerable.

You bit your lip, thumb pressing the mic button. "Don't thank me, Spence," you murmured.

The nurse gave you a knowing look from her station, but you kept your eyes fixed on Spencer's still form.

"You'd do the same for me," you added quietly.

Another pause. Then, so faint you almost missed it—

"Yeah. I would."

The admission hung between you. You swallowed hard.

The nurse glanced between you and Spencer's still form on the MRI table, her lips quirking into a small, knowing smile. "You sure you're not dating?" she asked, her tone light but probing.

You exhaled a quiet laugh, shaking your head. "Yeah," you said, offering her a weak smile.

She studied you for a moment, her gaze far too perceptive. Then, simply: "But you wish you were."

Your face burned. "No—maybe," you admitted. Then, quieter: "Yes."

The words hung in the air between you, raw and honest. Your hand dropped from the microphone, suddenly unsure what to do with yourself.

The nurse didn't press further, but the knowing glint in her eye said enough. "He's almost done," she said instead, nodding toward the screen. "Only two minutes left."

You nodded, still reeling from the fact that you'd just confessed—however indirectly—to a near-stranger that you were in love with Spencer Reid. The two minutes passed agonizingly slowly.

Then, finally, the nurse leaned into the microphone. "Okay, Dr. Reid, you're all done."

She stood, and you followed suit, your legs unsteady beneath you. Just before she opened the door, she paused, turning to you with a soft smile.

"You should give it a try," she said simply.

You blinked. "What?"

"Dating," she clarified, nodding toward the room where Spencer waited. Then, with a wink, she pushed the door open and stepped inside, leaving you standing there, heart pounding.

You hesitated for only a second before following her in, your pulse loud in your ears. Spencer was already sitting on the edge of the table, his hospital gown slightly rumpled, his curls more disheveled than usual. When he glanced up at you, his eyes were wide—soft and vulnerable, like a deer.

You couldn’t resist.

In three quick strides, you were in front of him, arms wrapping around his shoulders before he could even react. "You did great, Spence," you murmured into his hair, holding him tightly.

For a moment, he froze—then, with a shuddering exhale, his hands fisted in the fabric of your shirt, clinging to you. You brushed your fingers through the hair at the nape of his neck, slow and soothing.

"It’s over now," you whispered. "You’re okay."

You didn’t let go first. You waited, letting him set the pace, letting him decide when he was ready to pull back. When he finally did, it was only far enough to look at you, his gaze searching yours. His hands stayed curled in your shirt.

Behind you, the nurse smiled softly before turning away, giving the two of you a moment of privacy.

Spencer’s throat worked as he swallowed. "Thank you," he said again, quieter this time.

You shook your head, your thumb brushing over his cheekbone.

"Don’t," you said gently. "You don’t have to thank me for this."

Your hands lingered on his cheekbones, thumbs brushing gently under his tired eyes. "You ready to go home?" you asked softly.

Spencer nodded, letting you guide him off the table, his movements slow. The two of you walked back to the changing room, shoulders brushing occasionally. When you reached the small space, you turned to help him with the knot at the back of his neck, fingers working carefully to loosen it.

"There," you murmured, stepping back once it was undone. "I'll wait outside—"

"I'd like that too."

You froze, halfway through the doorframe, and turned to face him. "What?"

Spencer rubbed a hand over his face, suddenly looking sheepish. "Date," he clarified, voice quieter now. "You forgot to take your finger off the button earlier. I... heard you."

Your mouth fell open.

Oh.

Oh.

The nurse's question. Your flustered yes. The entire conversation—broadcast straight to Spencer, still trapped in the MRI machine.

Heat flooded your cheeks, your pulse roaring in your ears.

Spencer shifted, grabbing his folded clothes from the bench. "You don't have to answer now," he added quickly, not meeting your eyes. "I just... wanted you to know."

You stared at him for one long, stunned second—then, without a word, closed the door behind you, giving him privacy to change.

Leaning back against the wall, you pressed your hands to your burning face.

He'd heard you. And he'd said yes.

You let out a loud, terribly shaky exhale, pressing your palms flat against the wall behind you as if it might steady you.

That was when the nurse walked by, clipboard in hand.

"The results should come in about one or two weeks," she said, glancing at her notepad before looking up at you. "Can you let him know that?" She pointed with her pen toward the still-closed door.

When you didn't reply immediately, she paused, taking in your trembling hands, your wide-eyed expression, your mouth that still hadn't quite managed to close. Her pen halted mid-scribble.

"Did he ask you?" she said, a slow smile spreading across her face.

"What?" you breathed out, voice barely above a whisper.

"You forgot to take your finger off the button," she repeated, shrugging one shoulder like it was obvious. "The mic was still on in the observation room. The whole thing broadcast straight to him."

You weren’t sure if it was physically possible for your mouth to fall open any further.

The nurse chuckled, reaching out to squeeze your arm reassuringly. "It was time, and terribly obvious how much you love each other," she said, her tone warm. "I'm sorry for interfering like this."

She didn’t sound sorry at all.

"But don’t miss out on chances like this," she added softly, giving your arm one last pat before stepping away. "Life’s too short."

That's when you glanced towards the door —and there he was.

Spencer stood frozen in the doorway, his hospital gown replaced by his familiar sweater and slacks, his fingers nervously adjusting the sleeves. His eyes darted between you and the nurse, wide and uncertain.

"Have a good day, you two," the nurse said with a knowing smile before disappearing down the hallway, leaving you alone.

You stood there, heart pounding, before finally managing:

"The results will be ready in a week or two." Your hand lifted automatically, brushing a loose strand of hair behind your ear—a nervous habit.

"I know," Spencer whispered.

He stepped forward fully, closing the door behind him with a soft click.

"And when you do," you continued, your voice soft but filled with hope, "you'll see that you're perfectly fine." You smiled nervously, your heart racing a little, but you couldn’t help yourself. You had to believe it, for both of you.

You moved closer, your fingers brushing against his as you reached for his sunglasses. He let you take them from his hands, his grip loosening just enough for you to slide them carefully back onto his nose. You felt a small flutter in your chest as you adjusted them gently, making sure they sat just right.

"Then we can go on our first date," you added, your voice a little quieter now, the words hanging in the air between you.

For a moment, Spencer didn’t respond. His eyes blinked slowly behind the lenses, and you held your breath, waiting for him to process what you’d said.

Then, unexpectedly, his lips parted just slightly, and something softened in his expression. It was subtle at first, a small curve at the corners of his mouth. But then it grew, blossoming into something more. A smile. A real one. Bright, warm, and genuine.

You felt your breath catch in your throat, your own smile spreading across your face without even trying. It was the kind of smile you hadn’t seen from him in days.

"Okay," he said, his voice steadier now, more certain.

You grinned back at him, feeling a rush of warmth flood your chest.

"Okay," you echoed softly.

And without another word, you grabbed his hand, lacing your fingers tightly with his as you led him out of the hospital.

[piroulinewafers]

I love your fics and how you write soft dom caleb 🥹 he’s so tender

Could you flip the script and do brat reader with controlling dom Caleb? When he’s in the captain’s uniform I just want him to use the gravity evol for evil….

𝐚/𝐧: i'm a sucker for brat-taming... 😋 heavy inspired by this tweet

𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐭: caleb x fem! bratty! reader 𝐜𝐰: smut, brat-taming, cunt smacking ig, improper usage of gravity evol, brief allusion to breeding kink. 𝐫𝐞𝐪𝐮𝐞𝐬𝐭𝐬: open.

the door slammed harder than caleb meant it to.

he winced. at the sound, at the dull throb behind his temples, at the echo of voices that clung to him all day like smoke. orders barked, reports delivered late, a briefing devolving into yet another debate with higher command who wouldn’t listen no matter how loud he spoke.

his boots echoed hollow across the floor, polished soles against marble. gold-threaded cords brushed against his chest with every step, the tight high collar pressing against his throat like a vice. 

he didn’t loosen a single thing. 

he didn’t have the energy to unravel.

what he did have was a headache threatening to split the back of his skull and a voice already making it worse. 

“what took you so long, caleb?”

caleb didn’t look up. “not now.” 

but she was already there, curled up on the sofa like she owned the place, a nest of throw blankets tucked around her like a cat in a sunbeam. except there was no sun now— just the low amber glow of a side lamp and the shadows it cast on her face.

“caleb!” her voice carried that familiar lilt— teasing, petulant, unmistakably bratty. “you said you’d be home like an hour ago! i didn’t even nap, and you didn’t bring any snacks.” 

he finally glanced at her, jaw tight, unamused. “i’m not in the mood for this tonight.” 

she pouted— full-on, bottom lip pushed out, eyes wide and glinting. it was fake and he knew it, but it still made his temple twitch. “you’re never in the mood anymore. i’ve been bored all day, and i made popcorn and everything.

the last thing he needed with this persistent ache behind his eyes and the weight of the long day on his shoulders was her bratty attitude pushing him closer to the brink.

caleb pinched the bridge of his nose, gloved fingers digging into the skin as he took a deep breath, trying to quell the urge to snap back at her. instead, he turned to face her slowly, his expression hardening into a stern, unyielding mask. “enough.” he said, his voice low and controlled. “i’ve had a frustrating day, and i don’t have the patience for this.”

her bottom lip trembled, but she held her ground, her chin jutting out defiantly. “but gege, i’m hungry! when did you become such a jerk…” she huffed out, crossing her arms over her chest, cheeks flushed faintly with anger.

a silence filled the room, caleb’s eyes flashed with a warning though he bit his tongue, a grunt leaving him. he sat down on the other end of the couch, pushing some of her blankets off as the cautions acquiesced to his weight. 

he could feel her gaze on him, could sense her pouting even without looking at her. it was a look he knew all too well, a bratty little smirk that dared him to do something about it. caleb’s jaw clenched, his hands tightening into fists. he knew exactly what she was doing, trying to provoke him when he was already in a beyond frustrated state. 

caleb’s eyes narrowed as he watched her shift, purposefully taking up more space until her sock-clad feet were resting on his lap. she was surely trying to get a rise out of him, but he refused to give her the satisfaction of a reaction.

undeterred by his lack of a response, she kicked her feet a little, wiggling her toes in her white socks and pretending to stretch out with a whine. 

she rubbed her feet against his thigh, toes brushing against the strained fabric of his uniform pants. his jaw clenched, his hands curling into fists at his sides. 

caleb called out her name with a low, dangerous groan, but she ignored it completely. 

“what? i’m just getting comfortable, gege. you’re the one who’s being weird.”

slowly, she began to ‘walk’ her feet up his chest, starting by nudging his lower abdomen playfully. her socks, a soft and fluffy material that clung to her skin, brushed against the fabric of his uniform jacket as she inched herself upwards, a teasing smile on her face as she laid back with her head against a pillow propped on the arm of the chair. 

with an effortless move, she moved to push at the lapels of his jacket with her foot, almost as if though to try and push it off, a feeble and failed attempt. 

just as her foot brushed against his chin, caleb reached out and grabbed her ankle in a vice-like grip. she gasped, eyes widening as she looked at up with big, surprised eyes. caleb’s violet eyes flashed with a mix of frustration and something darker, primal.

he tightened his grip on her ankle, his fingers sinking into her soft flesh hard enough to leave purpled bruises. 

“fuckin’ brat,” he muttered, his breath hot against her skin. “always pushin’, always testin’, never knowin’ when to quit.” he leaned in closer. “fine. you want me to put you in your place so bad? i’ll fuckin’ put you in line.”

caleb’s eyes flashed with annoyance as she squirmed and writhed beneath him, her ankle twisting in his grasp as she tried to free it from his grasp, using her other foot to gently push against his chest. it was almost enough to make him lose his rhythm, but he gritted his teeth and tightened his grip on her ankle, using his gravity evol to pin her leg in place, practically forcing her leg to go limp in his grip. 

“stop fightin’.” he growled, his voice tight with barely restrained patience. “you’re not goin’ anywhere until i say so.”

she gasped, her back arching off the couch cushions as she felt the oppressive force of his evol, her attempts at squirming and prying herself from his grip useless. 

she whined, a needy sound that grated on caleb’s nerves. she was always so impatient, so greedy for her pleasure.

caleb didn’t give her a chance to protest, his other hand already moving to the front of her tank top, shoving it up and exposing the creamy expanse of her belly. his calloused fingers splayed across her stomach, feeling the way her muscles clenched and jumped beneath his touch. 

with a grunt, he caught the hem of his glove between his teeth and tore it off with a sharp yank, tossing it carelessly to the floor. his hand looked even more massive without the black leather as he pressed it against the inside of her thigh, his thumb rubbing maddeningly slow circles on the sensitive skin just behind her knee. 

“caleb, wait—“ she whimpered, but her protests died on her lips as caleb’s mouth found the side of her neck. he bit down hard enough to make her gasp, teeth sinking into the tender flesh until he was sure he’d leave a mark. his tongue laved over the reddening skin before he sucked a dark bruise into the side of her throat, his saliva tingling and cool against the heat of her flushed skin before pulling away with a wet ‘pop’. 

he rocked his hips forward, the thick ridge of his cock pressing insistently against her clothed sex. a choked moan spilled past her lips, her hips bucking up to meet his as she felt the hard length of him throbbing against her. her panties were surely damp, fabric clinging to her folds as caleb ground against her. 

caleb’s hand slid higher, his fingers dipping beneath the waistband of her shorts and panties. he cupped her mound, the palm covering her sex completely as he squeezed, rubbing her clothed slit with the heel of his hand. 

“already so wet…” he murmured, his voice a low rasp. “you just can’t help yourself, can you? always needing to be put in your place, always thinkin’ with your leaky cunt…” his fingers circled her clit, pressing down on the sensitive nub, making her cry out at the sudden attention. 

he tugged her shorts and panties down her legs, not bothering to remove them completely and letting them dangle around her ankle. he just needed enough room to give that needy cunt of hers all the attention it needed. 

as if reading his mind, she reached out to grab at caleb’s wrist, trying to guide his fingers back to her aching, gripping core. “please, gege,” she whimpered, her voice high and breathless. “i need… i need your fingers inside me. i’m so empty…”

caleb’s eyes narrowed, a look of disapproval on his face. he smacked her clit hard, making her yelp and jerk against him. “did i say you could touch me?” he snapped, his voice cold as ice. 

he punctuated his words with another sharp smack to her sensitive cunt, watching as she writhed and squealed. “when did my good girl start acting like such a needy slut?”

she only whimpered at his harsh words, pouting as she shook her head and looked away, refusing to meet his eyes. he leaned forward, using his free hand to force her to meet his eyes, squeezing her cheeks together enough to make her look cutely squished. 

“look at me when i’m talkin’ to you.”

caleb’s cock throbbed almost painfully in the confines of his uniform pants, the heavy length straining against the fabric. he couldn’t wait much longer. with a harsh tug, he undid his fly and tugged his boxers down, his massive cock springing free. it slapped against his belly, the thick shaft pulsing with need. 

he didn’t bother fully tugging his pants down, simply settling to shuffling his boxers out of the way as best as he comfortably could.

gripping himself in his hand, caleb notched the swollen head of his cock against her entrance. with one brutal thrust, he buried himself to the hilt in her hot, silken flesh. her squeals of pleasure and plain echoed throughout the room, her back arching off the couch as he split her open on his cock. caleb just snarled, his hips never pausing in their relentless rhythm.

he fucked into her hard and fast, the couch creaking and shaking with the force of his thrust. one hand gripped her hip while the other braced against the back of the couch near her head, looming over her. 

her body jolted with each thrust, creamy skin flushed and a sheen of sweat making it glisten in the dim light. her eyes were glazed over, pupils blown wide with lust and desperate need. they fluttered shut as soft mewls and whimpers tumbled past her kiss-swollen lips, a picture of debauched bliss. her bottom lip quivered with each pointed thrust, tank top ridden up and exposing the creamy swells of her chest, the delicate peaks of her nipples straining against the fabric. 

a satisfied smirk played at the corner of caleb’s lips, seeing the dazed, fucked-stupid expression on her face. 

“still feeling bratty now, hm?” he asked, his voice a low rumble. he rolled his hips, driving into her with another sharp thrust that made her gasp and arch beneath him. 

she could only whimper in response, body trembling with the intensity of her pleasure. caleb chuckled darkly, reveling in the control he had over her. he knew he had fucked her into a pliant, obedient mess, all for him. 

his hand slip up her side, cupping the soft swell of her breast before he pinched her nipple, rolling the hardened peak between his fingers. she cried out, her back bowing off the couch as jolts of sensation raced through her. caleb drank in the sight of her, his eyes roaming her aching body with a mix of lust and possessive pride.

“i think you needed this,” caleb murmured, his breath hot against her ear. he withdrew slowly, only to snap his hips forward again, driving into her with a punishing force. “to be taught a lesson.” 

he slowed his thrusts, not stopping but certainly not as brutal as before. his hips rolled languidly, grinding against her sensitive clit and making her gasp. he knew she was close, could sense the way her body was coiled tight and ready to snap.

“do you want to cum, baby?” he asked, his voice a low, dominant rumble.

her own bratty defiance had completely crumbled away with each forceful thrust of his hips. her eyes, now hazy and unfocused, fluttered open to meet his intense violet gaze. in them, he saw a glimmer of the submission he’d been craving.

“y-yes,” she nodded frantically. “p-please, caleb…”

caleb’s lips curled into a smirk, satisfied. he reached up to grip her chin, forcing her to keep her gaze locked with his. “then why don’t you go ahead ‘nd apologize for being such a little brat, hm? my good girl would never act like this.” 

her breath hitched, a choked sound that bordered on a sob. but she didn’t hesitate this time, didn’t bother with the teasing retorts or playful banter that was intended to get on his nerves. 

“‘m sorry,” she gasped out, her voice shaking. “i’m so sorry for being bratty, gege. i’m sorry, i-i just missed you so much— please, please, i wanna cum—“ 

“there’s my good girl”. 

his hips surged forward, slamming into her with renewed vigour. he could feel her body tensing, her cunt clamping down on his cock like a vice as her climax approached. “that it,” he rasped, voice rough with lust. “cum for me, baby. cum all over my cock.” 

with a sharp cry, her body convulsed, back arching off the couch as her orgasm crashed over her. her cunt spasmed wildly around caleb’s poisoning shaft, the slick walls rippling and grasping at him as if trying to trap him inside of her. caleb just growled, fucking her through her peak with hard, deep strokes that made her see little stars.

as the aftershocks of her climax began to ebb, he could feel the way her body went pliant beneath him, boneless and sated. a sense of masculine pride surged through him at the sight of her— flushed and panting, completely fucked out and all his. 

caleb’s body tensed, a low goan rumbling in his chest as his own orgasm overtook him. his hips jerked forward, slamming into her with a final, brutal thrust as he spilled himself deep inside of her. thick, hot ropes of cum pumped into her spasming cunt, painting her insides white as his cock throbbed and pulsed with each wave of his release.

for a moment, as the last spurts of his seed filled her, caleb’s mind flashed with a flicker of concern. he wasn’t wearing a condo, a fact that should have given him pause considering the potential consequences. but as he gazed down as her fucked-stupid expression and felt the way her body molded perfectly to his, he found he couldn’t bring himself to care. 

‘let the chips fall where they may,’ he thought. if his cum took root inside her, if she ended up round with his child… well, that was just another way to claim her as his, wasn’t it? to bind her to him for all of their lives.

caleb rolled to the side, pulling her with him so that she was draped across his chest on the cramped couch, head pillowing on his shoulder. his arms wrapped around her, one hand stroking lazily down the curve of her back as the other tangled in her mussed hair. he pressed a soft kiss to the top of her head, his lips lingering against her skin.

“did you learn your lesson this time?”

her cheeks flushed at his words, more than they already were as she ducked her head shyly against him, peeking up at caleb through her lashes. “yes, gege,” she whispered, her voice small but sincere.

caleb studied her for a long moment, searching her expression for any hint of deception or insincerity. but all he saw was a pretty, well-fucked girl who looked like she meant every word. a slow, satisfied smile spread across his face, his clothes uncomfortable and sweaty, but he didn’t mind. so long as she was with him, he didn’t have a care in the world. “good girl.” he praised softly. “but don’t worry, if you ever forget again, i’ll be more than happy to remind you.”

[eupheme]

— show me, sweetheart

logan howlett x f!reader

rated e | 700 words

tags: PiV, come play / eating / swapping, logan pov, multiple rounds, mating pressss, just pure filth

logan never leaves a job half-done.

His cock still throbs, when he finally eases out of you.

Hands still gripping your waist - claws half-punched through whitened knuckles, edged with red. Hips still rutting into the air, letting himself drip down against your swollen cunt.

Marking you, from the inside out.

As good as it feels to spill inside you, it’s this moment that Logan likes the best. Bliss still humming in his veins, as his hand wraps around.

Making sure every drop is spent where it should, making sure he gleams across your skin.

Parted lips that match yours, panting out a breath as you drift back down from your own high. Wrecked beneath him, a gasp pushed from you when his hands hook beneath your knees.

Pushing leaden legs up, then open. Shameless in the way his eyes drop, to see how you gape in his absence.

“Come on.” He rasps. “Lemme see.”

Logan’s name comes out hushed.

Cute, how embarrassed you are.

As if you weren’t begging for him a moment ago. Greedy for his touch. For his come, wanting it spent deep inside you.

He gave it all to you, and now you owe him.

A slight edge slipping into his voice.

“Show me, sweetheart.”

The rough and commanding sound makes you clench, but it’s what he wants. Pretty and empty and he think you must be aching to be filled again, with the way he watches himself bead up inside you.

Spilling over.

“Fuck.” It’s hissed out through gritted teeth.

He lowers. Head pressed against a thigh, hearing the way your pulse gallops beneath your skin.

Gathering himself up. Two fingers fitting inside you as he pushes his come back in - groaning at how wet and warm you are around him, gripping him from fingertip to knuckle.

It’s filthy, the sounds you make. The moan paired with the lewd pump of his fingers. Pitching high when he can’t resist the urge to taste the way you blend together.

The flat of his tongue tracing from filled hole to clit, then back again. A pleased hum when you clamp down around him, bucking into his mouth each time.

Another lazy lick before he’s moving, all thick muscle and sinew - fingers withdrawing as your thighs are pushed up towards you chest again.

Your slick and his release smeared across your skin, as his mouth presses to yours. Lips parting for the swipe of his tongue, a muffled moan when he passes himself to you. Deepening it, until he’s all you can taste.

“Again, yeah?” His nose ghosts across your cheek, when the kiss finally breaks. Nuzzling his face the hollow beneath your ear, inhaling.

Your body arches against his, “Yes.”

Always yes.

Always more, and something in his chest tightens at the thought of him being the one to give this to you.

A hand slips down in answer, wrapping around his cock. Guiding it back inside, a sharp snap of his hips as he drives himself home.

Even after everything, you still hiss as you make room for him. Toes curling as your legs flex - knees digging into his ribs.

“Shit,” He growls, low in your ear, “There we go. Atta girl.”

Reveling in the bite of your nails, as your arms wind around his neck. Scraping against his shoulders as he swallows your moan.

Bottoming out until he’s back where he belongs, crushing himself flush against the folded curve of your body.

The cold kiss of his dog tags against heated skin as he fucks down into you, again and again. The bed creaking with the force of his weight, as his spread knees digging into the mattress.

Close enough to hear each and every breath pushed from your lungs. The ragged gasps that pitch higher when his cock pounds against that spot inside you, again and again.

It send a rush of warmth through him. A tightening in his core with each sharp plunge of his hips - but tonight, he lets that feeling build.

Chasing it, even - a rough growl against your throat, when he feels you start to stiffen beneath him in anticipation.

The tell-tale whimper that tells him you’re close - nails piercing already-healing flesh. A permission to let himself follow, as soon as he feels you pulse around him, once more.

Because after all, if his girl wants to be filled-

Then he’s sure he’s got a few more rounds in him.

thank you so much for reading! 💕

[imgoodimhealthy]

nct dream reactions

arguing with them because of their idol life

— mark, renjun, jeno, haechan, jaemin, chenle, jisung.

— angst, comfort, established relationship

note: i almost dropped this one, too busy to continue but glad i did so:) ++ this is what i imagined them to be, some are too angsty for liking hehe.

MARK:

"im just tired, i was saying that maybe we could just talk this out tomorrow.." mark’s voice wavered, trying not to raise it too much. he feared that being louder would make things worse, like his words would carry a weight he couldn’t take back. his body ached from the long day at work. back-to-back meetings, endless demands, and managers breathing down his neck had drained every ounce of energy he had left. his head throbbed, and his limbs felt heavy, as if even standing was a struggle.

you scoffed, arms crossed tightly against your chest. "you always say that! you always keep saying tomorrow, tomorrow, tomorrow! at this point, our relationship feels like a joke!" your voice cracked, but you refused to back down, standing right in front of him with your brows tightly knit together. your chest rose and fell quickly, frustration coursing through your body like a storm that wouldn’t settle.

mark sighed deeply, rubbing his face with both hands as if trying to wipe away the exhaustion clinging to him. "fuck, i just need some rest!" his voice was rough, more desperate than angry, but the sharpness of it still cut through the room like a blade.

you flinched, your eyes widening slightly. he never sounded like that — not at you. your grip on your sleeve tightened, and for a moment, neither of you said anything.

mark slowly lowered his hands, and when he finally opened his eyes, he looked wrecked. his shoulders slumped like he was carrying the weight of the entire day, and his gaze softened when he saw the way you took a small step back. panic flickered across his face, and he reached out instinctively. "please, y/n... fuck, im sorry. okay? im tired, hey-" his fingers barely grazed your arm before you slapped his hand away.

the sting of rejection lingered on his skin, but he let his hand drop to his side, fingers curling into a loose fist.

"let's just talk tomorrow," you muttered, echoing his words in a bitter tone. you didn’t look at him as you opened the door of the apartment, stepping out without another glance. mark stood frozen in place, staring at the closed door. his chest tightened, his heart hammering painfully as the silence settled in. he felt everything and nothing all at once, the ache in his body now overshadowed by the hollow feeling in his chest.

RENJUN:

"i need to go, i just can't skip that. they were waiting for me," renjun explained, already grabbing his bag as he spoke. his voice was steady, but his movements were sluggish, still weighed down by yesterday's sickness.

you stepped in front of him, blocking his path with a worried look. "no, you were literally sick just yesterday. what can one day of rest hurt them?" your voice softened, but your concern was loud. you searched his face, hoping he’d change his mind, hoping he’d choose to take care of himself just this once.

renjun stopped, his fingers tightening around the strap of his bag. he let out a slow breath, his brows furrowing as he looked at you. "look, i know you're worried, but i can take care of myself," he said, voice laced with frustration. "i don’t need you to always remind me of things i already know."

and that. that hit you like a punch to the chest.

your arms slowly dropped to your sides, and you stared at him, blinking as his words echoed in your head. your chest ached, and you swallowed hard, trying to push down the hurt rising inside you.

renjun’s face fell the moment he saw your expression shift. he realized what he’d said, and regret immediately washed over him like a cold wave. "hey..." he muttered, stepping closer, "look, i’m fine, okay? i was sick yesterday, but not anymore —"

you turned your head away, cutting him off with a quiet, "just go."

renjun froze, his heart sinking. his fingers twitched at his side, torn between reaching out and giving you space. the room felt unbearably quiet, the tension so heavy it was almost suffocating. he stood there for a moment, staring at the door, then at you.

"i won’t go..." he whispered, barely loud enough to hear.

you looked at him, confusion flickering across your face. "what?"

renjun slowly sat down on the corner of his bed, his shoulders slumping as he rested his elbows on his knees. he rubbed his hands together, staring down at the floor. "i won’t go anymore," he repeated, voice steadier this time.

you took a hesitant step toward him, still unsure if you heard him right. "but... you said it’s important," you reminded him, your voice quieter now.

renjun finally looked up, his eyes tired but filled with something gentler. "not anymore," he said, shaking his head. "if it means losing you, then it’s not important anymore."

JENO:

you looked at him, frustration burning in your chest. "so you're just not going to acknowledge it?" your voice cracked as you scoffed, eyes locked on him, searching for some kind of remorse or understanding.

he met your gaze, his own filled with exhaustion. "acknowledge what? what did i do again?" his voice wavered, not with anger at you but at the situation — the cycle you both kept falling into. he ran a hand through his hair, tugging at the strands as he tried to keep his composure.

he hated feeling this way. he hated feeling like loving you drained him more than it should. he loved you so much it hurt, but sometimes, he wondered if love alone could fix everything.

"you were literally in a dating rumor with someone else!" you snapped, stepping closer as your chest heaved with each word. "how am i supposed to react to that? be happy? congratulate you?" your voice shook, laced with hurt and betrayal.

he blinked at you, disbelief washing over him like a cold shower. his heart pounded, and he felt his head spinning. "it was a dating rumor, y/n," he said, voice breaking as he tried to steady his breath. "how am i supposed to stop it? do you want me to post on my socials and spell it out? say it isn’t real? it’s not that deep — they’re just rumors. you’re the one i’m with. you’re the one i love," he pleaded, stepping closer as if closing the distance would fix everything.

but you stepped back.

"i feel like you’re not even doing much," you said, voice quieter but sharper, like a blade slipping between ribs. "if you wanted to, you would."

he closed his eyes, sighing so deeply his chest caved in. "not every time can i do what i want," he muttered, voice rough from exhaustion. "you know how the industry works, y/n. i can’t just go out there and say whatever i want... even if i want to scream it to the world."

you looked at him, chest tightening. "so you’re all talk and no effort?" your words hit like a slap, and he flinched.

he swallowed hard, his hands trembling at his sides. "i’ve been trying so hard to make an effort..." he whispered, voice thick with unshed tears. he looked at you, eyes glassy and desperate. "was it never enough for you? was i never enough?"

HAECHAN:

"wait for me, i'll come over quick." his voice was urgent as he pressed the phone to his ear, weaving past his groupmates mid-practice. they called after him, confused, but he didn’t stop. he barely even registered the way their voices faded as he ran out of the studio.

his breath was heavy by the time he reached your apartment, about thirty minutes later. his heart pounded—not just from running, but from something heavier settling in his chest.

he quickly typed in the code to your door, pushing it open. and then, he froze.

you stood there, tupperware in hand, just as frozen as he was. on the table, there were a few decorations, a cake, and the quiet reminder of what today was.

his stomach dropped.

"fuck," he muttered under his breath, realization hitting him like a truck. he had forgotten.

you let out a short, humorless laugh, setting the tupperware back on the table. "i thought you wouldn’t come," you said, crossing your arms. "thought you were too busy hanging out with your... friends."

he swallowed hard, suddenly feeling too ashamed to step further inside. but he did, closing the door behind him. "i'm... sorry. i wasn’t just hanging out. we were practicing—there's an upcoming choreo for the comeback and—"

"you always say that," you cut him off, your voice flat.

he bit his lower lip, frustrated at himself, at the situation. "it’s true—look, i’m sorry. i was so busy, i didn’t realize... let’s just celebrate, okay? we still have time, right?" he tried, his voice softer now, hopeful.

you shook your head, looking down at the untouched food. "i don’t think i even have an appetite anymore," you muttered.

his chest tightened. "i already said sorry," he whispered, stepping closer. "what more do i have to do? please, let’s not fight again—"

you looked up at him, your eyes burning with something raw. "how can we not fight again when you’re always like this? you haven’t changed at all, haechan," your voice wavered, but you didn’t stop. "you’re still the same person who promised me you'd do everything for this relationship, when you can’t even do one thing."

his breath hitched. he bit down hard on his lower lip, but it didn’t stop the sting in his eyes. your words hurt. and maybe what hurt more was that... you were right.

JAEMIN:

“don’t go.” jaemin’s voice wavered as he grabbed your wrist, his fingers curling around it gently, almost like he was afraid you’d break if he held on too tight.

“i have to,” you said with a soft laugh, trying to ease the tension. “you know i have work at 9.” you tried to tug your arm away, but he didn’t let go.

he clenched his jaw, his grip firm but not painful. “we barely spent time together today... can’t you skip work? just this once? for me?” his voice softened, almost pleading. “today’s my free day, and i just... i wanted to be with you.”

you carefully slipped your hand from his grasp, stepping back. “i can’t just skip work like magic, jaem. i have a job too,” you said, your tone steady, but something in your chest ached.

he looked away, guilt settling on his face. “i know... i just... i feel like we’ve barely seen each other lately,” he admitted, rubbing the back of his neck. he stood up, the space between you feeling wider than the few feet that separated you.

you scoffed, brows knitting together. “you called me at 6 p.m. last night, told me to come over, and then you just slept,” you said, voice sharper than you intended. “i know you’re tired, but how long are you going to be this selfish?”

jaemin’s eyes snapped to yours, hurt flashing through them. “selfish? all i did was love you—”

“love me?” you cut him off, your heart pounding. “you call that love? calling me over late at night and asking me to ditch work for you?” your voice cracked, and the realization hit you just as hard as the words you were saying.

he ran a hand through his hair, his chest rising and falling quickly. “i’ve just been tired these past few days, okay? if it was too much, you could’ve told me to come over to yours instead,” he argued, voice strained. “i didn’t know i was a burden to you.”

you blinked at him, frustration boiling over. “so it’s my fault now? is it my fault you don’t try hard enough—”

“i don’t try?” he cut in, his voice loud enough to echo in the small space. “all i did was ask you to come over. was that too much? i didn’t mean to make it sound that way, but if you don’t want to, then fine. it’s not a problem.”

your heart sank, disbelief washing over you like cold water. “so it’s my fault?” you repeated, voice trembling. without another word, you grabbed your bag and stormed out, leaving jaemin standing there, staring at the door like he wished he could take everything back.

JISUNG:

“i have to go, i’ll come back later, alright?” jisung said softly, pressing a gentle kiss to your cheek. he smiled, but the warmth faded when you suddenly pulled away from him.

he blinked, his smile disappearing. “did... did i do something wrong?” he asked, voice hesitant, eyes searching your face for an answer.

you crossed your arms, looking away. “you said you’ll go, so just go.” your voice was laced with disappointment, your chest tightening as you spoke.

jisung didn’t move. he just stood there, frozen in place, confusion written all over his face. “are you mad at me?” he asked, voice quieter now. “i promise i’ll just check the studio real quick and try to come back as soon as i can...” he trailed off, unsure of what to do.

you shook your head, frustration bubbling up. “i don’t know. you’re leaving me just to check something at the studio? can’t you do that tomorrow?”

he bit the inside of his cheek, nervously fidgeting with the hem of his shirt. “mark hyung asked me to come over... he said there’s a change in the choreo, and he wanted me to see it,” he explained, his voice uncertain, like he was afraid of saying the wrong thing.

“just go tomorrow,” you muttered, glancing at the clock.

jisung shifted on his feet, rubbing the back of his neck. “i wish i could... but mark hyung might not be free tomorrow, and he said it’s important to—”

“so you’re not busy? being with me doesn’t count as being occupied?” you cut him off, your words sharp, eyes burning as you looked at him.

jisung’s mouth fell open slightly, completely caught off guard. “h-huh? no, i never meant it like that, i just—” he stammered, words falling apart before he could even finish a sentence.

you sighed, turning away. “whatever. just go,” you muttered, your voice barely above a whisper.

jisung stood there, heart sinking, watching your back as he tried to figure out whether leaving or staying would hurt you more.

[arcadia-smith]

He doesn't remember you.

But.

You stay.

Of course, you stay.

Because Bucky is still here, alive in the flesh, and somewhere—deep inside him, hidden beneath the layers of fractured memories—he must know you. He must remember.

It’s just a matter of time.

That’s what Sam says. What the doctors say.

Give it time.

So you do.

Days bleed into weeks, weeks into months.

And still, you stay.

You tell him stories—soft and steady, like a balm for the ache between you. You show him pictures, snapshots of the life you once shared, the love that stitched you two together.

You speak of your first date—how his nerves made him fidget like a storm on the horizon, pacing outside your apartment for what felt like an eternity before he finally knocked, all shaky hands and warm, unsure eyes.

You tell him about that rainy night, when he kissed you under the storm, his laughter a low hum against your lips as he whispered, “This only happens in the movies.”

You tell him about you—the version of yourself that once fit perfectly against his side.

And you wait.

You wait for the spark—the brief, flickering recognition that he once knew the rhythm of your heartbeat, the warmth of your touch.

You wait for those blue eyes to soften again, to look at you the way they used to—tender, loving, yours.

But they never do.

And then, one day, after all the days, weeks, and months spent watching and hoping—

You find him in the common room, grinning at something on his phone.

Someone.

A woman.

She’s bright, beautiful—her laughter a melody you don’t recognize.

And before you even open your mouth, you know.

But still, you ask.

“Who’s that?” Your voice is light, fragile, like a leaf trembling in the wind.

He looks up, then back at the screen, that faint, soft smile still lingering.

“Her name’s Kate.”

It’s a gut-punch. The kind that steals the air from your lungs and leaves you gasping.

“Oh,” you whisper, trying to swallow the burning sorrow that claws its way up your throat. “She’s... she’s pretty.”

He grins—wide, unbothered, as though this is just another casual conversation, nothing more.

“Yeah. I think I might ask her out.”

And in that moment, everything inside you fractures.

Not just the silence between the two of you, but the world itself.

Because Bucky doesn’t remember you.

No. Worse.

He’s moving on.

Without you.

And you can’t stop it.

You can’t tear through his shattered mind and fix what they took from him.

You can’t scream, You love me. You chose me. We were supposed to have forever.

You can’t do a single thing.

So you smile.

You nod.

You pretend that you’re not being swallowed whole by the hollow ache inside you.

And that night, when the house falls silent and empty, you don’t leave the porch light on.

Because Bucky isn’t coming back.

He already has.

And he’s not yours anymore.

You leave.

You have to.

Because staying, watching him laugh with someone else—someone new, someone with a love untouched by the scars of time—it would be like breathing in glass shards. It would tear through you, piece by piece, until nothing remained. You would cease to exist.

So you gather your things in silence, each item a memory you can’t afford to carry anymore.

You say goodbye to Sam, but there is no promise in your words. No hope. Just the hollow echo of a love you can’t save. You don’t tell Bucky. What would be the point? He’s already gone. The man you once knew is somewhere behind the locked door of his memories, and there is no key.

You leave.

And time doesn’t care.

It moves on, cruel and indifferent. Days stretch into weeks, weeks bleed into months, and the seasons change in ways that mean nothing. You rebuild, slowly. The edges of your broken heart are sealed with the soft, fragile thread of survival. You learn to exist without him. You learn to wake up without him beside you, without his breath against your neck, without the weight of his love settling around you like a warm blanket. You learn to live with the dull ache, the phantom throb in the places where he used to be.

But there are moments.

There are mornings when your fingers twitch toward the space where he should be, when your heart stutters, trapped in a fleeting memory, a touch, a whisper. And you wonder, just for a second, if he’s still there—if you’re still there. But then, the thought fades. Because he’s not yours. Not anymore.

And then—

Then you get the call.

Sam's voice is a tightrope, fraying at the edges.

"I need you to come back."

You hesitate, your breath a jagged thing. You don’t want to. You can’t go back to that place, to those ghosts. The last time you left, you left your soul in the hollow of his chest, and it never returned.

But Sam's voice cracks in a way that makes your insides twist. And you can’t ignore it. Not this time.

So you go.

And when you step into the room, you’re not ready for it. You’re never ready.

Sam stands in the doorway, his face pale and drawn, like he hasn’t slept, hasn’t eaten. His hands tremble at his sides, and there’s something in his eyes that says everything you don’t want to hear.

"It’s happening again."

At first, the words make no sense.

And then, they do.

Because Bucky is in the med bay, his body tethered to the bed, his arms thrashing against the restraints. His breath comes in ragged gasps, the panic clear in every movement. His eyes are wide, full of something deep—something more terrible than fear.

You run to him, despite everything, despite the emptiness he left behind. You run because he is still your Bucky, the man you loved with everything you had. You run because that’s all you’ve ever known how to do.

“Bucky,” you whisper, your voice a breathless plea. Your hand reaches for his, but he pulls away like your touch is a thing that burns.

And then—

He says your name.

And the world stops.

The earth cracks beneath you, and you feel yourself falling into a place where nothing makes sense. The thing you wanted most, the thing you prayed for, is here. He remembers. He remembers you.

But when you look into his eyes, it’s not relief that fills them. It’s horror.

“No,” he gasps, shaking his head violently, as if to shake you away, to shake this away. His words tear from him in broken sobs. “No, no, no—please—”

“Bucky, it’s okay,” you whisper, your voice trembling with the weight of everything you thought you could carry. But it’s not okay. It will never be okay.

His chest heaves. His body jerks, as though the memories are too much to hold, too much to be.

“What did I do?” he chokes.

And that is when you understand.

He remembers you. Yes, he does. He remembers everything.

But he also remembers her.

The woman he found after you, the woman he learned to love after he’d forgotten the taste of you. The woman who is out there, somewhere, still holding his heart, still waiting for him with arms wide open.

And he loves her. He loves her the way he loved you. But in a different way. In a way that isn’t stained with time and loss and the weight of your name.

And now—

Now he has both.

Now he has the knowledge of what he lost. Now he knows exactly what he did.

And in his eyes, you see the depth of his grief. The depth of his guilt. Because he remembers her. And he remembers choosing her.

And then—then he remembers forgetting you.

And that—

That is the part that will ruin you. Because it’s not just your heart breaking anymore.

It’s his, too.

And there is nothing either of you can do. No mending, no fixing, no magic words to erase the damage.

So you press your trembling hand to his cheek. You kiss his forehead, and for a brief, fleeting moment, it’s like you’re right back there—like nothing changed. Like the world hasn’t fallen apart in slow motion.

And you whisper to him, to the man you thought you could save:

“It’s okay. I’ll go.”

And you do.

You leave.

For the last time.

Because this time, he remembers you. But it doesn’t matter.

Because he’s not yours.

And he never will be again.

And that—that—is the worst part.

Because you lost him once, but now, you’ve lost him twice.

And the pain? The pain is deeper than anything you’ve ever felt.

It’s not just a heart breaking.

It’s a soul shattering.