#through the walls dynamic inspired

[ky-landfill]

“But it makes total sense, right? Sometimes you’re stuck looking for meaning when it’s just staring you in the face the whole time.”

[pivsketch]

special technique

[gojorgeous]

"MINE, MINE, MINE."

pairing: alpha!geto x omega!fem!reader summary: your doctor won’t refill your prescription until you’ve reset your cycle. you’re desperate for that refill, but geto’s not having it. content: MDNI (18+ ONLY), a/b/o dynamics, nsfw, dubcon? (reader doesn’t want a heat but it’s medically necessary (LMAO what)), established relationship, unprotected sex, breeding, praise, pet names, knotting, slight manipulation, dacryphilia, somnophilia, spit, blood, oral (fem!receiving), so much licking and smelling?, geto and reader are just downright feral LMAO, lmk if i missed anything. a/n: have y’all figured out that i have a breeding kink yet… anyway, this is the first a/b/o fic that i’ve ever written but i just read one and was feeling *inspired*. if people want i might do a prequel sort of thing for this that goes more in-depth about how they met and stuff. lmk! also, i have a vampire gojo fic planned hehe get ready bbs. if you want more of my omegaverse fics check out my alpha!gojo fic here! and remember, AGELESS BLOGS WILL BE BLOCKED! divider credit to: @cafekitsune wc: 5.2k

“No.” 

No? You shift in your seat, cold and plastic, sure you must have heard him wrong. 

“I’m sorry?” you ask. You press your tongue to the roof of your mouth, an anxious habit.

“I can’t refill the prescription. I’m sorry, but, frankly, it would be completely irresponsible of me to do so. I’m shocked your previous physician prescribed them for so long.” Fingers find yours and twine them together. Your eyes flash to Geto, but he’s only staring at your new doctor, staring with that furrow in his brow he only gets when he’s worried.

Your new, soon-to-be old, doctor sighs again, running a hand through his thinning white hair. “You need to have a heat as soon as possible, allow your body to recalibrate. Indefinite use of suppressants is dangerous and unhealthy. They are meant to manage your cycles, not stop them altogether.” 

Sweat beads on your palms. He can’t be serious. But it’s his first opinion. Surely there’s another option.

“I-I’m sorry, doctor. I don’t think I’m understanding.” 

Another glance at Geto reveals that he’s frowning now. When his eyes find yours you see the decision there, one he’s already made without you. Your stomach drops.

The doctor sighs and suddenly the walls of the office feel small, tight, suffocating. The twinge of alcohol and chemicals in the air makes your nose scrunch. “Let me say this clearly. I will not refill your prescription for suppressants, nor will any other reputable physician. You have been taking them continuously for far too long. You risk permanent damage should you delay a proper cycle any longer.” The doctor glances to Geto, then back to you. “Go home with your alpha and allow nature to take its course. It’s what’s best.” 

Your eyes widen with realization– you are not leaving this office with what you came for. Your heart pounds and your palms sweat. “Th-that can’t happen, doctor. I need my suppressants. My job- I can’t be out that long a-and Geto can’t either, we–” 

“We will go home,” Geto interrupts, and his tone is final. “Thank you, doctor, for the advice.” 

Geto pulls you to your feet, gently but firmly. He leaves no question about the fact that you’re leaving. You can feel the intensity radiating off him in waves. You ignore it. You turn to your new doctor, silently smiting him. Why did your old one have to retire?

“Doctor, you don’t underst–” 

“Thank you again,” Geto interrupts.

Before you can make another sound, another protest, Geto pulls you through the door, out of the office, and back to the car. He opens the door for you, as he always does, except this time you’re not so eager to accept his chivalry. 

“Suguru,” you bite out. His eyes meet yours, but they are surprisingly gentle. So calm. How is he always calm? 

“Just get in, baby. We’ll talk about it in the car.”

You debate saying no, but you can’t bring yourself to start a fight when he’s being so good. You grumble when you climb in, buckling your seatbelt before Geto can do it for you.

The engine revs to life, but you hardly notice. You’re already scrolling your phone, the search bar reading a simple and straightforward “doctors offices near me”. You scroll right past the first ten, for once in your life wanting a doctor that’s a little sketchy. You scroll further– still not sketchy enough. Someone who’ll give you the prescription you need, even if it’s not necessarily… ethical. Or maybe you could get some on the street? Surely there was some kind of dealing ring for that. There was a dealing ring for everything, right?

“What are you doing?” His voice is soft, but his fingers are tight around the steering wheel, skin stretched tight across his knuckles.

You lift your phone to your ear, dialing the first office that looked relatively shitty enough. “Getting a second opinion,” you answer. 

Suguru plucks the phone so swiftly from your fingers that you hardly even notice it’s gone. You see him end the call and slip it into his back pocket, out of your reach. 

“Hey!” You scramble across the center console, hopelessly grabbing at your lost phone, your last hope. 

Suguru grabs your wrist, restraining you far too easily for your liking. “You’re not getting it back,” he says. His eyes never leave the road. 

Your brows pinch and anger boils in your stomach. “This is not for you to decide. It’s my body.”

He glances at you, unconcerned. Still calm. “And you’re not in a headspace to be making a responsible decision about it, so I’m making it for you.”

Your jaw drops and you pry your wrist free of his grasp. You escape, but you know it’s only because he allows it. “I am of perfectly sound mind, thank you.” 

He shakes his head and sighs. “You’re blinded by desperation.” 

“It’s still not for you to decide!” When you don’t notice any change in his expression, you switch tactics– from anger to honesty. You let your face fall, let your true feelings creep through. “You know how much I hate it, Su.” 

Finally, he cracks. It’s instantaneous, the way he melts for you- the way the soft smile finds his lips and his hand finds yours, twining your fingers together. “I know, but you have to, baby. You heard the doctor.” 

You clench your jaw and avoid the sting of tears behind your eyes. You had heard the doctor, but you weren’t ready. Maybe next month, when you’d had more time to mentally prepare. 

Your skin crawled. You hated it, hated this. You hadn’t had a heat in years, avoiding them like the plague. You hated how vulnerable they made you, how they put you at the mercy of another. It wasn’t that you didn’t trust Suguru– you did. You trusted him more than anyone, anything, but you still hated the feeling of being so completely helpless, so completely out of control, even if it was Suguru you were submitting to. 

For most of your life, you’d successfully hidden your omega status. With the help of suppressants, you’d passed as a beta until your early twenties. Then you met Geto. 

You’d met at work. He was cute, beautiful even, you’d thought, but he screamed alpha– and alphas could be dangerous, especially for hiding, unclaimed omegas like you. You’d stayed away as long as you could and, for a while, you were quite successful. You avoided him in the halls, sat at the opposite end of the table in meetings, replied to emails succinctly but politely. All was well until you’d been trapped in an elevator with him one morning, biting your lip anxiously as you waited to reach the twelfth floor. He’d smelled so good that day, perhaps due to an oncoming rut. You hadn’t been able to resist inching closer, taking deeper breaths. Suguru would later tell you that he’d suspected your hidden status, but he had no reason to question you. At least, not until he had you up against the elevator wall with his face buried in your neck. One deep whiff was all he’d needed to know exactly what you were, even with suppressants in your system.

You’d dated for a little over a year, until you’d decided he was the one. Your fingers dust over the mate mark on your throat, the one that had not only made you undoubtedly Suguru’s, but also the one that had revealed to the world exactly what you were. There was no hiding your true identity with an alpha’s scarred mark on your neck. 

Suguru had never seen you through a heat– no one had. You’d taken your suppressants daily, ever since you met him and even long before that. He’d claimed you on a day like any other, no heat necessary. He hadn’t had a rut in all these years, either. When he felt one coming on all he had to do was pop a single pill and all was well– apparently with none of the nasty side effects that came along with your suppressants. Another unfair privilege of being an alpha you supposed. 

“Sugu, I can’t do this.” Your lip is raw from how much you’ve been chewing on it by the time you reach home. 

Suguru softly shuts the door behind you, lifting your twined hands to his lips, gently kissing your knuckles. 

“Yes you can. I know you can.” 

You shake your head. He doesn’t understand– doesn’t know what this will do to you, how it will break you. While you hadn’t had a heat in years, you had experienced them before. You loathed them more than anything, loathed the way your mind was a slave to your body and not the other way around, loathed the way your whole body pulsed and throbbed, loathed the way it made you feel so… weak. “I can’t. It’s-it’s-” Your hands come up to cover your face. You sigh and feel the blush crawling beneath your cheeks. “It’s embarrassing. Humiliating.” 

There’s silence for a moment, and then a soft sight. Suguru pries your hands from your face gently. When you meet his eyes, he’s all business.

“There’s nothing to be embarrassed about, baby.” 

You shake your head and pull away, pacing. “I don’t want anyone to see me like that, Sugu. Not even you.” 

Strong hands catch your waist, holding you still. “It’s not a question. It’s happening– for the sake of your health.” 

You scoff and shake your head. “It’s not–” 

His thumb presses to your lips with just enough pressure to demand silence. The omega in you coos to listen, to submit– the other part of you reels with annoyance.

“End of discussion.” 

He’s closer now and you can feel waves of his breath skating across your skin. It’s like a drug, one that the primal side of you can never get enough of. Give in, give in, give in, your omega begs. Listen to your alpha… You try not to focus on the fact that he smells good enough to eat. You know what he’s doing– using his dynamic to persuade you, to make you see his way, playing to the omega you can usually hide so carefully.

“Sugu…” you say. You intend to be angry but you trail off when his eyes catch yours. 

“I got you, baby.”

Your heart melts at the words. He waits. Maybe he knows that the smell of his skin on yours is playing tricks on your mind. You wage a battle within. Every instinct urges you to agree and with every passing second it becomes harder to disagree. Perhaps he’s right, perhaps it's time you give in for once. Let him take care of you, your omega purrs. You’re nodding before you realize what you’ve done.

Suguru kisses you quickly, allowing no time for takebacks. When he pulls away he gets to work. He whips his phone from his pocket and you listen to him talking to his boss, your boss, saying that you’ll both be out of work for a week on “family” leave. Your face heats when you realize that your boss now knows exactly what you two are going to be doing for the foreseeable future. Suguru kisses you one last time before he’s out the door, off to get enough food and supplies to last a week. You won’t be leaving your apartment for some time. You don't fail to notice that he doesn’t return your phone before he’s gone.

~

You don’t notice a difference, even after the sun is gone. It’s not surprising, considering you usually take your suppressants at night– it’ll take a little while longer for them to fully exit your system… you hope. When you’re brushing your teeth you stare at the empty prescription bottle longingly. 

You join Suguru in bed. The moment you crawl onto the mattress he pulls you closer into his bare chest. You savor the way your bodies fit so perfectly- like he was meant for you and you alone. His front curls around your back, a leg slotted between your thighs. 

“Feel anything?” he asks. 

You shake your head to hide your swallow. You almost shiver when Suguru buries himself in your neck, inhaling your scent. You feel him harden against your backside. He must be able to smell your approaching heat even before you can. Part of you expects instinct to take hold of him, for him to make a move, but he only presses a kiss to your jaw and holds you tighter. 

“Sleep, baby.” 

For once, you follow orders without a fight.

–

Hot. Too hot. 

When your eyes flutter open, you feel the pounding of your heart, the labor of your breath, and the growing ache between your legs. 

You sit up so fast you see stars, panic flooding your veins. No, no, no, no, no. This was wrong, you’d made the wrong choice. You couldn’t do this. Already, you could feel control slipping from your grasp, your consciousness giving way to something more primal, more feral. You scramble, preparing to stand, to find your phone, to lock yourself away and suffer through this on your own.

“Deep breaths, baby.” 

Only then do you realize Suguru is already awake. He’s behind you, hands on your shoulders, both a comfort and a restraint. 

“Can’t-” Your breaths are ragged and so are your words. “Can’t do this, Sugu-” 

“Yes, you can.” He whispers. He pulls you closer, tighter against him. “You will.” 

You shake your head frantically, tears pooling on your lashes. When you turn, Suguru is staring at your neck, at the mate mark on your throbbing pulse. His jaw is clenched when his tongue darts out to wet his lips. He’s restraining himself, you realize. A glance down reveals he’s already painfully hard in his pants. You wonder how long he’s been sitting there, taking in your scent, waiting for you to wake. No doubt his rut has already been triggered.

His eyes raise to yours and he pauses at the tears that leak down your cheeks. He leans closer, and the scent emanating from his neck makes you groan against your will. His kisses away the tears. Slowly, one at a time. 

“I’ve got you, baby,” he whispers. “I’ve got you.” 

Your body pulls him closer, even as your mind pushes back. “My phone, Sugu,” you panic. “Gotta gimme my phone. C-call a new doctor.” 

He shakes his head and when you start to squirm he only holds you tighter, holds you in place. 

“No, baby.” 

You whimper, seeking the scent gland on his neck against your will. The smell makes your clit throb almost painfully. 

“Sugu, please,” you cry. Tears stream from your eyes, staining your lover’s skin. 

“‘S gonna be okay. Just let it happen. Don’t fight it, love.” 

With each passing moment, you feel your fight slipping further and further away. Suguru rubs at the muscles in your back until you’re slumped against him, pitifully moaning like a wounded animal. It’s not long before your body takes the reins, until you start desperately humping at his thigh, your clit throbbing almost painfully. 

“That’s it. Good girl.” 

Your eyes roll back at the praise and when Suguru grips your waist you cry out at the touch. Everywhere his skin meets yours feels electric. You’re burning, burning, burning. It’s not until Suguru lays you down on your back that you see the sopping patch of slick you’ve left on his thigh. You whimper at the sight. 

“‘S okay, baby. ‘Ve got you.”

Suguru is looking nearly as lost to the lust as you are. Only his willpower and intent keep him from shredding away your panties and breeding your cunt full that very second. He’s never been in the presence of a scent so intoxicating. He’s never been with you, or any omega, through a heat. He thought you smelled amazing before, but now… He is lost to you, lost to the heat he feels emanating from every inch of your skin, to the honeyed scent pouring from your neck, to the slick he sees staining through your panties. His dick twitches in his pants. 

“Love you so much, baby. Gonna take such good care of ya,” he whispers. Instinct drives him forward until he’s plastered his lips to your jaw, licking and biting at the skin. You nearly scream at the sensation. You feel his touch everywhere, all at once. With your last coherent thoughts you know that this heat will be unlike any other you’ve ever experienced. It’s already so intense you can hardly think, and you’ve only just begun.

“Sugu,” you plead. 

The sound of his name on your lips breaks him. His hand dips across your stomach, thumbing past the edge of your panties until he’s running his finger through your slit, gathering your slick and rubbing it against your clit. 

You scream and thrash, so sensitive it nearly hurts, but he only moves to pin you beneath him, forcing you to take everything he gives. 

“Gonna make you feel ‘s good, baby.” he hums. He’s lost to you, to your desires, to your needs. Every piece of him screams to please you, to take care of you, in every way possible.

He continues his messy circles on your clit and until you’re gasping, hole clenching around nothing, begging to be filled. 

“S-Sugu…” you whine.

The growl that rips from his throat has you arching your back and bearing your throat in an act of submission. You hear a tear and watch your panties hit the floor. Your shirt follows and then you’re completely bare beneath your alpha. His eyes go black at the sight, pupils blown so wide you can hardly see a smidgen of their usual brown. There’s a deep rumble in his chest that has you keening and reaching for him, needing him. He doesn’t waste time. His tongue finds your neck, laving sloppily at your scent gland and the sensation is so delicious that you writhe beneath him. 

His fingers slide down your stomach, dipping between your thighs and rubbing at your clit. The touch is somehow gentle despite the complete and total hunger in his eyes, but it has you whining nonetheless. Every place he touches you, which is nearly everywhere, stings so delightfully that your eyes are already rolling back.

But you can’t wait. You can’t. Your body is starved, rabid, and you know what you need.

“Ssssugu… please…” your words are hardly above a whisper, barely a breath, but your alpha still hears you, still knows what you want, what you need. 

“I got you, baby… shhhhh…” He gives a final lick to your scent gland before he’s leaning back on his knees, parting your thighs wide, exposing your leaking cunt. You can feel a puddle of slick beneath your ass, your hole clenching desperately around nothing, aching to be filled. 

Warm hands slide up your skin and settle on your hips, tugging you a little further down the bed. You whimper, but don’t have time to say anything before you feel him slipping through your folds. A glance down reveals his weeping tip, achingly flushed, bumping and rubbing against your clit. When did his pants come off? You don’t know, you don’t care, all that matters is that the sight steals your breath away. 

“Gonna knot you good, princess.” 

You nod, wanting nothing more than for him to make good on his promise. You claw and grip at his arms, chanting his name endlessly. His chest rumbles again and your thighs part further on instinct. Finally, he gives you what you want. You feel him pressing in, fat tip stretching you wide. One of his hands moves to press down on your tummy and the combination has tears pooling in your eyes. 

He slides in slowly. With every inch you think he must be done, that you can’t take any more. But you can, and you do. When he’s finally fully in your jaw is hanging open in ecstasy and your eyes are rolled back in your skull. His fingers brush your clit and your hips jerk. 

“That’s it. So good, baby. So fucking good.” 

Your tears flood over, racing down your cheeks. He’s over you again, loose strands of black hair brushing your skin and forcing a whimper from your throat. He licks away your tears, lapping at your cheeks like you’re a fucking lollipop. His hips start thrusting in time with his licks, and it’s more than you can handle. Your thighs tremble and suddenly you’re begging. Pleading, whining, screaming for more. He gives it to you. One hand finds yours, twining your fingers together as he pounds into you so hard he’s rattling your skull. He’s licking at your scent gland again, driving you further and further toward a cliff you’re afraid to fall from. You think this orgasm might shatter you, might break you so thoroughly you’ll never be put back together again. You can feel it tightening at your core with each thrust, each lick, each kiss. 

“Fuck,” you hear him growl and whimper at the sound of his voice so close to your ear. “‘M gonna bite you, princess. Gonna mark you up and knot you so good you’ll see fucking stars.” You pant beneath him, unable to word how excited you are by his words, how deliciously they roll across your skin and seep into your spine. “Tell me you didn’t take your pill, baby. Tell me I can breed this pussy full and it won’t go to waste.” He’s not talking about your suppressants you know, but rather the contraceptives you take in tandem with them. Of course you took it, but suddenly something makes you wish you hadn't. “‘M gonna flush ‘em down the fucking toilet. Never letting you take that shit again.”

The primal part of you surges forward at the idea. It chants deep in your mind. Yes, yes, yes…

“Suguuu… please…” It seems like those are the only words your tongue can form.

His lips press to yours, shushing you. “Shhh, baby. Don’ worry. I got you.” He licks across your cheek and down across your jaw until he finds your scent gland again. His thrusts pick up again and you think you might pass out from how good you feel, from how tight your muscles are coiling. You can feel his knot pulsing inside you, preparing to fill you to the brim. You’ve never felt more ready for anything. 

“Sugu–” 

And it’s at that moment that he makes good on his promise. His teeth sink into your neck and you feel your bond snap taut like a string, pulsing with the closeness of your connection. It’s pure ecstasy. Suguru’s knot swells, notching tightly inside you and when you feel his cum pulsing into your womb it’s all too much. You think you must be screaming from the pleasure but you only hear the ringing in your ears as your orgasm washes over you. Your muscles clench, your toes curl, your back arches, you see those stars Suguru promised. Heat tingles through your limbs and down your spine and you think you’ve probably just melted into the mattress. But you haven’t, and when your vision returns, you’re panting and staring at the ceiling. 

Suguru is above you and you can feel him still cumming, still releasing rope after rope of thick, hot cum into you. The sensation makes you groan and he laps at your neck, cleaning up the blood from the new mark he’s just given you. Your consciousness trickles back in, the primal piece of you partially sated for the time being. You remember the context of your situation, why you’re here and not at work, what you’re doing. You’re puzzled by why you’d been so panicked by the idea of a heat before. How could you have been so reluctant, so scared, when nothing has ever felt this right?

Suguru is peppering you with kisses now, pulling you tight to his chest and rolling you both onto your sides where you’ll stay until his knot softens. 

“Sleep, princess,” he says and he uses that tone that always compels you to listen, to please. You happily do as he says and when your eyes drift shut it’s not long before you’re lost to a world of comfortable darkness. 

~

You wake to the throbbing again. All of the pent up need Suguru had sated has returned with a vengeance. You need him again, but it appears he already knows that. 

You feel him between your legs, his hair fully loose now and tickling the insides of your thighs. He’s eating you out, slurping up the cum that’s leaking down your thighs and spitting it back onto your cunt. It’s filthy, disgusting, and you love it.

“Sugu–” you gasp and your hips buck. His eyes lock with yours and the smile he gives you nearly makes you come on the spot. He holds your gaze as he licks one last long stripe over your folds. You whimper and clench around nothing. Empty, empty, empty…

“Sorry, baby,” he whispers against your skin. He’s kissing his way up your body now, leaving little circles of spit that cool when they touch the air and make you shiver. “‘Y smelled so good…” 

You whine and whimper, clawing at his back and leaving scratches you think might draw blood. You’re too worried about getting him inside of you to check.

You’re gasping like you’ve never had a breath of air in your life, like you’ve drowned and every touch he gives you fills your lungs with much-needed oxygen. His hands rub gently at your waist, but it’s not enough. You want him to wreck you, ruin you. You say as much. 

“M-more…” you beg and when he hums against your neck you squirm desperately. Warm hands dig into your flesh and suddenly you find yourself flipped onto your stomach. You feel Suguru behind you, pushing your thighs apart with his knees. His hands find your hips again and lift, propping you up with your face still pressed to the pillows. When you whimper he runs a soothing hand up and down your spine. 

“‘S okay, baby. Relax. Lemme take care ‘ve you.” 

Yes, yes, yes, you think. You don’t think you’ve ever wanted anything more. His fingers dig into your skin, holding you still when he feeds his dick into you, one inch at a time. You cry out, tearing at the sheets and begging for more, even when you already feel like you’re splitting in half. When he’s finally seated inside you he drapes himself over your back, brushing your hair over one shoulder to expose your neck. He leans in to lick you again, thrusting sharply the moment his tongue brushes your skin. You wail, pressing your face to the sheets and attempting to rock yourself back against him. One of his hands smooths over the flesh of your ass as he sets a pace, one that makes you bite down on a pillow to muffle your screams. 

“No.” Suguru uses that tone that makes you listen, that one that calls instinctively to the omega inside you, that urges you to please. He reaches for your pillow, tossing it aside and letting his hand curl around your throat as he continues to fuck you, letting his fingers feel the vibrations of every noise you make. “Let me hear you, baby. Always let me hear you.” 

You nod, eager to make him happy, eager to do as he says. You don’t dare restrain a single sound, eyes rolling back. The angle he has you at has your thighs trembling. He’s so deep, so close. You feel his heartbeat against your back, feel his tongue on your skin, his hand on your throat, his cock at your cervix.

When he groans, you groan with him, feeling his dick pulse inside you, his knot beginning to swell. You need it, need it so bad you can hardly stand it. 

“P-please, please, please–”

He swells inside you, locking your bodies together as his orgasm hits. It’s all you need to find your own. You wail into the mattress, cunt clenching and legs trembling until you collapse, flattening against the beg. Suguru follows you down, wrapping his arms around your waist and whispering in your ear.

“Take it all, baby. Good girl. Take it all…” 

You nod, not even sure what you’re agreeing to. All you can feel is his cum flooding your insides, pulsing and pumping so deep into you that you swear your tummy is swelling with the sheer amount of it. Still, your body wants more, clenching and milking him for every last drop, just like he asked.

When you both come down from your orgasms he pulls you into his chest once again, whispering promises of protection and love that lull you into a trance-like state of happiness. When you fall asleep again, he’s chanting a word that your omega repeats right back to him. “Mine, mine, mine.”

When you wake again it’s to the sound of Geto staying true to his word and flushing every last birth control pill you have straight down the toilet. Your omega surges at the idea, but one mewl from you and he’s back in your arms, like you’re somehow the one in charge, not him. With every passing moment, you being to think that might be true- that perhaps a heat does not makes you as weak as you thought. Your alpha submits as much to you as you submit to him.

The week is spent in a frenzy. You do not measure by the numbers on the clock or where the sun is in the sky, rather you know time only as how long it’s been since Suguru’s been locked inside you. If it were up to you, you’d never stop, but Geto forces you to sleep, to eat, to bathe. Of course, he’s never far away when you’re following his instructions and you usually get a kiss and his knot as a reward for being such a good girl. 

It’s ten days later when your heat finally starts to wane. It feels as though every inch of you is covered in him. Bites, hickies, kisses, cum… no part of you has been left untouched. Suguru has had you everywhere. The bed, the shower, the bath, the kitchen. Every surface in the whole apartment reeks of sex and slick. He never keeps you too far from the bedroom, though, where you’ve piled up mountains of his shirts and sheets. Anything that smells like him, anything that can keep you tethered in those brief moments when Suguru goes to fetch you food or water or run you a bath. He takes care of you, just like he promised. 

When you wake completely clear-headed for the first time in well over a week, it’s to Suguru’s arms and lips. He’s got you all wrapped up in him, his arms locked around your waist almost like he expects you to bolt. You almost do when everything comes flooding back to you, this time with a completely clear conscience. But then he kisses your neck and whispers a delightful little, “welcome back, baby” against your neck and suddenly you’re realizing how… revitalized you feel, like a part of you has finally been properly satisfied after years of waiting. You’d always hated this, always hated the part of you that begged and cowered, hated heats- but maybe with Suguru… they really weren’t all that bad.

taglist (DM me to be added!): @lacheri, @la-undercover-latina

link: alpha!gojo fic

please consider leaving a comment, sending in an ask, or reblogging! interacting with authors is the best way to support them! thanks for reading ♡

[nanamiskentos]

SCORCHED EARTH ✤ (五条 悟, gojo satoru)

── NO GOD, THE ONLY MAN IN THE SKY IS ME. Gojo Satoru is the nation's treasure, and its most dangerous asset. In a world where Supes are lauded as celebrities and heroes, there's only a select few that sees superheroes for what they really are ─ cogs in the propaganda machine, corrupt and lecherous. You're determined to hunt down the golden boy that leads them, to find Gojo Satoru and bring him down. But he's just as obsessed with you, and he gets to you first.

➤ 𝐉𝐉𝐊, gojo satoru & afab!reader, wc ─ 5k

cw ─ MDNI. enemies to lovers, THE BOYS AU, love/hate sex, HOMELANDER GOJO 😁, superhero au, cat & mouse dynamics, vigilante!reader, evil!gojo to some extent, mentions of a plane crash to be safe, kitchen sèx, breaking n' entering but they're into that, súb!gojo if u squint, fíngèring, òral (f), usage of powers, 3x01 homelander/butcher inspired, BIG DÍCK GOJO!!

呪術廻戦 : 𝐍𝐎𝐓𝐄 ( author says ) s/o to the evil man who inspired the gojo in this fic. and these scenes: 1/2 ofc (i'd rec watching to understand who reader/gojo is also inspired by). art, gojouify.

A ballpoint cap balances between your teeth as you scribble furiously, blue ink streaking across a spare napkin. The address is way too far out, a shipping container, two hours away and tucked into the skeletal maze of the port.

"This is a long drive for a maybe." You press the phone tighter against your ear, frowning at the scrawled numbers and letters, "You're sure I'll find something?"

On the other end, Nanami exhales sharply, the sound of a clock ticking faintly over the static. He's still in the office, no doubt hunched over a desk lit by the sickly glow of a desk lamp.

"Well," he hedges, ever the careful one, "I wouldn't go alone."

You tip your chair back, gaze drifting to the chaotic sprawl of files pinned to the red-string board by the wall. Photographs, names, offshore accounts that all lead back to the same festering rot. Lawmakers, politicians and billionaires.

The smiling, all-powerful titans who owned the system that was supposed to hold them accountable.

At the centre of it all? Gojo Satoru. The strongest superhero that the world had ever seen, barely held in check by Vought and international courts.

You chew at the soft inside of your cheek, "And you're sure this is the best lead we have?"

"After that shitshow at Congress?" Nanami sounds tired, stretched far too thin, "This is the only lead we have, or the only thing that I can find right now."

Ah, yes. The hearing.

The day you almost had them — Gojo, Vought and every polished, pre-packaged lie they peddled. A smoking gun to set the set the system ablaze.

And then, you could only watch the live television stream as every key witness's head popped like a balloon. Blood spraying against mahagony desks, gray matter splattered across the Capitol.

And not many had managed to escape that room unscathed. Save for a select few politicians and reporters, dealing out breathless, shaken interviews alongside an unshaken Gojo Satoru and Congressmen Geto.

You exhale through your nose, fingers tightening around the napkin, "Yeah, I'll check it out. See if I can find somethin' to nail that cunt."

"Let me know what you find," Nanami intones, a pause. And then, in a far more cautious tone, like he already knows you won't take heed, "Stay safe. And if you do come across Gojo, do not engage with him. In any way."

The line clicks dead.

You toss the streaky pen aside, reaching instead for the amber bottle on the cluttered table, the burn of whisky that's begging to be made familiar once more.

Regardless, it's far too late now to head out and check the address, for night has fallen and you doubt you'll manage to get far.

Beyond the murky glass of your balcony doors, the city pulses with sleepless energy. Neon signs flickering like dying embers, billboards — no doubt plastered with the airbrushed faces of the Supes who run this nation.

Sirens wail in the distance, and somewhere, far beyond the skyline you swear you see it.

A streak of white and blue, fast as lightning, splitting the sky for a fraction of a second. You blink, gummy and dry, nothing. Just the tired hallucinations of an exhausted, paranoid mind.

Pretending that there isn't a ghost in the sky watching you right back.

Your apartment is dying.

The walls peel like old skin, flaking onto the floors that were never properly finished. The overhead light's flickering, buzzing with a weak and dying hum. And the power outlets sputter like they resent being used. It's not a home, it never really was. Just another hideout, another temporary grave you haven't had to lie down in yet.

You press your knuckles into your eyes, willing the exhaustion away, but it sits heavy in your bones. Haven't you been running long enough? But even now, even here, you know it's not enough.

Because he knows. Gojo Satoru must have caught onto your trail months ago, and you can feel it in the way that the law often seems to let you go, and nation-wide manhunts culminate in no harm done. Like Gojo's toying with you.

Your fingers skim over the mess of papers on the table, stopping beneath a stack of unpaid bills and flyers. A small USB drive, wrapped in blue and silver.

Ah. Flight 37, a transatlantic flight carrying 123 passangers that never managed to land safely. But a goldmine had been fished out the torn wreckage, a shaky video clip that held proof of what Gojo Satoru truly was.

Not a saviour, not a hero. Not the golden boy that was worshipped on screens, talk shows and the international stage of diplomacy.

There's a prickling sensation under your skin, a slow burn that crawls up your arms. Then, it sinks deeper, heat. Your stomach clenches, cramping up as nausea slams into you like a freight train, your head spinning, your vision pulsing black at the edges.

You stumble, dropping the USB on the table as desparate fingers gripping the kitchen counter to stay upright. But you recognise the blisters blooming on the pads of your fingers, slow and ugly welts that bloom like flowers of rot.

This is no wayward sickness, for you would recognise the familiar decay of radioactive exposure. Something that's not quite human, or mortal.

Your blood turns to ice. Hold tightening around the edge of the counter, nails digging into the cheap laminate. Slowly, carefully, you approach the balcony.

The terracotta curtains are coarse under your fingers as you pull them aside. The city beyond is still alive, cars streaking through wet pavements and lights beaming in the smog. But it all feels muted.

Standing on the ledge, hands folded neatly behind his back, Gojo Satoru.

Your breath stutters as you force yourself to inhale, exhale. Slow and steady, through your nose. Whatever sick ploy he's radiating, you know it's simply meant to shake you. A twisted power play on his end.

So you hold your ground, and after a moment, the nausea ebbs. The blisters on your fingertips sealing over, cells stitching the edges of your frayed flesh back together.

You've never seen Gojo out of that deep blue suit, never without the brass eagles that pin the ridiculous cape over his broad back. Most heroes at least pretend to be human, some charade that they cling to for the chance of a secret life, away from the eyes of the press and the authorities. Supes often put on disguises, and casual clothes, something to blend in with the mortals that they claim to protect.

But Gojo?

There's no separation, no mask nor pretense. He doesn't walk among mortal men, he hovers above them. There's no separating him from the brutal power he wields — capable of striking a laser through a man's skull, or razing a city to rubble. Just a god with a PR-approved script, and the power to carve regimes into ribbons.

And yet, aren't you still standing?

If the strongest wanted you dead, he would have made a spectacle of it. Blood and fireworks for the evening news, another death used as collateral propaganda so the masses can thank him. That's the only mercy that Gojo knows.

You school your features, masking the instinct to flee. Or toss a plastic chair at his face. Gojo is akin to a hungry shark, and fear is blood in the water. You know that the safest way to deal with him is sheer indifference. If you give him nothing, he has nothing to bite or feast on.

You tilt your head, resting your weight against the large window as you pry it open. Letting the night air seep in, cold pricking at your skin, but it's nothing compared to the chill that Gojo's already dragged in with him.

He's staring. The blindfold is gone, and those impossible blue eyes fix on you, as though they're trying carve a jagged cut straight your ribcage — his handsome features stilled to stone.

You arch a brow, "If you're here to watch me get off, it'll cost you a tenner."

A beat of silence. And then, the smallest flicker of something that isn't amusement, but not quite irritation. Gojo doesn't rise to the bait, but his brow ticks up. The barest movement, as though he's debating whether or not to indulge you.

Jaw twitching as though Gojo seems to chew his words, slow and measured, "May I come in?"

You stare at him, gaze sweeping up and down, almost against your will. The way his suit hugs his body, emphasising the unfair curve of his chest, the sharp lines of Gojo's muscles, the tensions in the fabric as it stretches taut over skin. Eyes falling to the strand of white hair that flutters across his face, swaying in the night's breeze. Absurdly perfect, as if he's crafted from some celestial ideal.

But you refuse to indulge him, pressing your lips together tightly, not even a flicker of acknowledgement to the fact that he's standing on your balcony like he owns the damn place. Slowly, you step aside from the window, taking the invitation. Gojo doesn't need permission, but you give it anyway.

As Gojo sweeps past, your eyes linger on the sharp strands of his undercut, the delicate sweep of his hair, so pale it almost looks unreal. But you can see his nose wrinkle, disgust painted across his fine features as electric eyes skim the clutter of your apartment. The peeling walls, the cracked appliances, the mess of papers strewn across your table.

Gojo stops at the red string board, his gaze lingering on the photos and notes that have been painstakingly pinned up, and you see his mouth twitch. As though he's amused by your conspiracy, your obsession, your silent war.

"It's really always about me, isn't it?" Gojo's tone carries the faintest edge of mockery, that damn entertained smile curling the corners of his petal-pink lips.

Your jaw tightens, a flash of anger rearing up inside you. You tear your gaze away from him, "Why are you here? Got no-one to fuckin' torture over at Vought?"

Gojo sighs, almost theatrically, and he's puffing his cheeks out. As though he's bored, like this is a mild inconvenience for him, "So, you're going on a trip tomorrow, huh?"

You track his gaze to the napkin still resting on the table, the address scribbled carelessly across its surface, "What's it to you?" Hoping that your voice is level, and as neutral as it can get.

Gojo Satoru doesn't quite answer immediately. Instead, he pulls off those thick blue gloves, one finger at a time. His hands are oddly elegant, but you know just how capable they are of ending a life in a second, how capable they are of tearing a throat out without breaking a sweat. The very same hands now tuck the gloves into the bronze-metal band of his belt with an almost unsettling level of care.

"Well, I'm just hurt you're going somewhere without me," Gojo quips slyly, "We could have had ourselves a little road trip, sweetheart. Thelma and Louise on the open road, eh?"

You don't say anything, although you're dying to mention how Thelma & Louise ends. Gojo just rolls his searing-blue eyes skywards dramatically, as though he's used to your stubborn attitude.

"Y'know, I could jus' pull you apart, limb by limb," Gojo tacks on casually, "Make you tell me where you're going."

You can feel the tension in your gut tighten, but you refuse to let the Supe catch onto it, although you have no doubt that his superhuman senses can hear the beat of your heart pumping, every hitch in your breath.

"Nah," you bite back, "That'd be worthless. Victim always goes into shock. You gotta' start small. Fingers, nails, ears..." Your voice trails off, calling Gojo's bluff, forcing your words out as if the prospect doesn't shake you.

Gojo's vibrant, jewel-tone stare doesn't break, but the amusement in his eyes sharpens like iron against a whetstone. "It could be a matter of national security, you know," he murmurs, "I have a duty to protect his nation, to weed out any enemies of the state."

You huff in weary, mock exasperation, dragging a hand over your chin in faux-contemplation, "Look, uh, I don't mean to be rude, but can we just skip to the part where you laser my fuckin' brains out?"

Gojo just swears under his breath, "Oh, for fuck's sake," he's muttering, side-stepping around your rickety table, stepping closer as an almost fond smile tugs at his lips, "Where's the fun in that? Come on, look at ya'. It'd be like putting down a wounded dog?"

You don't flinch, you refuse the possibility. But there's that pulse of heat, low in your spine, when Gojo leans into your space. An electric storm about to crack wide as he studies you, eyes falling to the table where your cards are laid out blatantly, and you jolt. Remembering the innocuous little thing, that USB. The one that could very well be his undoing.

"What do you have on me, doll?" Gojo drawls, his voice smooth and untempered, towering over you like an impossibly magnetic force. You hold your ground as his eyes widen, "You do have something, I presume?"

With slow precision (and trembling fingers), you lift the USB, dangling it between your nails as Gojo's eyes flicker for a split second. Amused smile slipping just enough to show something that's less calculated. As though he knows what you grasp, what you're capable of.

Gojo's expression hardens for a split moment, blush-pink lips parted as he watches you, drinks in the sight of you gredily. All before cold steels locks into place once more, his demeanour laced with something far more callous, like a man cornered who knows exactly how to strike back.

"Go ahead. Release it," Gojo steps closer, until you can feel his breath against your skin, and you catch the tang of iron and clean, expensive leather. "Let's light this candle, huh? I mean, sure, I'll lose everything, doll. But then, I'll have nothin' to lose." His voice is quiet, but there's unmistakable malice beneath it.

"First, I'll take out the nerve centres. The seat of the government, the High Courts. Then, any domestic defense capabilities. Critical infrastructure, cellular, Internet, all of it. And then?" Gojo pauses, teeth catching onto the plush flesh of his lower lip.

"Then, I'll just wipe this city right off the fuckin' map, for fun," Gojo adds, a dark smile curling at the edges of his lips, "Hell, I'll throw in that little town your friend's from. Kento, right? Nanami, from the office? Because, why not?"

Gojo's lips brush the shell of your ear, and you resist the urge to shiver, locking your eyes with his own defiantly, venomously as he continues, "See, sweetheart, I'd prefer to be loved. Y'know, as the strongest, I really would. But if you take that away from me? Well, being feared is A-one, okey-doke by me."

Gojo wants you to challenge him, to hear you break the silence with something other than terror, "So, doll," he murmurs, practically cooing, "Go ahead. Do it." His lips curl, sharp fangs poking out from his glossy, red mouth, "No? You don't wanna? Well, then, I'd say you have absolutely no fuckin' leverage. Because I am the strongest, and I can really do whatever the fuck I want."

You blink angrily, breath catching as Gojo watches you with an almost affection gleam in his eyes. As though he's enjoying this, this sparring match where he's got you pinned. So you swallow thickly, and deep down, you know he's right.

Gojo Satoru is unstoppable. He could easily turn on the world that worships him, props him up, and there's nothing anyone could do about it. No nuclear treaty, no tank nor fighter jet could stand a chance against Unlimited Void or Hollow Purple.

There's no undoing the seams and stitches that hold Gojo together. None, apart from...

Your eyes flicker downwards, instinctively, to the thick curve that bulges through the tight suit he dons. That mouth-watering, delicious bulge that's packed, and if Gojo steps any closer, it would jostle against your thigh.

You inch closer, smoothly, grasping at the stray strand of ice-white hair to tuck it behind Gojo's ears. His expression widening, raw and open for a split second as he shivers, purrs.

"Say I call your bluff, Gojo," you say coolly, "What are you gonna' do, right here, right now?" Your hand trails away from his ear, brushing the high, stiff collar of his suit. Fingers gently pressing into the warm flesh of his neck. You feel his pulse jump under your touch, staccato beats that hiccup along.

And you could have sworn that Gojo breathes out a gentle sigh, lips parting around the words, "Finally."

But his cerulean eyes are narrowed, jaw still clenched, as though he's trying to figure out your angle. Now, he truly does push closer to you so that packed curve brushes against your thigh. And it's big, larger-than-life, like everything about Gojo Satoru is.

Fuck this, you shake your head, as though you're tossing away your rationality. Reaching up to thread your fingers through soft, white hair. Pulling Gojo closer as he groans, closing the distance. Lips crashing against your own, forceful and desperate.

You can feel Gojo freeze, stutter as he seems to work through his shock. But then, something irrevocably shifts in him. Ocean-blue eyes fluttering close, so white lashes kiss his creamy skin. A large hand gripping at your waist, pulling you impossibly close.

It's rough, and messy — and your tongue lingers on the taste of something like espresso, and sweet, sugar syrup to boot. The creamy taste of Gojo Satoru that lingers on your tongue and makes your mouth water.

"Tch', you –" Gojo murmurs, as though all the air in the world has been stolen from his lungs, "You jus' don't k-know how long I've wanted this. Ever since you, heh, fired that bullet at me when we first met."

His tone is erratic, large hands splayed against the small of your back, pushing you further against the kitchen counter.

"That shit went right through ya' head," you breathe, struggling to stay steady against the hard plane of Gojo's form, the muscles curling into you, "Didn't do a fuckin' thing."

Gojo's giggling, giggling as though he's already drunk on your touch, so utterly dangerous. Tugging at your top, fingers spread wide over the curve of your chest. Flicking at the sharp peaks of your nipples, "Waste of a perfectly good round, eh, doll?"

The tips of Gojo's ears are a searing shade of crimson, as he's pulling and toying with your clothes. You have never, ever in your wildest and most illicit fantasies imagined Gojo Satoru like this.

You've never pictured him so obedient, so desperate to meld into your hold. Bright blue eyes glazed over, filmy and hazy as his cheeks are mottled pink.

The most dangerous man in the entire world (or so you'd wager) has you firm against the cracking plastic of your counter, with his lips finding home on whatever skin he can find. Kissing, bruising, sucking at the tender flesh in a way that you know will leave blooming marks.

"C-can I?" Gojo pleads, as though he hasn't spent a lifetime whispering quiet threats into your ear, but now his large hand is softly pressed against the back of your neck.

Slick-strands falling from his lips as he sips at your taste, sucking gently on your tongue.

He kisses you firmly with such force that it leaves you dizzy, and the way he strokes at your cheek with a bruised knuckle is far too tender for a man who's practically a walking, ticking bomb.

He's roughly cupping your tits, kneading at the soft fat and flesh, "Hah, pretty, aren'tcha?" Strands of snow-white hair tickling at your neck as Gojo leans his head down, wrapping his lips around your nipple, lickin' and sucking wherever he can reach.

You arch your spine, pulling Gojo even closer. Grinding your clothed core right up against the hard length taut in that damned suit. Feeling every inch brush up against you.

"F-fuck," Gojo murmurs, slurring out babble and praise out through his kiss-swollen lips. You're slowly rocking your hips back and forth, unintentionally honestly, but you're desperate for some friction to relieve the ache that's blooming within your searing groin.

The pads of his fingers are tilting your jaw at the perfect angle, swollen lips sticky against yours, "Just like that," Gojo grunts, running his pink tongue over the kiss-bitten flesh of your own mouth, "N-not so mouthy now, are we?"

But then, because you think Gojo Satoru is unable to go even a second without antagonising you, the white-haired man is lifting his head. Glossy eyes tearing over your apartment as he pulls an unimpressed face, "Damn, this place is kinda' a dump. You really live like this?"

Your fingers latch onto the stray strands on his head, bucking your hips into his bulge harsher, "Says the cunt who made me a fugitive."

Gojo shakes his head, making a faint pshh, dismissive sound as he scoops you up, biceps not even curling to strain as he roughly stomps towards your meagre, thin bed. Laying you flat on the flat mattress as he rumples the waistband of your pants, hooking his thumb underneath the fabric.

You don't even realise it at first, but you're admiring those razor-sharp, strikingly handsome features. Watching as Gojo tugs at his cape, rough and coarse until the fabric tears away from his shoulder plates — until the azure stars and stripes end up on the wooden floor discarded.

"So, doll, how exactly do ya' want me? " Gojo titters, gently pulling a finger into the flimsy cotton of your panties. You can see his nose twitch, eyes flutter shut for a split second as he visibly reels from the messy, filthy slick pooling under his nails. You can only groan, arching at the sudden stimulation as he begins to crook his fingers faster against your folds.

You suddenly pull your thighs taut together, clenching the flesh to trap his hand, "Taste me, Gojo." Breath shuddering as Gojo's fingers suddenly still, ice-blue eyes blown wide at your gall to give him a command.

But he's always been an excellent soldier, hasn't he? Because he seems to be moving on autopilot, pulling his dripping fingers away and gently lolling his tongue on your translucent sheen, "Hah, I can't believe you're g-giving me orders." Gojo almost whimpers at your sweet tang, desperate to have your pussy drool into his waiting mouth.

"M-more, can you – oh, fuck," You inhale sharply, feeling Gojo's fingers imprint on your thighs, firmly spreading your legs apart so he can shuffle further back, his breath moist against your wet cunt, "Heh, never thought you'd ever be like this."

Gojo gives you a flat look, the underside of his eyes crinkling as he stares at you, "Don't get used to t-this." He's grumbling, but his eyes are blown wide, tongue darting out of his mouth to catch a stray drop of your precious arousal dribbling down your inner thigh, "It's just 'cause –"

You don't give his smart-alec mouth time to formulate any words, groaning as you pull at the thick, soft and tousled strands of white hair. Letting the tip of his sharp nose nudge against your clit as Gojo suddenly muffles a desparate, thirst-laden whine, "Mhm, mhm, fuck!"

"Yeah, y-yeah," You breathe, sighing in relief as he presses his tongue flat against your pussy, laving thickly at the glossy folds that he's desperate to munch at, "That's what I thought."

Stifled sounds prick at your ears, a mantra of words falling from Gojo's mouth, something that sounds suspiciously like "Thank you, t-thank you, thank —." The strongest man in the entire world losing his mind, so grateful to wrap his lips against your swollen bud, your throbbing clit as he sucks. Hard.

Your walls clench suddenly, and you can feel the tip of Gojo's tongue prod at your entrance. That length somehow managing to render you gummy, dazed and speechless as he pushes the wet muscle into your cunt, "Ah, ahh, 'Toru, please."

Nothing prepares you for how Gojo's long, slender fingers come to slap at your pussy. Lengthy digits pistoning right into your tender, sensitive walls as he's eager to curve and search for that sweet spot that will make you scream, "What'dya call me, sweets? 'Toru?"

Gojo's looking up at you, and if you didn't know better, you'd say his expression was almost shy. Those eyes, blue like the core of a searing star, like something inhuman was barely contained and desperate to break free. There's something eerie about how bright they are, how they seem to glow even in the dim, murky light of your apartment.

There's glossy, snapping strands of Gojo's new favourite thirst-quencher falling from his lips as he laps at you. Long lashes fluttering against high cheekbones as there's a slight sheen of exertion beading at his temple, "If, if I had known that all I had to do to shut ya' up was eat you out, then —" Gojo whistles low, the vibrations echoing through your cunt, "Woulda' drank this pussy a longgg time ago."

You buck your hips against his nose, canting against his shapely nose bridge, "Don't get c-cocky." Seems that Gojo's just that desperate for you to boss him around, because he's already turning his attention and bratty mouth back to your cunt, licking you right up until he's certain you're seeing stars.

He's still got his suit on, broad-shoulders snugly wrapped in the textured fabric. Sculpting over his bicep even as he draws you even closer, until he's face to face with his new, second favourite girl. With you being his number #1, of course, Gojo isn't afraid to admit that you plotting to kill him has turned him on immensely over the years.

The idea of you planting your thighs around his head 'til he's devoid of air has had him pulling and jerking at his cock, whimpering until he was shooting blanks.

"Come on," and Gojo's snickering at his own play on words, "Or s-should I say c-cum on." Smacking his lips filthily against your folds, fingers pushing at your clit and rubbing furious circles over and over again until you feel the world go blank, and you're star-struck.

Gojo's whispering sweet nothings, adoring praise into your cunt as you ride out your high against his face, "Pretty girl, s-so good for me, heh. Think 'm fuckin' addicted."

You're already lazily pulling yourself up, propping yourself back on your elbows as you take in the sight of a teary-eyed Gojo Satoru. You watch as he pulls himself up, frame towering over you in the flimsy bed as he tugs and paws at the thick, firm bulge in his suit. Now darkened with a translucent patch of his release.

Gojo's fisting his hand over his cock in some ineffective form of relief, "Wanna' show you, g-gorgeous, wanna' show you how the strongest fucks."

But then, his eyes are looking up, wide and superhuman. Searing blue that lights up the dim room like a torch, and it's only then you notice that the lightbulb that once precariously teetered from your ceiling has shattered, and there's a crack in the large window that you swore you've never seen before.

And clutched within Gojo Satoru's fingers, shards of silver metal and blue chips. Fuck, that hag, that doped-up cunt must have had that USB clenched between his fingers the entire time, swiping it off the table when you pulled him in.

"Don't look at me like that, sweetheart," Gojo scoffs, pulling out a cock that beams with an angry, red mushroom tip. Thick spurts of cum already clinging to the slit as he hisses, and your thighs clench in anticipation of the delicious split, "I got something b-better for you right here."

[sweet-as-an-angel]

Gladiator! Ghost

Warnings: 18+, Dub-Con, Breeding Kink, Implied Forced Pregnancy, Dominant! Ghost, Unprotected Sex, Rough Sex, Master/Servant Dynamics, Voyeurism, Public Humiliation, Sexual Coercion, Scene Inspired by ‘Spartacus’, Based on Spartacus’ In-Universe History, Profanity, Implied Fem! Reader, Images Used aren't Mine.

Gladiator! Ghost abuses his power over you every chance he gets. No exceptions.

And all because you had to go and show him voluntary kindness, tending to his post-battle wounds and praising him for his efforts, all while touching him as delicately and as gently as you could. More so than anyone ever has.

It’s not long after this interaction that you find yourself stationed as Gladiator! Ghost's personal handmaiden; the perfect servant to see that his every desire is satiated.

And, unfortunately for you, that often includes him coercing you into compromising positions.

Even when he’s been training all day, his muscles bulging, skin glistening with sweat, eyes ablaze with bloodlust, he finds time to seek you out and take you someplace isolated and quiet – where nobody else can see or save you – and pumps his fury into you.

He’s never gentle with it, either. He isn’t trained to be.

He’s panting, chest heaving and broad at your back as he presses you into the stone wall of the cellar, your legs forcefully parted by a thick, toned thigh – the skin of which is covered in your dripping essence – as he pounds into you with all his might.

He calls you his maid – only his. Tells you that no-one else can have you, that they’d have to kill him if they wanted to possess you as he does.

And you take it because that’s all you can do. All you’re allowed to do.

You let him make your body feel like this is right, that the cracks of euphoria splintering between your legs justifies the way he grabs your hair and pulls you back to face him, only to force his eager tongue into your mouth.

You clench around him – unwillingly so. Encourage him.

You hear him groan, feel his voice heavy on your tongue before he pulls away, slipping a hand beneath the fabric of your tunic and squeezing your clit between his fingers. You cry out, pressing back into him, taking him deeper.

“You’re mine,” he tells you. He punctuates his point with a quick, harsh slap to your clit – one that leaves you whining. “I’ll give you my babe – give you the privilege of bringing my son into this world.”

Amidst the reluctant pleasure electrifying your every sense, you know he’s close. His tip – pressing into the deepest part of you, a place you didn’t even know existed before he found it – bulbous and aching, pulses in time with his heartbeat. You close your eyes and brace for it – the warmth, the wet. The inevitable.

And, sure as rain after thunder, Ghost growls, pressing as deep into you as your body will allow and then some, as he cums, hot and heavy. You can physically feel his semen pumping through his shaft as he empties every ounce of his seed into your wanting womb – filled beyond full – leaving you whining and trying your best to pull away from his cock.

He holds you still and glowers, a vein across his bicep twitching – almost winking at you – as he slams his hand beside your head, caging you . As if to remind you that he’s the one in charge here.

So you still, panting, sweating and almost crying, as his seed nestles inside you, knowing there’s nothing you can do until he’s ready to let you go – until he’s sure his efforts have taken. And all you can focus on is how heavy he feels inside you, the feeling of his chest almost crushing you against the wall as he breathes deeply. The gradual softening of his tip at your cervix as he grows flaccid.

The hand between your thighs – coated translucent and white – comes to rest upon your stomach. You can feel him looking down at the phantom bump from over your shoulder. His voice is obsidian.

“If I haven’t imparted him upon you already.”

In Ghost’s head, he’s justified in his actions. Even though he can feel you trying to peel away from him, your heart racing to the rhythm of fear and not of lust. Even though he knows you will likely retreat to your shared chambers and weep into your pillow. He knows, deep down, that you want as he does. A family.

It’s all he can think about aside from the bloodshed and the fight for survival. You are all he can think about. The only thing that can placate his rage.

It’s his reason. His only reason to continue.

In his own way, this is his manufacturing of a family. Turning you from a servant into the mother of his children, and transforming him – a beast – into a father.

Not that you’d know this, but he has more influence within the Master’s residence than most – especially as his most prized gladiator. 

Whenever the Master throws parties, he convinces him to put the maids – you – on display, to show the other houses that his gladiators are not just fighters, but incessant lovers, too.

More often than not, you’ve had to strip bare and bear the weight of the stares of party-goers as Ghost, assigned to be the night’s show pony, makes sure everyone knows who you belong to.

It’s an exercise of power. Of ownership.

He makes no effort to hide his endurance, his speed, often finishing at a rate that leaves you terrified knowing there’s nothing you can do to stop it, to hide away and prevent your seemingly inevitable pregnancy at the hands of the man you call Master.

Truth be told, you’d be ashamed of enjoying the weight of him inside you – the familiar feeling of his tip hitting a note within you that leaves you whining a wanton tune – if it weren’t for the fact that your situation could be worse – that it could be another of the Master’s loyal fighters pounding you, holding you and bruising your waist. Degrading you from a maid to a whore for all to see.

Ghost can see, during times like these, the women who wish to be you and the men who crave to be him. And he hides his smile beneath learned stoicism, even as he’s overcome with the euphoria of emptying himself inside you, lifting you by the hips so nothing of his making is wasted.

And you can do nothing to fight against it.

And, when he’s asked by some curious voyeur, he’ll do it all again. And again. And again.

This is the only way he can guarantee his seed takes – the only way he can make sure you won’t go off running trying to cleanse yourself of his semen rolling down your thighs, of his efforts taking form and bearing fruit inside you.

He knows it’s just a matter of time until he can afford both your and his freedom, until he can take you away from this place and raise your family together – someplace far from this spectacle of murder.

Until then, he’ll convince his Master to fund these social affairs, to allow you to remain as his maid.

His.

Reblog for more content like this! It helps creators like myself tremendously and it is greatly appreciated :-)

Masterlist Masterlist [Continued] Masterpost Modern Warfare AI Masterlist Gladiator Ghost AI

AO3 Wattpad X

[yandere-writer-momo]

Yandere Head Canons: Now You See Me, Now You Don’t

Yandere Conman x Rich Married Fem Reader x Yandere ‘Neglectful Tycoon’ Husband

TW: Yandere themes, a man trying to get you to cheat, manipulation, neglectful husband, dark themes, and unhealthy relationship dynamics that should not be romanticized

Glen Magenta had always been a conniving individual since childhood. A natural born flirt who always got his way. Hell, he hardly ever heard the word no.

He was charismatic and romantic so it was easy for him to scam rich, lonely women trapped in loveless marriages. All he had to do was say pretty words and keep them company and he was able to drink the sweet nectar of their riches…

This time, he set his sights on the wife of a wealthy business tycoon named (your name). A delicate young woman with such sad eyes. She would be such easy prey… or so he thought

He introduced himself to her as Magnus Markley, a starving artist who has been utterly bewitched by her… but rather than fall instantaneously for his charms, she simply glanced at him like he was nothing. Was she not flattered by his good looks? By his sweet words and charming smile? How? She was known to be neglected by her husband in social circles.

(Your name) was the beautiful wife of Salvatore Urso. The wife Sal hardly gave any time to and yet she had no interest in an affair.

“I’m flattered, but I’m married.” Her soft voice replied to him as she showed that expensive ring that bordered on being gaudy. Magnus thought it was hideous… he never understood why the upper class had such awful taste, but at least Mister Urso had decent taste in his woman. (Your name) was going to be more difficult to catch than he thought… but he’d make the effort. After all, he enjoyed the hunt.

Glen truly committed to the character of Magnus Markley he created. He was a romantic and easily charmed (your name)’s closest friends in her social group. They were far easier to charm like his many conquests before (your name) yet she was the big fish he wanted… she would be the richest of any woman he’s seduced over the years. If Glen was able to capture her heart, he’d be set for life! He’d never have to work again… plus her husband was never around!

All Glen needed to do was work his way into her heart… even if he had to go through other women in order to do it. His greed had no bounds

Magnus was now often in the same circles (your name) ran with. She now saw him at every social gathering as he slowly wormed his way past her defenses by getting into her friend group to find out her hobbies. She enjoyed book club? He just joined to try to find inspiration for his art! She adored bird watching with the girls? Well, he was there to find an idea to paint!

Months went by into his plan. Hours of work went into his attempts to chip away at the walls around her heart and he finally made a crack… it seemed (your name) enjoyed having a genuine friend. Not that he was truly genuine.

(Your name) sat with him as they discussed books and music. Her sad face lit up warmly as she’d shyly talk of her interests. He’s never met a victim of his that was so cute.

He could see himself genuinely being with her. She was so sweet! How could someone be so sweet? Her husband was a fool for not being with her all the time!

The more he learned about her the more he began to falter with his goal. She was once a waitress at a restaurant before Sal married her? He never knew that… he had always thought she came from money since she was so prim and proper. Sal often bought her extravagant gifts? He had assumed her husband didn’t care much for her… but it seemed he did care. Sal cared far too much for his wife to the point it was terrifying.

(Your name) shared how most of her friends went missing after a while and that it was lonely, but her husband always cheered her up. That he’d take her to the best Italian restaurants each time and then he’d take her out on their balcony and make her limoncello to sip with him as they watched fireworks together.

It seemed he stumbled across a rabbit hole he should have never went down the more he learned. This young woman wasn’t a simple business tycoon’s wife… her husband was a part of the mob.

Glen couldn’t help but want to save her. She had no idea she was associated with the mob… that she was in danger!

For the first time in his life, he didn’t want to be selfish. He had enough to be able to relocate them to another country, he just had to convince her to flee… but he didn’t cover his tracks fast enough. Sal already caught wind of him.

Before he knew it, he was gagged and bound in a metal chair on the back of a ship on the sea. Cinder blocks were tied around each of his legs with heavy metal chains. Sal stood above him with a cigar in hand.

“I looked into you, Magnus or should I say… Glen.” Sal told the conman as he exhaled his cigar smoke. “Real piece of work, you are. Did you think I would let you try to take my wife?”

Glen gulped as Sal held up a pistol to him.

“I-I had no idea you cared so much for your wife-“

“Care for her?” Sal chuckled as his heavy accent dripped with venom, “I’m obsessed with her. She’s my darling wife and I’ll be damned if I let some schmuck get his greasy little fingers on her.”

Glen felt tears well up in his eyes. “Please, Sal. I’ll skip town, I’ll never talk to her again-“

“Yeah right, I found your little diary filled with love notes and your plan to convince her to run away with you.” Sal stood up with the gun still pointed. “Like hell I’d let you live. Rats like you need to be exterminated early.”

Glen felt tears roll down his face as Sal shoved the barrel into his mouth.

“Such a shame I have to get rid of another one of her friends, but she’ll be okay. I’m all amore mio needs.”

A gunshot rang out in the empty sea before a loud splash followed.

[princesssmars]

so...we can all agree vi is an ass girl, right?

modern!au. 18+ content ahead. post contains lesbian sex and dry humping. inspired by this video from love and deepspace. i didnt know they got down like that. wc : 3.081.

she didn't show it often before, but lately violet could quickly become so achingly desperate for you.

she didn't show it often, but violet could become so achingly desperate.

at the start of your relationship, she tried to play off her need for you in a casual way, brushing it off as just being a very attentive girlfriend. you never had a problem with, always open and accepting of whatever little bits of attention she would give to you.

but then one day she slips, and she can feel your dynamic shift as soon as it happens.

she was away visiting her family for the holidays, body snugly tucked under the covers in her childhood bed as she held her phone above her face. the house was quiet, the air was cold, and she was having an internal battle with the reasonable part of her that told her to call it a night and drift off to sleep already...

and then there was the other side. the one that suddenly brings to her attention the steady heat that’s been building beneath her stomach after you sent the prettiest photo of you all dolled up in your parent’s guest bathroom. the one that made her bite her lip as she observed every inch of you through the screen before instantly liking the photo and sending back a flirty message. the one that now gravitated her fingers to calling your phone in the middle of the night and hoping and praying you’d pick up, nearly breathing a sigh of relief when you did.

"vi? are you alright?"

loaded question, she thinks to herself. in perfect health? of course. of sound mind? debatable, but for the most part yes. alright? no, definitely not at the moment.

"yeah, yeah, i’m alright princess. just wanted to talk to you."

"aww, you're such a sweetie. how'd i get so lucky, huh?"

and yes, she does appreciate and silently adore the sweet sentiment. but the sound of you cooing at her with just the tiniest hint of a rasp in your voice from tiredness only cements her fate, having to use all of the rational energy she has left to stop whimpering.

"tell me how your trips been. wanna hear your voice for a little longer."

"no problem. well im fine, everyone here is good. besides my aunt nat, she's still moody because no one allowed her in the kitchen again-"

you go on about your family and their shenanigans, and she cant help but quietly laugh along when you giggle about some of the stories and memories you've made. but the 'conversation' takes a turn when you start to talk about her.

"you know i miss you, right?"

she feels a subtle pang in her chest, half longing and half desire. "oh yeah?"

"yeah. rolled over in bed this morning and kept trying to find you till i realized where i was. it's weird not waking up with you."

she hums, hoping you cant hear her stuttered breaths through the receiver. she doesn't know why hearing about you subconsciously looking for her embrace is what does it for her, but she can only give a short response as one of her hands trails down into boxers.

"wish i could've been there with you, baby."

"mmm, me too. missed your warmth, swear you're like my own personal heater. wish you could be here with me now."

her breathing stops and her eyebrows raise. "oh yeah?"

"yeah. missed your hands, too."

fuck, fuck fuck fuck. she's taken off guard, mind racing at your words and tone and before she knows it she has two fingers stuffed inside of herself while she quietly whimpers for you to keep talking to her.

"fuck, just a little more baby, please, 'm so close-"

"aww, you're such a good girl for me, aren't you violet?"

she swears she bites her lip so hard it nearly bleeds when she cums, walls clenching around her fingers and eyes rolling back into her head as she reaches her peak while you talk her through it.

the next week when she picks you up from the airport she can see it, a glimmer in your eye and quick in your smile that wasn't there before. she tries to ignore it when she pulls you in for a long-awaited embrace but then she just gets so enveloped in your warmth, your smell, the feeling of your body pressed hers. she's only yanked out of her lovestruck stupor when you whisper a sly little comment in her ear about how long and tight she's been holding you.

"call me crazy but if i didnt know any better i'd say you're feeling a little desperate for me."

so the cats out of the bag. she's super attached to you, so what? it's not like you ever complained about it, instead constantly using her neediness to your advantage to get what you want from her. you'll likely never have to beg and convince her to get up from bed to change the thermostat again, only needing to graze your hand across her chest and press a lingering kiss to the space beneath her chin before she's leaping out of bed and speedwalking down the hall.

and don't even get her started on her libido. the both of you had an amazing sex life already, able to almost instinctually tell what brought the other the most mindblowing pleasure possible. but ever since that night, it's like her desire for you only increased tenfold, barely able to go a day without getting her hands on you or vice versa.

it only reached a head when you decided to truly test her limits.

she had taken up a later shift to help out loris who had a date, which meant by the time she returned home she was too tuckered out to have her way with you. but during times like these, she could always count on the early morning sun waking her up just in the rich window of time for morning sex. but when the light rays peek through her bedroom window and she uses her arm to pull you closer she finds you absent, your side of the bed cold.

after a brief search through the house, she opened her text messages just to find your sent a sweet text only an hour before she’d woken up to tell her your friends had invited you on a last minute girls day around the city the night before, and you didn’t want to wake her from her sleep since she seemed exhausted when she got home.

vi groans and falls back into the pillows, lousily texting you back a short message to tell you she loves you and hopes you have fun with your friends. she’ll be alright, she can go a few more hours without you near.

but only an hour later after she’s showered and eaten a quick breakfast she feels the ache start to build in her chest, eyes darting up to the clock on the wall and groaning when realizes just how long this day is going to feel.

everything she tries to do to keep her mind off of you fails miserably. doing chores? she's thinking back on the time when the both of you first split up household duties when you moved in together, feeling giddy at sharing something so menial with the girl she was enamored with. making herself a protein shake for the gym? now she's stuck in a daydream about all the times you've been in this kitchen together, sharing sweet baked goods and sweeter kisses as you settle into domestic bliss.

she has got to get out of the house.

jayce understood her problem as soon as she called inviting her down to the gym for a few hours to work off any ‘pent-up energy’ she’s currently... unable to get out in her preferred method.

it works for a while, the familiar smell of sweat and the slight ache in her muscles grounding her back into reality as she makes casual gym talk with jayce. she's just starting to feel like the absence of you is off of her mind when she hears your text notification on her phone, accidentally leaving her place as jayces spotter to open up her phone.

as soon as her brain registers that you’ve sent her pictures she makes up some lame excuse to get to the bathroom, tuning out her friend's groan of disapproval as she speed walks to the restrooms and locks herself in one of the stalls.

the first few messages are sweet, little selfies of you and your friends as you enjoy your day together as you get some sweet treats together at one of the malls concession stands. a lovesick smile involuntarily grows on her face, always happy to see you smiling and enjoying yourself with the people who care about you. but her eyes start to squint when you start to send pictures of you trying on various outfits from some of the outlet stores, posing demurely in front of the trying room mirrors.

but then her eyes widen to the size of dinner plates when suddenly shes getting photos of you in her vagina's favorite enemy - lingerie.

even before vi started acting so eager about your body, it wasn't hard for you to catch on to the fact that the woman was so clearly an ass girl. even on five hands, you wouldn't be able to count the number of times you’d caught her staring or sneaking small glances at your behind, not to mention how she thought she was being discreet about her affection for it with the numerous times she’d slap it when walking by you. she tried to laugh it off when you brought it up in conversation, assuring you that she loved each and every part of you and could never pick a favorite.

but now you were determined to really see how much she wanted you, using every dirty trick in the book you could think of. she feels her face get hot as she looks down at her phone, the image of you in lacy lingerie, back facing the mirror as the magenta fabric (nearly the same shade as her hair, jesus christ,) stretches across the swell of your ass and crisis crosses across your back.

her brain short circuits. before she can think about it she’s saving the pictures to her phone and calling you at the speed of light.

“hey, violet. how’s your day?”

“you are so… evil. amazing and beautiful and evil.”

your giggle rings through the receiver, melodic and teasing. “what's the problem? you don't like the set?”

“don’t even joke. when are you getting home?”

“mmm not till late, the girls wanted to go to a club tonight.”

“oh you’ve got to be kidding me-”

“do you want me to send you the address?”

vi hasn't been to a nightclub in months, at first harshly avoiding the hard party scene in favor of her sobriety before feeling no need to indulge in the party scene once her life became more stable, especially after she met you. but she never stopped you from going out and having fun with your friends, tagging along once in a blue moon to sip on a mocktail while she chatted up the bartender and stared at your ass while you danced.

tonight was an extremely necessary blue moon.

the air is hot, and the feel of her drink burns her throat as vi waits at the bar, blue eyes wide and aware as she stares at the club’s crowded entrance like it owes her money. the bartender asks if she’s alright, scared she’s waiting for someone to arrive to jump them before she assures them she’s fine. they slowly nod and get back to making drinks, nearly dropping a glass out of fright when she slams her glass on the bar and quickly makes her way over to you.

if she wasn't so laser-focused on finally getting her hands on you she might've been a little cocky at the fact that you look like you were about to salivate at the sight of her, knowing she made the right decision to wear the tight pants she knew you loved on her. in only a second she’s got her hands settled on your waist, not caring that your friends are laughing at her clear excitement over seeing you in your club outfit, a tiny dress so she can see the wide expanse of your legs, your arms, your shoulder - fuck, the straps of the pink bra aren’t even hidden by the strapless dress-

“wanna dance with me?” your voice is nothing short of flirtatious, and you already know your answer by the way you start to walk past her to the dance floor, already predicting how she follows you like she’s on a leash.

as the both of you grind and dance in the middle of the club every thought racing through vi’s head is centered on you, physically and mentally unable to focus on anything else when she finally has you so close again after what felt like years. she feels a familiar sense of euphoria when her palms glide up and down your waist, smirking to herself when she feels you shudder when her hands reach up to cup and discreetly squeeze your breasts. she’s feeling happy about finally starting to turn the tables back on you before you arch your back into her, your ass pressing into her as your hand reaches up to her head, nails dusting along her cheek before reaching into her hair and pulling.

it’s only to be expected that that’s her breaking point, dragging you through the dancing bodies and into the back of the building until she can find anywhere to get you alone, thanking any god that exists above that she finds an open storage closet and drags you inside, pressing you face first towards the door. a little voice in her head reminds her not to be too rough with you, but it’s quickly silenced when she sees just how much you crave it, how your back is yet again arching and your hands are clenching into fists from their places on the wooden door.

it's nice, to remember that you want her as much as she wants you.

in only a few seconds she’s given into it, pressing you further into the door by pressing her body against yours and grinding her crotch into the fat of your ass, eyes lidded and head dropping to rest on your shoulder from the rush of pleasure she feels below.

“vi, oh my god-” your voice is light and airy, every word almost choked out as you struggle to prevent yourself from moaning out and alerting every person in the bar about what the two of you were up to.

“i know, fuck, I know, baby. i just-” she cuts herself off with a groan when she lets her hand travel down your front and under your dress to your panties, face running hot when she feels just how wet you’ve gotten. she’s all but rushing to ruche up your dress, mind going fuzzy yet again at seeing the pink fabric covering your ass and how it feels under her when she begins humping you yet again.

“nngh, knew it. knew you were an ass girl.” you giggle.

“god, please stop talking-”

whatever snarky little comment you were going to make dies in your throat when her arm comes up and around your neck to hold your jaw, turning your head around and smashing her lips onto yours. you whimper and moan into her mouth, violet greedily eating the noises of your pleasure as she takes you up against the door.

you pull back for a few seconds to catch your breath, both of your eyes drifting to the thin trail of saliva connecting your lips together.

she can feel it, then. an almost electric charge that runs form her body into yours. you lean into her touch, arch into her further like you’re trying ot merge your bodies into one. when her other hand tightens around the pushed-up fabric of your dress and she gets that absolutely adorable scrunch between her eyebrows you know what she’s asking, and you gently nod your head.

and so she presses her lips back to yours, her crotch further into your ass, and rides you in the cramped nightclub storage closet. she's grateful that you seem to be enjoying it just as much as she is, her mind completely focused on getting closer and closer to her peak. she can feel it building quickly, a growing heat below her stomach reach to burst at any moment. all it takes is you, sucking on her tongue before mumbling muffled words into her mouth begging for her to finish against you. she cums with a stifled moan into your mouth, only amplified when she feels you shudder and go loose in the legs beneath her.

you’re both panting, sweaty, and tired as you stare at each other. it’s a comfortable silence as you help each other adjust - vi fixing your dress and you attempting to put her hair back in her signature style.

“so,” your voice lilts up as vi’s busy fixing her jacket, debating if she wants to take it off to cool down or not, knwoing she’ll probably just wrap it around your arms outside anyway. “you gonna admit it yet?”

she rolls her eyes, looking at you with an exasperated but fond look in her eyes that makes your stomach flip. “you just love being proven right, don’t you?”

“absolutely.”

“fine, you were right. are you happy?”

“very. now, let’s go home annnd maybe,” your fingers hook into the loops of her pants and tug her closer,”you can show me a little more just how much you need me, yeah?”

maybe, vi would show her neediness for you more often. just a little.

[chiumii]

jealousy ~ park sunghoon x reader

౨ৎ inspired by this request !! ♡ ଓ ⋆˙⊹ [ 성훈 ] ☆ in which sunghoon brings you to a brand event - but due to the public eye and your secret relationship , he can't be all over you the way he wants to - but when he sees multiple men try and put their grabby hands all over his woman shamelessly , he patiently waits until the two of you get home to show you who you belong to.

word count ; 5.8k

dom! mean! sunghoon x sub! reader . jealousy , smacking , gentle head lock , possessiveness , heavy degrading , praise , orgasm denial , heavy overstimulation , manhandling , face fucking , cnc , choking, spit kink , power dynamic , rough play , restraints , impact play , nicknames (slave , slut , cum slut , cock whore , daddy , literally all the names u can even think of), sunghoon is absolutely ruthless im SORRY. not proof read

"you look absolutely gorgeous, my love" sunghoon's voice breaks you out of your trance , his figure coming into view through the reflection in the mirror. you taper with your lipgloss , perfecting the pink tint on your lips.

sunghoon's arms wrap around your waist , bringing your frame into a hug from behind. you blush at his actions , leaning into his touch. you pop your lips , finishing with your makeup. his thumbs rub gentle circles on your waist through the little black dress you found yourself wearing.

your hands reach for the jewelry box on the counter, grabbing a beautiful Vivienne Westwood three stringed pearl necklace with her signature logo in the middle. the thick piece of jewelry compliments your collarbones and breasts that sit nicely in your dress. you then reach over to grab your Dior perfume, spraying your wrists before rubbing them together, followed by sprays behind each ear, the center of your neck, and chest.

the way you look is driving sunghoon up the wall and he begins thinking to himself how this prada event isn't really that important - he would much rather stay in your shared apartment with your clothes on the floor with your throat stuffed.

"are you ready baby?" you turn and ask him , putting on your ysl heels as a finishing touch before grabbing your little purse that holds nothing besides a couple tampons , advil , a condom , and a small travel tube of your favorite perfume . sunghoon swears you look like the most perfect doll , especially with your curled hair and big eyelashes that make your eyes even bigger than usual.

"im so excited, I haven't been to a brand event, let alone a party before" you borderline squeal , making sunghoon chuckle at your enthusiasm.

"I would much rather be here with you though , do we really have to go" he wraps his arms around your smaller frame completely , dipping his head into the crevasse of your neck before trailing kisses down your skin. your face heats up at the feeling of his wet , full lips on your skin. the heat pooling in your panties from your boyfriends hands gently caressing your body really does make you want to stay at home with him tangled in the sheets for just a moment.

you turn around in his hold , looking up at him through your eyelashes.

"I've never been to one of these and you go all the time" you pout before finishing your sentence

"I really wanna go , im so excited" you smile up at him . sunghoon almost swears he fell in love with you all over again; you're so fucking cute. he presses one last kiss on your forehead before detangling his arms from your body in order to grab your hand , leading you out of the bathroom and towards the front door.

︵‿︵‿୨♡୧‿︵‿︵

sunghoon kisses the tips of your fingers before getting out of the car , mumbling a quick "I love you" before he steps out into the cold air surrounded by a crowd of fans. the private driver circles around the block before dropping you off in the same spot , making sure no suspicions arise in the media.

sunghoon and you have been dating for a couple years , so you know all about his life as a famous Kpop group.

with your boyfriend being a famous musician, comes the demand of the company. you constantly have to make sure you aren't being followed , and you aren't allowed to be seen with sunghoon in public, so that means the two of you aren't allowed to go into public together unless it was to a private establishment.

you have your own way of living and line of work - a fashion line filled with jewelry , clothing , wallets , purses , you name it.

you worked unbelievably hard to get where you were now , so your presence being at a party like this wasn't weird at all , you just never accepted any invitations until your beloved boyfriend convinced you to go with him.

you walk into the building , head high and a walk full of confidence. you dont see him , but he sees you and oh god the way you hold yourself makes him want to strip you of all confidence and bend you over the nearest table and fuck you absolutely stupid.

you feel sunghoons eyes on you , but you can't find him.

you're not exactly complaining , you like feeling as if you were being watched. so when you go over to the bar and ask the tender to get you your favorite drink , the heat pooling in your panties deepens.

you turn around in your bar stool, one of your legs crossed over the other as you sip on your drink. your eyes instantly lock with his from across the room , your pearly necklace shining in the dim lighting.

there you are

he's standing next to sunoo and jay , the two of them talking about whatever as sunghoon's eyes stare into yours. your cheeks heat up at the attention he's giving you as you turn your head to look for other people you know

you see quite a few celebrities , all of the enhypen members , and other people you don't know. you wish you had a girl friend to hang out with at these events; that was one of the main reasons you never went... you didn't know anybody. you weren't a celebrity , a music artist... you were a fashion designer who never showed her face- the press was too much for you. the only events you go to being fashion shows that your masterpieces were in.

you sigh to yourself, watching the clock above the bar click to the second hour you've been here. you go to take your phone out of your purse , only to be met with a stranger on the left side of you , and another on the right. they're both men... maybe in their mid 30's. you sigh to yourself , throwing your head back as you down the shot in your hand.

"can I help you?" you ask them, unamusement laced in your tone. the man on your left smiles at you fondly, and the familiar feeling of a certain set of eyes burns the back of your head , making your lower abdomen tighten and your thighs to slowly clamp together .

you fakingly smile back at him , deciding to play one dangerous game.

"you're a stunner , you here alone beautiful?" he was a decently attractive man , but nothing compared to the one who stands across the room burning holes into the back of your head. you smile at his compliment , fidgeting with the ring on your left hand- your promise ring.

"and if I wasn't?" you play your card , the two of you staring at each other .

"It was a rhetorical question , I don't care if you're here alone or not" he smirks at you , making you feel uneasy.

unbeknownst to you , sunghoon has moved closer to the bar , now able to hear your entire conversation that plays out as heeseung talks with him about something that doesn't really matter.

he hears you when you thank the random man for buying you a drink, he also hears your fake ass giggle when he says something 'funny'.

he conceals his growing anger , continuing to chat with heeseung and another random ambassador, his ears still perked up to your conversation- a split attention that sunghoon has learned to master.

you can feel him grow closer - but you can't see him yet as he's moved places. you know he can hear you - you can feel it. so when the random men begin to shamelessly flirt with you , you can't help but pay right into their pawn.

"y/n l/n is you?" one of the men ask in excitement , making you smile fondly. you nod your head yes at his words , taking another sip of your now non-alcoholic drink.

"god your clothing line is absolutely beautiful, especially when you're the model..."

"but it would look much better off of you" you almost choke at his words, now feeling completely uncomfortable around these two men. you shift in your seat , eyes shakingly trying to find your lover.

you shouldn't have toyed with them , you really shouldn't have. sunghoon is watching you , perched in a dark corner of the room as you desperately search for him.

he smirks at your frantic behavior - maybe you shouldn't have started talking with them. play stupid games, win stupid prizes.

"I should really get going , I have another-" you try to make your exit , but are rudely cut short.

"stay a while pretty , we've still got so much to talk about" your skin crawls when one of them grabs your thigh , and sunghoon immediately sees your face drop.

you can flirt with whoever you like, sunghoon has no problem with it because the both of you know that you belong to him. his name is the one you'll be screaming at the end of the night.

but when someone puts their slimy hands on his woman , that's where he draws the line.

"get your hands off of me. I'm engaged and I swear to god-" you feel an arm wrap around your shoulder , cutting your words short as you look up and see your boyfriend making direct eye contact with the man who has his hand on your thigh.

"let go of her, now." he demands , and the man obeys shakingly. he smiles down at you before continuing , rubbing gentle circles on your shoulder with his thumb.

"as my fiance was saying before you rudely interrupted her; we should really be going now" he says before dragging you out of the building and towards his private escort , not really caring who sees the two of you.

"h-hoon im sorry I didn't-" he leans down to whisper in your ear , making sure nobody else but you can hear him as he speaks

"careful baby , you don't wanna say anything that'll make your punishment worse now do you?" he leans down to bite your ear lobe , a shiver running down your spine as he does so. you look down , your panties beginning to feel damp between your legs at the threat he makes hanging over your head.

the two of you get into the backseat of the car , and during the car ride home he's completely silent, it scares you. you're scared for what's about to happen as soon as you enter through the doors of your home.

you know sunghoon is ruthless in bed... especially when he's jealous because how dare someone try and take what's his.

he loves it when you're a brat because then he has the ability to use you in any way he pleases. you wanna act like a toy? he'll treat you like one.

the house is cold and dark when you enter it. you set your purse down on the couch and begin to walk into the house before you're stopped by a pair of hands that has you weak at the knees.

sunghoon tsk's before circling around you , taking in your appearance. your eyes follow his figure as he moves around you like a god damn vulture stalking its next target. your heart rate increases as his fingertips barely graze your thigh , the same one that the man had put his hands on.

he rakes his eyes up and down your trembling figure before looking back up at you through his eyebrows as his head is tilted down. he tongues his cheek before speaking.

"you have no fucking idea what im going to do to you, huh doll?" you shyly look up at him , shifting uncomfortably under his gaze.

"answer me." his demand is short , his words cutting through you swiftly.

"n-no.." you answer , making sunghoon softly smile at you

"no what" he responds , making your heart beat faster in your ribs .

"no sir" you answer under your breath, looking up at him through your eye lashes. sunghoon makes his way over to the couch , sitting down on it. he spreads his legs apart , pressing his forearms down onto his knees in a manspread.

"strip." is all he says , his words making you feel even wetter. you start with your necklace , taking it off and placing it down on the coffee table with a clank. next is your shoes and socks, which you kick off and over towards the coffee table to be forgotten. your little black dress follows, which you slip over your head and drop it down onto the floor next to you.

finally , you're left in just a flimsy pair of underwear and bra , covering you from your lovers eyes.

you feel pathetic under his gaze, goosebumps arising on your skin as he watches you intently. you gulp down saliva before shakingly take off your bra , your breasts bouncing free.

then you shimmy out of your underwear , kicking them to the side as you bare yourself completely to sunghoon. his face is completely expressionless, which makes you shift nervously in place.

you feel helpless in the palm of his hand , and he hasnt even touched you. like meek prey being observed by its hunter just before he pounces on you.

"you dont deserve my cock. you should be thankful I fuck such a worthless slut like you" you shift away from his mean words , but the feeling of your wetness slowly drip down your legs makes sunghoon hiss.

"god , you're so fucking filthy. look at the mess you're making." you feel embarrassment pool in your cheeks , fidgeting with your hands as a whine exits your mouth.

"s-sung-"

"get on your knees" with widening eyes , you bring your cheek between your teeth and chew,

"sunghoon-"

"dont you dare question me, slut. I said get on your knees, or are you too stupid to do just that?" he humiliates you , making your cheeks heat up in embarrassment.

you listen to him , getting down on your knees a few feet in front of him. he leans back onto the couch , his eyes never leaving your figure.

"now crawl to me" if his last command wasn't bad enough , this one was even worse. you feel yourself grow even hotter as you begin to shift on the ground , crawling over to sunghoon on your knees . you stop right before him , your body placed inbetween his spread legs while your eye level with his clothed dick.

"undress me" he says , so you comply , stripping him of his clothes and letting his hard cock spring free, slapping his abdomen as pearly drops of precum drip out of his tip and down his shaft.

sunghoon then leans down , forcefully grabbing your face and squeezing your cheeks. he coos at your pinched eyebrows and teary eyes.

"do you know what happens when you misbehave?" you shake your head in his grasp , desperately wanting to know.

"this." he harshly lets go of your cheek in order to grab a fistful of your hair , pushing your face towards his cock. you instinctually open your mouth as he bullies his way into your face , pressing you down onto his shaft and forcing you to deep throat his length instantly. you choke around him , your hands coming to latch onto his thighs.

you gag as saliva quickly begins to drool out of the sides of your mouth and down your chin. sunghoon throws his head back , pushing your head to bob up and down around his length.

"this is the only thing you're good for. taking my dick like the worthless slave you are." you moan at his words , the tip of his dick hitting beyond the back of your throat. he begins to thrust his hips up into your face, your nose hitting his pelvis bone with every rut into your throat.

your eyes begin to water , the taste of his salty precum clouding your senses as you try to breathe in through your nose. he's ruthless , his cock bruising your throat , making it sting.

you hollow your cheeks , sucking harder in order to make him finish quicker. sunghoons moans pick up volume above you, his hips beginning to thrust more sloppily into you.

your tongue attempts to swirl around his length , but its difficult due to the fast pace your lover has set.

"you're gonna take my cum like the filthy little cock whore you are, isn't that right babydoll?" you attempt to nod your head, looking up at sunghoon as he fucks your face. hot tears spill down your cheeks , stretching passed your saliva coated chin and towards your neck. sunghoon's grip in your hair is unbelievably tight, making your scalp sting and your head hurt.

you swallow around his cock, and with one final thrust up into your face, he holds your head down so your nose presses against his pelvis, cutting off your entire air supply - he cums down your throat, shooting his load into your mouth.

he holds you down until you start squirming, silently begging for air. he groans before yanking your head off of his cock.

your cheeks are full of his seed while he leans down and squeezes your cheeks- resulting in a little bit of his cum spilling out of the sides of your mouth.

"swallow." and so you do, taking all of the cum he gifted you. it stings on the way down, your throat hurts as more tears spill from your eyes.

"god I love it when you cry for me" he says, the dirty words echoing in your mind. before you can say anything, he stands up and grabs your body, flinging you into the air and over his shoulder. you weigh just about nothing to sunghoon as he walks down the halllway and into your shared room, throwing you down onto the bed.

oh you're absolutely in for it- and you can tell just by the look on his face -hes angry. he crawls over your smaller frame, harshly gripping one of your wrists before tugging it up and over your head, towards the bed post where the restraint lays. your eyes widen in realization, instantly trying to get away from the demon above you.

he only uses the restraint when you absolutely fuck up - and tonight is one of those nights where you definitely fucked up.

"no, no please please no-" you struggle, but your wrist ends up restrained despite your protests and fighting. your free hand instantly goes to try and help you out- but sunghoon has the key.

"oh yes. you're the one who put yourself in this position. did you really forget who owns you doll?" he leans down and grips your throat in his hands, forcing you to look at him as his thumb presses down on the spot that determines your air supply , the threat hanging above your head.

"now, you're going to shut up and take whatever I give you like the good little girl you are, yeah?" you nod your head with a whimper, listening to every word your boyfriend says.

"good." he moves his hand up to your face, squeezing your cheeks as you open your mouth. he looks into your teary eyes as he spits directly into your mouth to which you instantly swallow. he coo's at you before letting you go, pushing your body back down onto the bed before quickly restraining your arms and legs to the bed post, stretching you out in order to bare yourself completely helpless.

sunghoon smirks, his fangs on full display.

"you're not going to cum until I give you permission, do you understand?" you nod your head desperately.

sunghoon chuckles as he reaches out to turn the lights off and you can swear the atmosphere shifts drastically, his laugh echoing off the walls of the room. the only thought ringing through your head is how fucked you truly are.

you can hear him shuffle around, but you can't see him at all, the room is completely dark. your eyes frantically search around in the dark, attempting to make out any sort of figure, and just before you gain any confidence- you feel one of your thighs sting after being smacked.

you let out a desperate squeal at the impact, your legs shaking and your cunt dripping. you hear a chuckle come from the dark void you call your room before another harsh smack lands on your other thigh, this time its on the inside of your leg and not the outside.

another squeal is ripped from your throat, and you could almost bet that there was a fat red handprint left on your skin.

you tug at the restraints, feeling completely helpless as another smack lands on the opposite inner thigh. a sob echos through the room and you feel your arousal drip down your ass to pool onto the bed below you.

hes fast, making sure you don't see him in the dark room as another slap lands on your body- only this time its on your puffy clit.

a moan replaces your screams, your hips bucking into the air as your cunt begins to pulsate.

"s-sung please... need you d-daddy please" you beg, but your pleas go straight through his ear and out the other as another harsh slap lands on your clit. this one vibrates throughout your entire body and you feel yourself getting hotter and hotter, a thin layer of sweat glistening on your helpless body.

your wish comes true as his cold fingers make contact with your wet folds, slipping through them with ease in order to gather your juices before rubbing your clit harshly.

your body thrashes against the restraints that bound you to the bed. your hips buck into the air, but sunghoons free hand comes down onto your abdomen and pushes your body back down onto the mattress - pinning you down onto the sheets below you.

your high pitched begs and moans fill the chambers of sunghoons mind, fueling his ego further as he begins to tip you over the edge. your pussy flutters around nothing, making sunghoon hiss at the sight.

"d-da-ddy please m-more wan' mo-re" you sob, fat tears running down your warm cheeks. he detaches from your clit before landing another body-shaking slap against it

"you," slap

"are going-" slap

"to take-" slap

"whatever-" slap

"I-" slap

"give you." slap

just before you can object, white hot pleasure rips through you like a sharp knife, your orgasm tipping over and spilling in the most messiest way possible; you're squirting all over the mattress and sunghoons arm, a scream dripping off your lips as you do so.

the wetness soaks the bed below you, sunghoons eyes widening as his anger begins to further deepen. you blink away the heavy, pleasure-filled clouded daze, the realization of what just happened hitting you like a brick.

"did you just-" he cuts himself off, the utter disbelief laced in his tone. you gasp, trying to catch your breath as you speak. you tug at the restraints once more, fear beginning to overrun the pleasure you just experienced

"'m, 'm sorry da-ddy 'm so sorry I-i didn't mean to.." your voice trembles as you speak. sunghoon scoffs in disbelief, pulling his hands away from your puffy pussy and stepping away from the bed to observe you.

"you didn't mean to? you didn't fucking mean to?" he scoffs again "you deliberately disobeyed me-" you hear one of the restraints unhooking, but you can't get your god damn body to move.

"and you came without my permission-" another restraint unlocking.

"you know what's gonna happen now, sweetheart?" another one, followed by silence as you gently tug at the last restraint- your breathing heavy and your fear prominent at the tears you cry.

you dont even feel sunghoons hands as he unlocks the last restraint, but your hand drops onto the bed right after.

you feel him behind you, but you're too scared to move. his breath fans your ear and shoulder as he whispers into it

"im going to grab your stupid fucking throat and zone you out while I use you like the pathetic little toy you are"

he moves to your other ear, his hands coming up to your shoulders to gently caress them

"and the only way you'll be able to know what's happening is when you feel my cum is dripping out of your tight little pussy when im finished with you." he pushes you down onto the bed, your front pressing down onto the mattress below you as sunghoon crawls over your body. he uses one of his hands to spread your legs apart, the other grips his cock and pushes it up against your sopping hole.

he moves his tip up and down your slit, gathering your juices before bullying his way inside your walls, thrusting up inside you.

your back arches , your ass in the air. sunghoon then moves his one hands to grab your wrists, pinning them up above your head while your face presses into the mattress below you.

his hips begin to snap against the plush of your ass, setting a ruthless pace while he fucks you deep into the sheets below you. muffled sobs vibrate the bed, traveling into sunghoons ears.

a pool of saliva soaks the cum-stained bedding, his cock kissing your cervix with every thrust. you thrash underneath him, your pussy fluttering around his dick as you moan incoherent sentences to your lover.

"fuck- so god damn tight.. so perfect.. filthy fucking slut just desperate for cock is what you are, huh baby?" his free hand that's not holding your wrists comes down to slap your ass, making you jolt in his hold. you whimper at the sting and his words, squeezing his dick as he speaks.

"just a pretty little fucktoy made just for me" he slaps your ass again, his dick twitching inside you as his orgasm approaches, fast.

"here for my pleasure and my pleasure only, got that you useless fucking whore?" you turn your head to the side, your half-lidded , fucked out eyes meeting sunghoons behind you.

"y-yes sir, 'm you're useless f-fuck toy" he pouts at your words, shifting his position so his chest presses flush against your back, pinning you to the mattress with is body. his hand lets go of your wrists, but you dont move as he wraps his arm around your throat, putting you into a head lock from behind with one of his arms. he makes sure he doesn't squeeze his arm so his muscles dont suffocate you. your eyes widen and you look back at him, genuine fear laced in the pupils of your eyes.

"green or red?" he asks, his mean demeanor shifting slightly, your chest heaving underneath him. you know he would never intentionally hurt you or push you to say the safe word- this was just new to the two of you... and 'new' isn't necessarily bad.. just a little scary

but you operate on fear.

so when your cunt squeezes sunghoons length, he already has his answer, but asks again anyways

"answer me."

"green" you answer immediately

sunghoon chuckles above you, his thrusts picking up the previous pace as his tip licks the sweet spot deep inside your pussy.

his arm squeezes around your throat barely, but still enough to threaten you.

as he does so, your pussy flutters around his cock, a loud moan erupting from the back of your throat. you push your ass up to meet his every thrust, his hips snapping a ruthless rhythm. skin slapping and disgusting moans fill the room, sunghoon groaning from above you. his free hand snakes down under your body, his cold fingers finding your clit in order to rub quick circles on your bundle of muscle.

you instantly fall apart, drool escaping your mouth to drip down your chin, your whines falling into desperate mewls.

"c-cum" is all you can manage to say, and sunghoon instantly picks up the hint. his pace not letting up as he speaks

"cum for me baby, make a mess all over daddy's cock, yeah?" and so you do, your pussy squeezing him as you cream all over his length, your arousal dripping down to coat his balls as a white ring of your guys' mixed fluids form on the base of his dick.

you cum, hard.

but its not enough, sunghoons thrusts aren't enough.

so he pulls his dick out of you in the middle of your orgasm and flips you onto your back, harshly gripping your ankles as he drags your body underneath his.

sunghoon grips your legs, lifting them in order to fold you completely in half as your knees settle right next to either side of your face.

and he pushes his dick inside you once more as you finish around him.

"o-oh my god" you squeal at the deeper angle, struggling in his grasp.

"'s, 's too much s-slow daddy p-please" you beg, but he doesn't listen.

"you can take it pretty, you have before, just- just let daddy use your body a little longer" he throws his head back, your breasts bouncing with every thrust inside your fucked out pussy.

your head hits the pillows behind you, your sight beginning to blur as you're left seeing stars. your mind begins to float away from your body. the assault on your fuck hole leaves you completely stupid and awe-struck.

"p-please... 's too.,, much.." you whisper, the last coherent sentence slipping from your lips.

"shhh baby, it'll be over soon, daddy promises sweet girl" he promises you. his orgasm is approaching fast, his balls tightening and his dick twitches.

"such a perfect little fuck doll, love it when daddy abuses your tiny little cunt, don't you little one" tears slip from your eyes as you nod your head.

"oh fuck-" he throws his head back at the sight of your tears, his balls contracting as he shoots his cum deep in your tummy with one final thrust. you orgasm for the third time that night without knowing, your pussy's walls clenching down on him as you squirt once more.

sunghoon thought he was done... he really did.

until he saw you squirting all around his length as more tears shoot from your eyes.

he instantly grabs your throat, sitting up as his still-hard cock fucks inside you.

the terrified scream that exits your throat only feeds into sunghoons actions, his hand squeezes around your throat- cutting off all air supply.

"gonna fuck my cum into you, breed this pathetic pussy. make you a god damn cum slut, you'd like that huh precious?" you nod your head, arching your back in order to curl into your boyfriends body.

"y-yes, ta-ke daddy's cum, please" your eyes squeeze shut, your mouth parting into the perfect 'o' shape. sunghoon grunts , sweat dripping down his hair line , falling right onto his toned body and the sight drives you absolutely insane.

"filthy. god damn. slut." he says between thrusts as he fucks his cum deep inside you.

you're definitely going to have to take a plan b despite being on birth control.

"take it baby, make a mess all over me" the two of you finish in unison, your guys' mixed bodily fluids soak the mattress and wetten each others skin.

sunghoon leans down and unwraps his hand from your throat, snaking behind the small of your back in order to pick you up slightly and press your guys' bodies together.

you whimper at the warm feeling inside your lower abdomen that spreads throughout your body as sunghoon holds you close to him, coaxing each other down from your highs.

after a moment, sunghoon collapses right next to, his chest heaving up and down in order to catch his breath. he turns to look at you, his fingers caressing the skin of your cheek before tucking a stray, sweaty piece of hair behind your ear.

"did I hurt you, my love?" his eyes search for any signs of injury, you shake your head no and move next to his body, wrapping your arms around your frame to bring him into a hug.

"no" you whisper, sighing against his chest after kissing his hot skin as the two of you lay and bask in each others presence.

after a couple minutes, he excuses himself out of the room, only to come back with an ice pack, a glass of water, advil, and a towel.

he proceeds to clean you up, wiping up the cum from your legs and pussy.

"you did such a good job for me sweetheart, such a good girl" you blush at his words while he leans down to kiss the red marks on your thighs, pressing the icepack up against your skin right after.

he then hands you the glass of water and Advil, forcing you to take it so a headache doesn't form. he leans down and presses a chaste kiss against your forehead.

"I love you so much my darling" he kisses your nose

"you're so beyond perfect" he kisses your lips gently, his hands massaging the sides of your thighs to soothe any pain you might have.

"I wasn't too rough, was I?" you shake your head no, wrapping your arms around his neck and bringing him into you.

"it was a lot... but perfect... I love you hoonie.." you whisper, kissing his cheek.

"you were amazing for me, my perfect little angel. you could do no wrong sweetheart" you nod, but sunghoon grabs your cheeks and forces you to look him in the eyes.

"no baby, you are actually perfect. you did such a good job for me tonight, i'm so proud of you.. you're so much more than just a toy, you understand? you're my perfect girl" you giggle and kiss his lips softly

"yes, I understand"

"good.. because you're everything to me my love. I would do everything in my power to protect and love you. my perfect baby" he kisses every inch of your face, making you giggle in the process.

"my perfect, beautiful, smart, sexy, amazing fiance" he puts emphasis on the word 'fiancee', although the two of you aren't even engaged, that word makes your stomach turn in excitement. you giggle at his words, but squeal as soon as he picks you up in the air bridal style.

"sunghoon! where on earth are you taking me" you laugh, making him smile at you. you swear your heart bursts in your chest just by the way he smiles.

"im gonna run you a bubble bath and change the sheets, my princess only deserves the best" you smack his chest, leaning your head against his shoulder.

"I love you so much, hoonie" you say

"I love you so much more"

tag list ; .⋆。⊹

౨ৎ @honeybelleee

[aleksatia]

❄️Blind date with your ex-husband. You never expected it to be… Zayne.

Inspiration hit me going 100mph down the highway, and I took an unscheduled gas station stop just to write this down. My husband almost divorced me again thinking I’d lost my mind — so in a way, this series is dedicated to him. And to second chances. I know they exist. I’ve lived one. 🥀

An unplanned new series. Five ex-husbands. Same setup, different reactions.

🎨 Rafayel | 🏍 Sylus | ✨Xavier | 🍎 Caleb

CW/TW: Divorce / Post-divorce emotional trauma, Emotional neglect / emotional suppression, Communication breakdown in relationships, References to emotional dissociation, Raised voices / emotionally intense confrontation, Crying / emotional vulnerability, Mention of jealousy & insecurity, Gaslighting-adjacent dynamics (arguably), Implied sexual tension / physical intimacy (consensual, emotional).

Pairing: Zayne x ex-wife!you Genre: Slow-burn, emotional dissection, second chances soaked in silence. Heavy on longing, surgical precision on heartbreak. Lovers to strangers to… Summary: Zayne doesn't do chaos. He does control, routine, distance. But when fate traps you both in a curated room labeled “One Hour of Honest Connection,” the silence breaks first. What follows is memory, ache, and the terrifying weight of things never said. Word Count: 3.3K

The room was small. Too small for this.

Soft jazz filtered through hidden speakers. There were two cups of something herbal already on the table, a plate of small, intentionally complicated desserts arranged like the nervous offering of a Parisian intern. The walls were a muted sage green, the lighting gentle. It would’ve been cozy, if it weren’t for the glaring fact that Zayne was sitting across from you.

You blinked once. Then again.

"No," you said flatly.

Zayne, ever efficient, didn’t even look up from the glass of water he was examining.

"Statistically," he said, voice calm, "there was a 0.2% chance of this exact pairing."

You stared at him. "So what I’m hearing is: we’re still just that unlucky."

He looked up then. God, those eyes. Calculated glacier. "Technically, yes."

The silence that followed was not companionable.

You hadn’t seen him in eleven months. Not since the divorce. Not since you stood in that shared apartment and told him — voice shaking, fingers cold — that you couldn’t keep guessing if you were real to him.

He hadn’t fought you.

He’d just stood there, like someone who'd miscalculated a formula and refused to recheck it.

You waited for something — anything. He stayed silent.

He stayed silent even when you sent the divorce papers. Even when it was over in a small judge’s office, quiet and procedural. He brought flowers — jasmine — and you still don’t know if they were a symbol of freedom or a plea.

 He never explained.

Just spoke in clipped, efficient phrases, like he’d already erased you from his life.

And now — now you were locked in a curated hell that probably had its own photo filter. A little brass plaque on the inside of the door read: One Hour of Honest Connection.

You almost laughed. Almost.

Zayne adjusted his cuffs. You noticed — god help you — that he still wore the watch you gave him. The one with the engraving inside: Every time your pulse stutters, it’s me.

Of course he still wore it. The man remembered to reorder that book you never finished—left it on your doorstep in silent punctuation.

"This wasn’t deliberate," you said finally.

"Agreed."

You folded your arms. "So. Let’s make this painless. We wait the hour, we don’t talk about feelings, and we pretend your emotional negligence wasn’t the reason we’re now two sad statistics sipping herbal disappointment."

Zayne raised an eyebrow. "Technically, the tea is chamomile, which is known for its calming properties. And you’re the one who said ‘emotional negligence.’"

"God, you’re still exhausting."

He didn’t flinch. Of course not. That would imply a physiological reaction. "So I’ve been told."

You stared at him for a beat. The weight of old familiarity draped the room like a too-heavy coat. He hadn’t changed. Not in the obvious ways. Still buttoned-down, still precise, still that undercurrent of something almost tender that never made it to the surface.

"Why are you even here?" you asked suddenly. "Blind dates don’t strike me as your thing. Too much room for inefficiency."

He tilted his head. “The nursing staff submitted my name. Some kind of team-building initiative.”

You raised an eyebrow. “Let me guess. They were hoping to end up across the table themselves?”

Zayne didn’t blink. “Several of them expressed interest.”

You snorted, sharper than you meant to. “Charming.”

He nodded, like you were discussing post-op recovery times. “I considered opting out. But I didn’t.”

That surprised you. Enough to glance at him fully, meet his eyes, where something flickered — not regret, exactly. But its distant cousin. The one who shows up late to funerals.

“Why not?”

He took a sip of tea. “I wanted to see what I’d do.”

You hated how that hit. How much you wanted to ask: How many phone numbers did you collect before you landed here?

But you didn’t.

The desserts between you remained untouched. Tiny works of art. Sugar sculptures that mocked you with their curated whimsy.

"You look good," he said abruptly.

You blinked. "Don’t do that."

"Do what?"

"Say things that sound human. It throws me off."

He smiled, the faint curve of it almost imperceptible. “Noted.”

Your eyes caught on his mouth — just for a second. A breath too long. You looked away before he could notice.

There was another pause, but it hung differently now — heavier, colored with things you hadn’t said when you should have, and things he never said at all.

"Did you ever—" you started, then stopped.

Zayne watched you. Waiting. He was always good at that. Waiting until your own words betrayed you.

"Forget it," you muttered.

"No," he said quietly. "Say it."

You hated him a little for that. For still knowing when to press.

"Did you ever think," you asked, voice low, "that maybe love isn’t a hypothesis you prove with consistency? That maybe I just needed you to be… messy? With me?"

Zayne didn’t answer right away. And for once, you let the silence stay. Let it stretch and breathe.

When he finally spoke, it was almost a whisper. "Yes. I thought it too late."

You closed your eyes.

Jazz played on. Somewhere outside, people were falling in love the loud way — the all-in kind. Dramatic. Full of color.

Here, in this perfect little room, you and Zayne sat across from one another like ruins politely dressed for tea.

The hour hadn’t even started ticking down.

He was watching you now. Not intensely — not obviously. But directly. The kind of look that felt like it was being filed away for later analysis.

You met it. 

Zayne looked away first. Not because it hurt — but because there’s only so long you can hold tension before it cuts.

He looked down at the desserts. Picked up a fork. Cut into something with a caramel shard on top and didn’t eat it.

You watched him with a frustration so familiar it almost felt nostalgic.

“You always do that,” you said.

“Do what?”

“Control the atmosphere. One calculated silence and the room bends around you.”

He didn’t respond immediately. Then: “I thought that was preferable to chaos.”

You scoffed. “Of course you did.”

The clock on the wall, tastefully small, ticked once. You imagined someone — a curator of curated intimacy — had set it to be just barely audible.

Zayne glanced toward it.

“Forty-three minutes,” he murmured.

You laughed — dry. “You going to count them all?”

His eyes flicked back to you. “Only the inefficient ones.”

That shut you up.

You stared at your tea. Cold now. Obviously.

He watched you again. Observed you, like you were an interface needing diagnostics.

You looked away — deliberately, before his gaze could finish its quiet dissection. But your eyes caught the slight fold in his cuff, the slow press of thumb to palm as he adjusted the line of his wrist.

Surgical. Precise. Familiar.

A phantom shiver traced down your spine.

You remembered that hand on the small of your back in the hospital hallway once, the only contact he allowed himself after a seventeen-hour surgery. He never let his voice break protocol. But that one touch — the pressure, the warmth, the steadiness — had left you trembling.

You cleared your throat.

“Do you regret it?” you asked.

“This date?” he said, because of course he would miss the point.

You glared. “The way you loved me.”

Zayne’s expression didn’t shift. But you saw the pause in his breath. A calibration flicker.

“I loved you thoroughly,” he said. And the word thoroughly struck like a steel scalpel. Accurate. Clinical. Missing the pulse entirely.

You stood. “You loved me like I was a pet project. Like a very intelligent houseplant. Watered. Supported. Monitored.”

“I kept you safe.”

“I didn’t want to be safe!”

It came out sharper than you meant, and echoed too loudly in the boutique silence of the room. You saw the smallest movement — the tightening in his jaw, the shift of his heel, like a man correcting for turbulence.

He stood slowly. Adjusted a cuff. Again.

Still useless. Still beautiful.

“You think I was cold. Detached.”

You laughed once. Bitter. “You treated me like a system. Like something that shouldn’t break. Not someone who might cry. Or scream. Or—” your voice wavered, “—or leave.”

He stepped forward, eyes flickering over you.

“You did leave.”

“And you let me.”

“I didn’t stop you.”

“You didn’t even ask why.”

Your voice shook now — not from weakness, but from the fury of being unseen.

“You just stood there like it was a cancelled meeting, not a fucking life falling apart.”

His jaw tightened, but he said nothing.

“What was I supposed to do?” he asked eventually, quietly.

“Fight,” you snapped. “God, anything. Say my name. Say stay. Say something other than 'okay.'”

The clock ticked again.

He hesitated. Just for a second.

“You once said I made you invisible,” he murmured, like he wasn’t even speaking to you, but to the ghost of that moment.

Your breath caught — and snapped.

“Because you did,” you said, sharper than you meant. “You watched me like a case study. Like I was data.”

Your voice broke.

“You weren’t seeing me, Zayne. You were cataloguing me.”

He flinched. A fraction. Barely there — but you caught it. And hated that it still made you ache.

His hands clenched slightly. Just barely.

“If I’d touched more, you would’ve called it possessive. If I’d spoken more, you would’ve said it was performative. I calibrated.”

“You calibrated me,” you said. “Like I was a machine you didn’t want overheating.”

He said nothing.

You stepped closer. Too close.

“You loved me like a robot,” you whispered. “And I wasn’t built for that.”

Silence. Then, very softly:

“I didn’t know how to love any other way.”

His voice dropped like a stone in water. And you swore — for a second — the lights flickered.

Zayne took another step. A fraction. Enough.

“You think I didn’t feel?” he asked, voice low. “You were the variable I couldn’t isolate. The part of the equation that never balanced. You made everything uncertain.”

And there it was again — that glint in his voice. That barely-there tremble. A fault line under a glass surface.

Your eyes flicked to his collar. The soft pull of fabric around his throat. The line of his jaw, the neat cut of his hair. The way one lock always fell forward when he was tired or tense.

It was falling now.

“You used to look at me like I was a test you were trying to pass,” you murmured.

“I was trying not to fail,” he said.

You hated how your pulse jumped.

He lifted a hand. Just slightly. Just enough to suggest contact. His fingers hovered — millimeters away from your skin — but didn’t touch.

A beat.

His voice came quieter this time — lower, rougher at the edges, like the words didn’t want to come out but had nowhere else to go.

“Another wrong calculation.”

Not bitter. Not even angry. Just… tired. And devastatingly honest.

And something in you — snapped.

Not because he said it. But because he meant it. Because he stood there, wanting you, needing you, practically reaching — and still treated it like an equation gone wrong.

You felt your breath hitch. Your fists clench.

Because you saw it in his eyes — the ache, the hesitation. The damn pulse in his throat that jumped when your gaze dropped to his lips.

He wanted this.

You.

But he wouldn’t let himself have it.

And you couldn’t take it anymore.

“You didn’t,” you said, sharp. “You don’t. You want me close enough to feel it but never close enough to believe it.”

He looked at you — not coldly. Worse. Calmly. As if this pain had already been processed and shelved.

And that was it.

“You never said it,” you shouted. “Not once! You never said you loved me!”

That stopped him. Not like a slap. Like a flatline.

For the first time in the whole goddamn hour, his expression broke.

He blinked — slow, stunned — as if you’d just said something so grotesque he couldn’t compute it.

“You think I didn’t?” he asked, voice low.

Not soft. Not calm. Low — like thunder before it hits.

He stepped closer, but not rushed. Controlled. Always controlled.

“You think because I didn’t say the exact phrase you wanted, I didn’t feel it?”

His jaw was tight now. Breath shallow.

“You think all of that—” his hand flicked between you, the table, everything, “—meant nothing because it wasn’t loud enough for you?”

And then — his voice rose.

Not yelling. Lifting. Cracking through him, like pressure that finally split the seal.

“I LOVE YOU!”

It echoed. Echoed in that perfect little room like an alarm someone forgot to disable.

“I love you,” he repeated, lower this time. “I love you like a man who doesn’t know how to breathe around you, but will die trying to stay still just to keep you from leaving again.”

Your chest rose and fell like panic. Like longing. Like something ancient reawakened.

“Then why,” you spat, “why would you agree to a date with some other woman?!”

He stilled.

Then — movement. Swift. Sharp. Controlled chaos.

He closed the remaining distance in three steps.

His hand caught your chin — firm but not rough — guiding your face up until his eyes locked with yours, precise, invasive, burning.

“Are you jealous, princess?”

His voice was velvet and wire — both caress and warning.

And it hit you.

Not just the word. Not just the sound of it. But everything that came before it.

The I love you. The I stayed still so you wouldn’t run. The eyes. The ache. The damn way he looked at you like he still knew every nerve ending and wanted to press all of them at once.

And suddenly you weren’t standing. Not really. Your knees tried. But the rest of you was already melting.

Heat flashed through your spine like a pulled thread. Your breath caught — and stayed. Every part of your body was too much and not enough at once.

You hated him for that. And you hated that you wanted more.

Your pulse roared in your ears. There was a throb where there should have been reason.

And still — somehow — your mouth moved:

“Jealousy’s not the word. Try ‘haunted.’”

A breath passed. And he smiled. Just a little. Just enough.

“You left,” he said, voice low and clear. “Don’t forget that.”

You opened your mouth, but he didn’t let you speak.

“Because I wasn’t enough,” he added. “Because I didn’t perform grief the right way. Or love. Or need.”

He stepped back half a pace, and the space between you hurt like an incision.

“You think I didn’t feel it?” His voice stayed calm, but you heard the crack forming in its base. “You think because I didn’t break dishes or sob in the shower that it didn’t gut me?”

He looked straight at you now. No veil. No control.

“You have no idea what it’s like to live in a body that won’t let the feelings out,” he said. “To drown in it. Quietly. Until you forget where the surface is.”

You stood frozen. Not because you didn’t want to move. But because guilt was a weight, and it was finally settling on your shoulders.

“I’m not built for displays,” he continued. “But that never meant I didn’t love you. I just showed it differently.”

He exhaled. Soft. Controlled.

“I don’t scream ‘I love you.’ I leave umbrellas in your bag on rainy days. I keep your favorite candy in your glove compartment. I flip your pillow to the cool side when you fall asleep. I listen when you hum a song twice and add it to your playlist without a word.”

A pause.

“I wasn’t dramatic. I was constant.”

His voice faltered just slightly now.

“And if that wasn’t enough for you — if you needed fireworks — I’m sorry. But I can’t become someone else to prove what’s already true.”

He took one more step back.

“Because if one day you look at me and see a man pretending to be something you want — someone louder, brighter, messier — you’ll stop respecting me. And I swear to God, that’s the one thing I wouldn’t survive.”

Your breath caught.

Your hand moved without permission, reaching for his. Taking it. Holding it with both of yours.

You lifted it gently, pressed your lips to the inside of his fingers — those surgeon’s hands. Steady. Deadly. Gentle.

“I didn’t know,” you whispered. “I didn’t see. I was so busy spiraling through my own mess, I thought… I thought your silence meant absence.”

Tears welled up.

“I didn’t leave to punish you. I just— I lost my wings somewhere along the way. In the quiet. In the waiting. I was jealous of your work. Of your focus. Of how the world looked at you with admiration and looked at me like… like a placeholder.”

Your voice cracked.

“Every dinner alone. Every party I walked into like I was still half-married to a man who’d rather be in an OR. I thought you didn’t love me.”

Zayne’s jaw tightened. His eyes — bright, focused, unreadable — didn’t move from yours.

And then, softly:

“You’re right. I didn’t love you the way you needed me to. I never knew how to make you feel chosen.”

He paused. Just long enough for the words to break skin.

“But you were. Every day. Every time.”

Another breath. Shallower this time.

“And if I had to do it again — knowing you’d leave—”

His voice barely made it past his throat.

“I’d still choose you.”

A beat.

“Because you are the point.”

And before you could react — he moved.

He pulled you close, lifted you effortlessly onto the edge of the table. The desserts clinked, wobbling on their plates. His hands cupped your face — thumbs firm against your jaw, fingers threading through your hair.

And then — he kissed you.

Not cautiously. Not politely.

He kissed you like a man who had written restraint into every breath for too long, and finally, finally, had been told he could break character.

His mouth crushed yours with a precision that stole air and reason. One hand on your hip, anchoring you. The other behind your neck, fingers fanned through your hair, tilting your head exactly how he needed.

You gasped into him, and he didn’t pause — just deepened the kiss, molding his lips to yours like he was tracing every remembered contour.

He pulled back slightly, just enough to breathe, but didn’t move far. His forehead touched yours. His breath was warm. Steady.

God, he always kissed like he was solving you. And part of you — shamefully — wanted to stay unsolved.

You opened your eyes, just barely, and met his. Focused. Hungry. Lit with a kind of reverence that made your stomach flip.

That’s when you moved.

You reached down blindly — fingers finding the soft swirl of whipped cream on one of the desserts. You dipped into it, then slowly dragged your finger along the edge of his jaw.

He didn’t flinch.

Your finger slid over his bottom lip, and when he parted them, you leaned in, tongue flicking the taste away, then trailing up his cheekbone. Slow. Almost cruel.

Zayne exhaled harshly — the closest he came to a groan — and gripped the table edge behind you like he needed grounding.

Your bodies pressed tighter.

He kissed your collarbone, your neck, his breath hot. Fingers sliding under the hem of your skirt, just barely.

Another kiss. And another.

You felt like the room spun sideways. Like you were going to—

Ding.

A soft chime.The door clicked.

Time’s up.

He stilled. You did too.

No one spoke. Breathing was enough.

Zayne lifted a hand and dragged his knuckles along your cheek. Tender. Achingly so.

He pressed his lips to your forehead.

And then — just like that — he stepped back.

You blinked, dazed. Dizzy. Waiting for him to say something.

But he didn’t. He turned, walked to the door, opened it — and left.

Just like that.

You slid off the table slowly, knees hitting the floor before your mind registered the impact.

What the hell. What the actual—

Your phone buzzed.

A message. From him.

“Emergency consult. Patient flatlined. Possibly me. Will advise.” 

[onelastkiss4you]

Dragon Age: The Veilguard Just Went From A Good RPG To One Of BioWare’s Most Important Games

In light of BioWare scattering some of its most foundational veteran talent to the winds, Dragon Age: The Veilguard sure reads like something made by people who saw the writing on the wall. The RPG leaves off on a small cliffhanger that could launch players into a fifth game, but I’m skeptical that we’ll ever get it. The quickness with which publisher Electronic Arts gutted BioWare and masked it with talk of being more “agile” and “focused” shortly after it was revealed The Veilguard underperformed in the eyes of the power that be makes me wonder if BioWare was also unsure it would get to return to Thedas a fifth time. Looking back, I’m pretty convinced the team was working as if Rook’s adventure through the northern regions of this beloved fantasy world might be the last time anyone, BioWare or fan, stepped foot in it. But that may have only made me appreciate the game even more.

Yeah, I might be doomsaying, but there’s a lot of reasons to do so right now. The loss of talented people like lead writer Trick Weekes, who has been a staple in modern BioWare since the beginning of Mass Effect, or Mary Kirby who wrote characters like Varric, the biggest throughline through the Dragon Age series, doesn’t inspire confidence that EA understands the lifeblood of the studio it acquired in 2007. The Veilguard has been a divisive game for entirely legitimate reasons and the most bad-faith ones you can imagine on the internet in 2025, but my hope is that history will be kinder to it as time goes on. 

A Kotaku reader reached out to me after the news broke to ask if they should still play The Veilguard after everything that happened. My answer was that now we are probably in a better position to appreciate it for what it was: a (potentially) final word.

The Veilguard is just as much a send-off for a long-running story as it does a stepping stone for what (might) come. Its secret ending implies a new threat is lurking somewhere off in the distance but by and large, The Veilguard is about the end of an era. BioWare created an entire questline essentially writing Thedas’ history in stone, removing any ambiguity that gave life to over a decade of theory-crafting. As a long-time player, I’m glad The Veilguard solidifies the connective tissue between what sometimes felt like world of isolated cultures that lacked throughlines that made the world feel whole. But sitting your cast of weirdos down for a series of group therapy sessions unpacking the ramifications of some of the biggest lore dumps the studio has ever put to a Bluray disc isn’t the kind of narrative choice you make if you’re confident there’s still a future for the franchise. 

Unanswered questions are the foundation of sequels, and The Veilguard has an almost anxious need to stamp those out. Perhaps BioWare learned a hard lesson by leaving Dragon Age: Inquisition on a cliffhanger and didn’t want to repeat the same restriction. But The Veilguard doesn’t just wrap up its own story, it concludes several major threads dating back to Origins and feels calculated and deliberate. If BioWare’s goal with The Veilguard was to bring almost everything to a definitive end, the thematic note it leaves this world on acts as a closing graf summing up a thesis the series hopes to convey.

Pushing away the bigotry that has followed The Veilguard like a starving rat digging through trash, one of the most common criticisms I heard directed against the game was that it lacked a certain thorny disposition that was prevalent in the first three games. Everyone in the titular party generally seems to like each other, there aren’t real ethical and philosophical conflicts between the group, and the spats that do arise are more akin to the arguments you probably get into with your best friends. It’s a new dynamic for the series. The Veilguard doesn’t feel like coworkers as The Inquisition did or the disparate group who barely tolerated each other we followed in Dragon Age II. They are a friend group who, despite coming from different backgrounds, factions, and places, are pretty much on the same page about what the world should be. They’re united by a common goal, sure, but at the core of each of their lived experiences is a desire for the world to be better.

This rose-colored view of leftism doesn’t work for everyone. At its worst, The Veilguard can be saccharine to the point of giving you a cavity, which is far from what people have come to expect from a series in which Fenris and Anders didn’t care if the other lived or died. It also bleeds into a perceived softening of the universe. Factions like the Antivan Crows have essentially become the Bat Family with no mention of the whole child slavery thing that was our first introduction to them back in Origins. The Lords of Fortune, a new pirate faction, goes to great lengths to make sure you know that they’re not like the other pirates who steal from other cultures, among other things. I joked to a friend once that The Veilguard is a game terrified of getting canceled, and as such a lot of the grit and grime has been washed off for something shiny and polished. 

That is the more critical lens to view the way The Veilguard’s sanitation of Thedas. To an extent, I agree. We learned so much about how the enigmatic country of the Tevinter Imperium was a place built upon slavery and blood sacrifice, only for us to conveniently hang out in the common poverty-stricken areas that are affected by the corrupt politics we only hear about in sidequests and codex entries. But decisions like setting The Veilguard’s Tevinter stories in the slums of Dogtown gives the game and its writers a place to make a more definitive statement, rather than existing in the often frustrating centrism Dragon Age loved to tout for three games.

I have a lot of pain points I can shout out in the Dragon Age series, but I don’t think one has stuck in my craw the way the end of Anders rivalry relationship goes down in Dragon Age II. This is a tortured radical mage who is willing to give his life to fight for the freedom of those who have been born into a corrupt system led by the policing Templars. And yet, if you’ve followed his rivalry path, Anders will turn against the mages he, not five minutes ago, did some light terrorism trying to free. In Inquisition, this conflict of ideals and traditions comes to a head, but you’re able to essentially wipe it all under the rug as you absorb one faction or the other into your forces. So often Dragon Age treats its conflicts and worldviews as toys for the player to slam against one another, shaping the world as they see fit, and bending even the most fiercely devoted radical to your whims. And yes, there are some notable exceptions to this rule, but when it came to world-shifting moments of change, Dragon Age always seemed scared to assert that the player might be wrong. Mages and Templars, oppressed and oppressors, were the same in the eyes of the game, each worthy of the same level of scrutiny.

Before The Veilguard, I often felt Dragon Age didn’t actually believe in anything. Its characters did, but as a text, Dragon Age often felt so preoccupied with empowering the player’s decisions that it felt like Thedas would never actually get better, no matter how much you fought for it. While it may lack the same prickly dynamics and the grey morality that became synonymous with the series, The Veilguard’s doesn’t just believe that the world is full of greys and let you pick which shade you’re more comfortable with. It’s the most wholeheartedly the Dragon Age universe has declared that the world of Thedas can be better than it was before.

Essentially retconning the Antivan Crows to a family of superheroes is taking a hammer to the problem, whereas characters like Neve Gallus, a mage private eye with a duty-bound love for her city and its people, are the scalpel with which BioWare shifts its vision of how the world of Thedas can change. Taash explores their identity through the lens of Dragon Age’s longstanding Qunari culture, known for its rigidness in the face of an ever-changing world, and comes out the other end a new person, defined entirely by their own views and defying others. Harding finds out the truth behind how the dwarves were severed from magic and still remembers that she believes in the good in people. The heroes of The Veilguard have seen the corruption win out, and yet never stop believing that something greater is possible. It's not even an option in The Veilguard's eyes. The downtrodden will be protected, the oppressed will live proudly, and those who have been wronged will find new life.

That belief is what makes The Veilguard a frustrating RPG, to some. It’s so unyielding in its belief that Thedas and everyone who inhabits it can be better that it doesn’t really entertain you complicating the narrative. Rook can come from plenty of different backgrounds, make decisions that will affect thousands of people, but they can never really be an evil bastard. If they did, it would fundamentally undermine one of the game’s most pivotal moments. In the eleventh hour, Dragon Age mainstay Varric Tethras is revealed to have died in the opening hour, and essentially leaves all his hopes and dreams on the shoulders of Rook. After our hero is banished to the Fade and forced to confront their regrets in a mission gone south, Varric’s spirit sends Rook on their way to save the day one last time. He does so with a hearty chuckle, saying he doesn’t need to wish you good luck because “you already have everything you need.” He is, of course, referring to the friends you have calling to you from beyond the Fade. 

Varric, the narrator of Dragon Age, uses his final word to declare a belief that things will be okay. This isn’t because Rook is the chosen one destined to save the world, but because they have found people who are unified by one thing: a need to fight for a better world. But that’s what makes it compelling as a possibly final Dragon Age game. Reaching the end of a universe’s arc and being wholly uninterested in leaving it desecrated by hubris or prejudice is a bold claim on BioWare’s part. It takes some authorship away from the player, but in return, it leaves the world of Thedas in a better place than we found it.

The Veilguard is an idealistic game, but it’s one that BioWare has earned the right to make. Dragon Age’s legacy has been one of constantly shifting identity, at least two counts of development hell, and a desire to gives players a sandbox to roleplay in. Perhaps, as Dragon Age likely comes to a close, it’s better to leave Dragon Age with a game as optimistic as the people who made it. I can’t think of a more appropriate finale than one that represents the world its creators hope to see, even as the world we live in now gives us every reason to fall to despair.

In my review for The Veilguard I signed off expressing hope for BioWare’s future that feels a bit naive in retrospect. Would a divisive but undeniably polished RPG that felt true to the studio���s history be enough when, after 10 years of development, rich suits were probably looking for a decisive cultural moment? That optimism was just about a video game. Having lived through the past 32 years, most of the optimism I’ve ever held feels naive to look back on. I think I’m losing hope that the world will get any better. But even if we haven’t reached The Veilguard’s idealized vision, I’ll take some comfort in knowing someone previously at BioWare still believes it’s possible. - ken shepard, shepardcdr.bsky.social

[v6quewrlds]

HOT IN HERRE, JOE BURROW.

pairing⠀⁎⠀joe burrow x reader. word count⠀⁎⠀6.8k.

in the wise words of nelly, "looking for the right time to flash them keys. then, i'm leaving."

author's note⠀⁎⠀coming up with a summary actually almost ended me so pls excuse the lack thereof. inspired by wedding joey <3 warnings⠀⁎⠀18+ mdni, smut, 3rd person [she/her], semi-public sex, quickie, wall sex, both protected & unprotected sex lol, fingering, teeny tiny hint of exhibitionism, mirror sex, dom/sub dynamics but not really, language, praise.

She loved this part of weddings—the moment when the formalities gave way to the raw, unfiltered joy of coming together to celebrate. It was cheesy, finding meaning in the men loosening their ties and rolling up their sleeves, the women ridding themselves of their heels and dancing barefoot, but she couldn’t help it.

It certainly didn't hurt that both she and Joe were unconstrained by the responsibilities of being part of the wedding party. No unflattering bridesmaid dresses to wear or awkward groomsmen to coordinate with. No raging bridezillas to talk off the edge in the bridal suite. And most importantly, the freedom to leave whenever they pleased.

The open bar was a delightful sight, and Joe had already taken advantage of it a few times. His cheeks were flushed with the loss of his inhibition, pale blue eyes shining with the relief of being rid of the self-consciousness that often crept up his spine. The off-season had been good to him. Without an injury to rehab or games to train for, Joe had been able to indulge in the simple things—like drinking at a wedding without worrying about a laundry list of consequences.

The proof of the off-season's benevolence lay in Joe's relaxed posture, shoulders pressed back, one hand resting comfortably in the pocket of his well-tailored navy blue dress pants, the other loosely gripping an empty champagne flute. She watched him from a few feet away, sandy blonde locks perfectly styled and gelled into place, his tall frame a show of masculine grace amidst the sea of wedding guests.

"Here's your drinks, Miss," the bartender's voice cut through the buzz of the reception, handing her two highball glasses filled with fruity, dangerous drinks. She took the glasses with a grateful smile, the cool condensation leaving a light sheen on her fingers. One of the groomsmen was in the middle of a story, Joe's shoulders shaking with laughter, when she approached. The scent of his cologne mingled with the air, twisting in the air like invisible vines that wrapped around her senses and drew her closer.

"Thirsty?" she asked, her voice low and playful, sliding one of the drinks into Joe's waiting hand. His eyes lit up as he took a tentative sip, the alcohol playing a dance of sparks across his tongue.

"Thank you, beautiful," Joe murmured, setting the flute down on a table nearby, leaning over to kiss her cheek. The warmth of his breath sent a shiver down her spine, and she felt his hand sneak around to her lower back, smoothing down the fabric of her dress before moving to rest gently on her hip. The music grew louder as the DJ switched to a more upbeat playlist, and the dance floor began to fill.

She took a sip of her own drink, watching the crowd sway and mingle. The lights cast a warm glow on everyone's faces, and the chatter of conversation filled the air like a symphony of laughter. She felt Joe's hand tighten on her hip as they conversed with the groomsmen, unconsciously bringing her closer. The open back of her floor-length laurel green dress revealed smooth, brown skin that ached to be touched. His palm was warm, his fingers firm as they danced just above the fabric, hinting at the desire that simmered beneath the surface.

Selfishly, she was relieved when the groomsmen were pulled away by another member of the wedding party, leaving Joe to her mercy. She turned into him, her body fitting against his like a puzzle piece that had been searching for its match. "Can barely taste the alcohol in this drink," Joe said, his voice low and gruff. "You tryin' to get me loose?"

Her grin grew wicked as she leaned closer, her breath tickling his ear. "Maybe." She whispered, her fingers tracing the line of his jaw before trailing down to smooth over the fabric of his dress shirt. "You're pretty slutty when you're loose."

Joe's eyes widened for a moment before a smirk took hold of his lips. "I'm slutty?" He laughed, the sound a mix of surprise and delight. "I think you might have that backwards." His hand slipped from her hip to the small of her back, his thumb brushing against the bare skin.

"No, I don't think I do," she shot back with a tilt of her head. "You know exactly what I mean."

Joe took another sip of his drink, the corner of his mouth quirking upwards. "What do I do that's 'slutty'?" He challenged, his voice dropping to a teasing tone, an eyebrow cocked.

"The way you tousle your hair, you start rolling up your sleeves, these buttons," she said, her eyes sparkling as she gestured to his quarter undone shirt. "Everything about you screams 'slutty' when you let go."

Joe's smirk grew into a full-blown grin as he took another sip of his drink, eyes filled with that familiar intensity. "Is that so?" He took her hand and placed it over his heart, feeling the steady thump beneath her fingertips. "You're the one who brings it out of me." His lifted her fingertips to his mouth, kissing each one, holding her gaze. "I'm pretty sure it's your favorite version of me."

The music changed to a rhythmic beat that made her hips sway involuntarily. She took a step back, pulling Joe with her. "C'mon, let's get those hips moving." He attempted to resist, protests spilling from his lips, but she was insistent, her eyes alight with glee. So he followed suit, allowing her to lead him to the dance floor, the alcohol loosening his joints.

As they found a spot amidst the writhing bodies, Joe felt a rush of warmth spread through his chest. The way she moved was mesmerizing, her curves swaying to the music like a serpent charmed by a flute. His hands found their way to her waist, and he pulled her closer, their bodies fitting together like they had been yearning for this moment. She turned around, pressing herself against him, her back arching so that her ass rubbed against his crotch. The heat from her body was like a brand, searing his desire into his very soul.

Under the haze of the dim lights and the pulse of the music, she felt Joe's hands wander over her body, the fabric of her dress gliding and rising under his touch. She leaned back into him, feeling the hard wall of his chest and the rapid beat of his heart. His breath was hot on her neck, his whispers a sweet symphony of want. "You're drivin' me crazy," Joe murmured, his voice a low rumble that sent shivers down her spine. "Gonna tear this dress off you later."

"Is that a promise?" She teased, breathless as Joe's hands slid down her sides. Her skin was hot to the touch, her breathing quickening with each caress. She leaned into him, her hips moving in time with the music, creating a delicious friction that had them both on the edge.

The air grew thick with desire as Joe's hands roamed, just ghosting over her chest. Not enough to draw any attention from the others nearby, but just enough that the message was clear. She gasped, her eyes fluttering shut, the sensation making her core tighten. "You're so fuckin' sexy when you're like this," he whispered, his lips grazing her ear as his arms settled on locking around her waist.

Her laugh was light, the music drowning out any sound of impropriety. "Like what?" She asked, challenged, the words slipping out between her teeth as she leaned back against him. "Tell me."

Joe took a deep breath, his voice a harsh whisper in her ear. "The way you move, the way you look at me like you're about to devour me whole." His hand traveled up to find her underboob, squeezing gently. "Tryin' so hard not to bend you over right here and fuck you senseless."

"See? Slutty." She giggled.

The music shifted, the opening chords of "Hot in Herre" by Nelly blasting through the speakers as the DJ announced a special request. His grip on her hips tightened instinctively, and she felt Joe stiffen behind her. She knew that reaction. Joe didn't sing, swore he had the voice of a dying cat, but there were a handful of songs that got him moving, and this was one of them. She'd snuck it onto a playlist before and watched him let loose in their kitchen, shirtless and overjoyed, singing horribly but indisputably free. She turned to look over her shoulder, grinning at the mix of amusement and horror on his face.

"Did you have somethin' to do with this?" Joe's eyes narrowed playfully at her, the corners of his mouth tugging upward.

She feigned innocence. "I don't remember." She shrugged, though the smile tugging at her lips betrayed her.

He leaned closer, his breath hot against her neck as he murmured, "You're the devil, you know that?"

Her smile grew as she felt his body begin to sway to the music, the tension in his arms giving way to a playful grip. She couldn't help the burst of laughter that escaped her as she turned around, her arms looping around his neck.

"Caught," she conceded, her eyes lighting up as he swung her around to press his crotch against her ass. The beat grew heavier, and she felt her heart race in time with it. They danced, Joe's hands on her hips, guiding her movements, the heat from his body scalding her through their clothes. His mouth found her ear, echoing the lyrics of the early 2000s hit. She felt his teeth graze her earlobe, sending a shiver down her spine. "I've gotta get you out of here," he growled, turning her around, his hands moving lower to squeeze her ass.

She could feel the muscles tensing under his shirt, his body responding to the rhythm of the music and the proximity of hers. "Oh?" she breathed, playing coy, her voice syrupy.

Joe's grip tightened, his hips moving in a slow, deliberate grind against her. "You know what I mean," he murmured, his voice thick with lust.

"But what about the wedding?" she wondered aloud, her breath hot and sweet with the scent of her drink.

"They won't miss us," Joe said, his voice gruff and commanding. "Gonna find us a bathroom, get a little taste of what's to come." His hand slipped down to the back of her thigh, giving it a firm squeeze before he took her hand and led her through the crowd.

The bathroom was tucked away in a quieter corner of the venue, impeccably clean and isolated from the noise of the celebrations. The moment the door clicked shut behind them, the playfulness evaporated into the air. She felt Joe's hands on her again, but this time they were insistent, urgent. He pinned her against the wall as he kissed her, stealing her breath away with a fervor that was anything but innocent. His tongue danced with hers, his hands exploring her curves with the confidence of a man who knew exactly what he wanted.

What he wanted resulted in her dress pooled on the floor around her ankles, his hands on her hips as he hoisted her into his arms. The cold press of the wall against her bare back sent a shock through her body, making her gasp. His eyes were dark, his pupils blown wide with need. "Quiet," he murmured against her mouth, his teeth scraping her bottom lip as he kissed her again. His mouth moved to kiss the soft skin of her neck, her collarbone, his teeth grazing her sensitive flesh.

Her legs wrapped around his waist, the fabric of his pants rough against her skin. She could feel his erection pressing against her, the feeling of anticipation inevitably soaking through her panties. He kissed her neck, her jawline, his hands moving to cup her tits, squeezing them firmly before his thumbs rolled over her nipples. She moaned, her eyes closing in pleasure. The sound seemed to spur him on, his hips moving in a slow, deliberate grind that had her panting.

"You like that?" He whispered, his voice a dark promise.

She nodded, unable to form coherent words as Joe's thumbs continued their torturous dance over her sensitive peaks. Her breaths grew ragged, her body begging for more.

"Tell me what you want, baby," Joe murmured into her skin. Her breath hitched as she felt his hand slide down her stomach, his fingers hooking into the waistband of her panties. With a quick tug, they were on the floor, joining her dress. He stepped closer, brandishing a condom before aligning himself with her, and she could feel the heat of him, thick and insistent, pressing against her.

"You," she managed to say, her voice a shaky whisper. "I want you."

Joe's smirk grew as he positioned himself, the tip of his cock teasing her slick folds. "Good," he breathed, taking in the way her eyebrows scrunched together as his tip slid through her wetness. "Always get what you want, huh?" He pushed in slowly, watching her face contort as he filled her. She was so tight around him, her muscles clenching and releasing, urging him deeper.

Her legs tightened around his waist as Joe pushed in to the hilt, a soft whine escaping her as her back arched. She threw her head back, exposing the line of her neck, and he took full advantage, his teeth scraping against her skin as he began to move. The sound of their hips slapping together filled the small room, mixing with their muffled moans and gasps. The mirror across from them reflected their image, her eyes locked onto her reflection, watching Joe's strong arms flex as he held her up, the muscles in his back rippling with each thrust.

Her nails dug into Joe's shoulders. His hips moved faster, the sound of their skin echoing in the tension-filled air. "So fuckin' tight, goddamn," he murmured, his voice strained. She moaned, her eyes fluttering closed as she felt the rush of pleasure building deep inside her.

Her walls clamped down on him, her pussy tightening around his cock. "Oh, fuck," she muttered, tensing as Joe hit a spot that made her eyes roll back. Her thighs were slung over his forearms, spreading her wide open for his mercy, but Joe showed her none of that. He pumped into her, relishing the way she bit her lip, trying to muffle her cries of pleasure.

"You like that?" He ground out. She nodded, unable to find the words as his cock slammed into her over and over. Her eyes glazed over with lust, and she felt a tremor in her core. "Say it," he ordered, his voice gruff. "Lemme hear you."

"Yes," she panted, her eyes snapping open to meet his in the mirror. The sight of Joe's blue eyes, dark with lust and focused solely on her, sent a jolt of desire through her body. The pleasure grew, each stroke bringing her closer to the edge, her walls pulsing around him. "I love it," she moaned, her voice a sweet surrender to his dominance.

"Fuckin' spoil you, don't I?" Joe whispered, his breath hot against her neck as he increased his tempo. Her legs tightened around him, her body moving in sync with his rhythm, a silent plea for more. "Can't get enough of this pussy," he murmured, his teeth sinking into the flesh of her shoulder. "Fuckin' made for me."

She threw her head back, her mouth opening in a silent scream as Joe slammed into her, hitting that perfect spot that sent her soaring over the edge. Her pussy clenched around him, a wave of pleasure washing over her, leaving her trembling in his arms. He held her up, her legs shaking, her breathing ragged as the orgasm ripped through her. She felt his cock thicken, his hips stuttering before he groaned and filled her with his release.

For a moment, they stayed like that, Joe's forehead resting against her shoulder, their chests heaving in unison. The world outside the bathroom faded away, leaving them in their own little bubble of passion. Then, with a final kiss, he set her down gently, his hands steadying her by the hips until she was stable on her feet. "Bathroom sex," she murmured, a hint of a laugh in her voice as she caught her breath. "We're so cliché."

Joe tucked himself back into his pants with a smug smile, zipping up as he stepped away from her. He bent down to pick up her panties, dangling them in front of her face before stuffing them into his pocket with a grin. "My trophy," he said, winking.

She rolled her eyes but couldn't hide her own smile. "You're a caveman," she teased, her palms pressing into his shoulders to find her balanced as he helped her back into her dress. The fabric whispered against her skin as it slid back into place, the sensation heightening the post-orgasmic glow that washed over her. She stepped away from the wall, her legs wobbly from the intense release, and Joe couldn't help but admire the way she looked, her hair slightly disheveled, her eyes glazed, her lips swollen.

"Listen," Joe began, his own voice a little rough from their encounter. "You go touch up your makeup. I'll go tell the groom we gotta head out early, tell 'em you're not feelin' well." His eyes danced with excitement as he took her hand, leading her to the bathroom door. "I'll meet you by the elevator," he leaned down, brushing the strap of her dress aside to press his lips to her shoulder. "So I can fuck you properly before the night's over."

She nodded, biting her tongue as she watched him leave, closing the door behind him. Looking in the mirror, she smoothed down her hair, her breathing still uneven. Her makeup had held up well, just a slight smear of lipstick from their kisses. She swiped it away and washed her hands. Giving herself a stern look, she straightened her dress and left the bathroom, slipping back into the throng of the reception.

She weaved through the crowd, ignoring the curious glances thrown her way. When she reached the lobby, the cooler air was a shock to her flushed skin. She took a moment to compose herself, leaning against the grand staircase that led up to the hotel's upper levels.

Joe emerged from the reception hall, cheeks flushed and a smug smile playing on his lips. He made his way over to the groom, clapping him firmly on the shoulder. "Hey, man," he said, his voice as earnest as he could muster. "My girl's not feeling too hot. Think we're gonna head up to the room. It's been a long day for her." The groom, a friend of Joe's from college, looked at him with a knowing smirk, but Joe played the concerned boyfriend well. "Send our apologies to your wife, yeah?"

With a nod from his friend, Joe turned and headed straight for the lobby, his eyes scanning the area for any sign of her. He spotted her leaning against the grand staircase, her hand idly playing with the fabric of her dress. She looked up, their gazes locking, and a silent understanding passed between them. The air was thick with the promise of what was to come.

The elevator doors slid open, revealing an empty car, and they didn't waste a second. Joe stepped in and pulled her with him, pressing her against the mirrored wall before the doors had fully closed. His mouth found hers, his hands roamed over her body, rekindling the flames that had only just been extinguished in the bathroom.

"Mm, god, I need you," Joe murmured against her neck, his teeth grazing the sensitive skin as his hand slid down to cup her ass. The elevator chimed softly, signaling their ascent to their floor. She felt her core tighten in anticipation, her breaths coming in short gasps as his kisses grew more insistent.

When the doors slid open, Joe took her hand, leading her down the hallway. The plush carpet muffled their footsteps as they approached their suite. He shut the door firmly behind them, the sound of the lock clicking echoing through the room.

"Strip," he demanded, his hands already reaching for his belt.

Her eyes widened at his command, but she didn't argue. She stepped away from him, her movements slow and deliberate as she removed her dress. It fell to the floor with a soft whisper, leaving her in nothing but her bra and heels.

Joe's eyes roved over her body, his cock twitching in his pants. He stepped closer, his fingers tracing the line of her bra before unclipping it. It fell away, leaving her torso bare. He took one in his hand, kneading it gently before leaning down to suck on her nipple. She gasped, her hand coming up to his hair, her nails scraping his scalp.

"Bed," he murmured, his voice thick with lust. She nodded, leading the way. The room was bathed in a soft glow from the dimmed lights, the plush king-sized bed in the center of the room beckoning them closer.

Her heels clicked against the floor as she made her way over, Joe following closely behind, his eyes never leaving hers. When she reached the edge of the bed, she turned to face him, her heart hammering in her chest. He took a step closer, his hands reaching out to trace the lines of her collarbones. His thumbs brushed her breasts, sending a shiver down her spine as he pushed her back onto the mattress.

He climbed onto the bed, straddling her. His eyes searched hers for a moment, his pupils wide and dark. Then, with a predatory smile, he leaned down to kiss her, his teeth grazing her bottom lip. She wrapped her legs around him, pulling him closer, feeling his hardness pressing against her thigh.

He sat back on his heels, unbuttoning the rest of his dress shirt, holding her gaze as the fabric parted further. She took a deep breath, her eyes drinking in the sight of him as he appeared before her, pants still on. He reached down to undo his belt, his movements slow and deliberate, watching her every reaction. Her thighs were splayed open, the point of her heels digging into the mattress as she anticipated his next move. Her lips parted, pulling her bottom lip between her teeth as his shirt fell away, revealing his broad chest and his arms, corded with muscles and veins from years of training.

Joe reached down and tugged at his pants, his cock springing free, already hard and glistening at the tip. Her eyes went wide, and she sat up, reaching for him, but he stopped her, placing a hand on her thigh, squeezing gently.

"Patience," he whispered darkly. He slid down the bed, his mouth watering as he took in the sight of her bare center, still swollen from their bathroom encounter.

He leaned down and took a deep breath, the scent of her desire making his head spin. "So sweet," he murmured, his tongue darting out to taste her through the fabric of her panties.

Her hips bucked upwards, a moan escaping her as she felt him tease her through the thin barrier. She tried to wiggle them down, but Joe's hand on her lower stomach kept her in place. "Please," she begged, her voice a desperate whine.

"Need it that bad?" he questioned, a flicker of amusement in his eyes. she nodded frantically, her breaths coming in short gasps. With a chuckle, Joe slid her panties down her legs, taking his sweet time as he revealed her to him. He tossed them aside, the fabric landing on the floor silently. Then he sat back on his heels once more, pulling her toward him by her ankles, pushing her legs open, and moving to sit between her thighs.

"Go 'head, touch yourself," Joe murmured, his voice rumbling deep in his chest. "Let me see how bad you want it."

Her chest heaved as she hesitantly reached down to touch herself. Her fingertips glided over her folds, the slickness making her shiver. Joe watched, his own breathing growing more ragged as he watched, his left hand finding her left leg, his thumb digging into the muscles of her calf.

Her eyes never left his as she slid a finger inside herself, her hips lifting slightly to meet her own touch. His gaze darkened, his grip tightening on her leg. "That's it," he encouraged, his voice hoarse. "Make yourself feel good, baby."

Her hand moved slowly at first, exploring her own wetness, her thumb pressing against her clit. She whined softly, the sound low and needy. Joe's eyes were glued to the sight, watching as she grew bolder, her arousal sticky on her fingers. His hand tightened on her calf, his cock jutting upwards, pushing against the seam of his slacks, demanding attention. He shifted her leg, pulling it to rest over his shoulder, forcing her to open herself more fully to him.

"Look at you," he murmured, his voice thick with desire. "So fuckin' pretty." His right hand reached out, his thumb tracing the line of her slit, spreading her wetness, watching as her pupils dilated. He turned his head to kiss the calf that rested on his shoulder, his teeth nipping at the soft skin before his gaze returned to hers. "Keep goin', baby."

Her hand picked up the pace, her eyes fluttering as she watched him watch her. She felt the beginnings of another orgasm building, the heat spreading through her core. Joe's eyes never left hers, his breathing shallow and quick. His thumb brushed her clit, sending a jolt through her body, and she moaned, her hand moving faster.

"So fucking close, aren't you?" he murmured. She nodded, her eyes squeezed shut, her fingers buried knuckle deep in her pussy as she chased the high of her second orgasm. Joe leaned over her, his breath hot against her cheek as he whispered, "Let me have it, baby. Let me see you come for me." His words were a command and a plea wrapped in one, and she felt her body responding, her walls clenching around her fingers as she approached the edge.

Her left leg slung over his shoulder pressed closer to her chest as he leaned over her, the heat from his breath on her skin making her quiver. His thumb circled her clit, the pressure increasing steadily. "Fuck, fuck, fuck," she chanted, her body tightening as she felt the peak approaching. The stretch of her fingers inside her, the slickness of her arousal, and the firm pressure of his thumb on her most sensitive spot drove her to brink of insanity. Her hand was a blur, her eyes screwed shut, and her teeth dug into her bottom lip.

Joe pulled back, his left hand still holding her calf tightly, his fingers digging into her skin. With his right hand, he replaced her own, his thumb pressing harder into her clit, his index and middle fingers sliding into her pussy. Her eyes flew open, the sudden sensation of his larger, more demanding touch making her moan.

"Hmm, better?" Joe smirked, his fingers still working their magic on her clit. She nodded frantically. She swallowed shallowly, his voice low and husky as he whispered, "You're so fuckin' wet for me. I can't wait to feel you squeeze around my cock." His thumb didn't relent, the pressure unyielding, pushing her closer to the precipice.

Her eyes fluttered shut again, her body trembling with the effort to hold back her climax. "Don't get lost on me," he whispered, voicing a demand she couldn't ignore. His fingers danced over her clit, playing her body like a maestro conducting a symphony of pleasure. She felt the wave cresting, ready to crash down on her.

"Fuckin' perfect," Joe groaned as her orgasm washed over her, her body convulsing with pleasure. He watched as she rode the wave, her eyes screwed shut and her mouth open in a silent scream. He didn't stop, his thumb circling her clit even as she came down from the high. When she had recovered enough, he pulled away just enough to replace his fingers with the slide of his cock into her, filling her up in one smooth stroke.

"Joe- fuck," she cursed under her breath, her voice faltering and breaking as Joe began to thrust into her slowly. Her eyes shot open, locking with his intense gaze as he filled her completely. He pushed in deep, hitting that spot that had her seeing stars, making her toes curl and her legs quiver.

He paused to lift her right leg over his shoulder, changing the angle of his penetration. "Feel good?" he asked, checking to make sure she was still feeling it. She nodded, gasping low in her throat each time his hips pulled back. The drag of his cock was slow, deliberate, and maddening. "Good," he murmured, his eyes hooded as he watched her process the sensations.

His hands moved to her hips, holding her in place as his thrusts grew more forceful, his strokes deep and powerful. His hips rolled slowly into hers, drawing out her gasps of pleasure. The bed frame groaned in time with their rhythm, the soft slap of skin echoing in the quiet room. Her nails dug into the sheets as she arched her back, her breasts bouncing with every impact.

Their eyes remained locked, their breaths mingling as Joe leaned down to kiss her, his tongue delving deep into her mouth. The kiss was fierce, a silent declaration of ownership and desire. Her hands roamed his back, tracing the lines of his muscles as she tried to get closer, to feel every inch of him. His hands found hers, tangling their fingers together, pressing them into the mattress above her head.

He picked up the pace, his cock sliding in and out of her with a steadfast rhythm that had her moaning uncontrollably. She threw her head back, her eyes squeezed shut as she whispered his name. "Joe, Joe, Joe," the syllables falling from her lips as if that was all she were made to say.

He could feel her tightening around him, the walls of her pussy gripping his shaft in a vice-like embrace. He knew she was close, but he wasn't ready for it to end. He wanted to draw it out, to savor every second of her unraveling beneath him. He leaned down to kiss her neck, his teeth scraping against her skin as he considered his next move.

Then he saw it, the mirror to the right of the bed reflecting their entwined bodies: her brown skin glowing against the stark whiteness of the sheets, his tanned arms flexing with each thrust, their faces a blend of pleasure and determination. The sight of them together, captured in the reflection, was too much to resist. He pulled back, breaking their kiss, and ordered her onto her knees.

He tapped her ass gently—once, twice—as he angled her body, positioning her just right for his view. Her breath hitched, her eyes meeting his in the mirror as she settled onto her elbows and knees, her back arching as she pushed her ass up towards him. Joe took a moment to appreciate the sight: her ass in the air, the way her thighs glistened with their combined juices, the way she looked at him with a deceiving mix of innocence and lust.

"Beautiful," Joe murmured, his voice thick with lust as he took in the view of her on all fours, her back arched, presenting herself to him. He palmed her ass, giving it a firm squeeze before he lined up the head of his cock with her entrance. With a single, powerful thrust, he filled her, watching in the mirror as she took all of him in, her eyebrows furrowing in pleasure.

She moaned weakly, her chest falling forward as he held her hips firmly, his grip unyielding. The mirror reflected the way Joe's body moved over hers, the power and control in each stroke. He watched her face, her eyes screwed shut in ecstasy, as he pumped into her from behind. The sound of their flesh colliding filled the air, his hands squeezing and releasing her hips in time with his thrusts.

"Look at yourself," he whispered, his voice gruff and demanding. Her eyes fluttered open, meeting her own gaze in the mirror. She saw the passion etched on her features, the way Joe's eyes devoured her body as he claimed her. She watched as she pushed her ass back to meet his hips, gasps and sighs leaving her lips with each deep, possessive stroke.

"Fuck, you're so tight," Joe growled as he pumped in and out of her. She moaned, feeling his eyes on her, feeling his cock stretch and fill her. It was an exquisite mix of pleasure and vulnerability, knowing that he could see every part of her, that he had complete control over her body.

"Love your cock," she whimpered, the words spilling out of her unbidden. The sound of Joe's skin slapping against her ass grew louder, his movements more urgent. He leaned over her, pressing her down into the bed as he slammed into her, his fingers digging into her hips.

"Yeah?" Joe grunted, a smirk playing on his lips as he watched her squirm under his touch. "You like how it feels, baby?" He knew she did. The way she was pushing back against him, the little sounds of pleasure she made, the way she tightened around him—it was all clear as day. "Tell me," he demanded, his voice a low rumble in her ear. "Tell me how much you love it."

Her face heated as she stared into the mirror. Her eyes were half-lidded with pleasure, her mouth parted in a silent moan. "I love it, babe," she managed to say, her voice strained. "I love it so much. Feels so good."

"That's my girl," Joe murmured, his strokes becoming faster, harder. The headboard of the bed thumped rhythmically against the wall, each impact sending a shockwave through her body. Her eyes grew wider as she watched Joe's face in the mirror, his jaw clenched and his cheeks flushed with arousal. "Fuckin' yourself back onto me like that," he groaned. "So hot. So fuckin' hot."

Her movements began to falter, her hands digging into the bedsheets in frustration as she fought to stay upright. "Baby," she whined, "I can't... I- fuck, it's too much."

Joe's response was a low, dark chuckle. "You can," he assured her, his voice a gentle rumble. "You can take it, baby. You want my help?" He reached around her, pulling her body upright until her back pressed against his chest. The shift in position drew a long, desperate moan from her throat as his cock hit a new angle, rubbing against her g-spot with each thrust.

"That's better," he hummed, his breath warm against her neck as he wrapped his arm around her waist. With her back against his chest, Joe's cock remained buried deep within her, his thrusts now shorter but no less intense. He nuzzled her neck, his nose nudging against her earlobe. "Need my hands too?"

With a nod, she leaned into him, her hips stuttering against him. He chuckled, his right hand creeping up to squeeze at the sides of her throat. She gasped, her head falling back to rest against his shoulder, and he took the opportunity to kiss her, his tongue demanding entry to her mouth. His left hand found its way between her lips, sliding two fingers into her mouth, coating them with her saliva.

Suddenly, she felt those same fingers slide down her body, tracing a wet path to her clit. She moaned, her eyes flying open to meet his in the mirror again. He watched her face as he began to rub slow, torturous circles around her swollen bud. She reached down to grip his wrist, silently begging for more, for harder, faster, anything to get her over the edge again.

"Not yet," he murmured, his teeth scraping against her earlobe. "We're gonna make this last." He pinched her clit lightly, making her jolt and whimper. She could feel him smiling against her skin, his breath hot and ragged in her ear.

Their eyes locked in the mirror, his fingers working her clit in time with his thrusts. The pleasure was unbearable, a delicious torment that had her squirming and bucking her hips back against him. He groaned, his eyes dark with desire, and she realized he was just as lost in it as she was.

Joe's grip tightened on her throat, not enough to cut off her air, but enough to remind her of his control. It was a heady feeling, one that sent a fresh wave of arousal through her body. "Gonna come inside, baby," he whispered, his breath hot against her ear. "Gonna fill you up. Get you all warm. Sound alright?"

She nodded frantically, her eyes glazed over with need. She felt Joe's cock swell, knew he was close, and she met his every thrust with an eager push of her hips. His fingers worked her clit in a relentless rhythm, the pressure building until she thought she would burst. "Do it," she choked out, the words barely audible. "Please, Joe."

"Beggin' so sweetly," Joe chuckled, the sound vibrating through her as he thrust into her with a new urgency. His fingers circled her clit faster, the pressure building until she was teetering on the edge of release. Her eyes rolled back in her head, and she bit down on her lower lip to muffle her cries. The room spun with pleasure, the mirrored image of their joined bodies blurring as she felt herself climbing towards ecstasy. "Can't wait until it's our wedding night. Gonna fuck my pretty little wife right outta your wedding dress, just like you deserve."

And then, it hit her—a powerful, shattering orgasm that ripped through her body. She stuttered his name, her back arching and her muscles tightening around his cock. The pressure on her throat increased just enough to make her gasp for air, which only served to heighten the sensations flooding through her.

In the mirror, she watched Joe's face contort in pleasure, his eyes squeezed shut as he felt her pussy convulse around him. He grunted, his own climax following swiftly. With a final, deep thrust, he came inside her, filling her up with his warmth. His grip on her throat loosened, and she took a deep, shaky breath, her body going limp against him before falling forward onto the bed, Joe's cock still buried deep within her.

They stayed like that for a moment, their breathing ragged and mingling. Then Joe leaned down, kissing the back of her neck, his tongue tracing the line of her spine. "Fuck," he whispered, his voice still thick with desire. "We should do that more often."

She laughed, her body still trembling from the aftershocks of her orgasm. "Ditch parties to go fuck?" she teased, turning her head to look up at him, wincing when his cock slipped out of her.

He reached a greedy hand forward, squeezing the soft flesh of her ass, hypnotized by the sight of his spend leaking out of her, painting a warm trail on her inner thigh. "Every fuckin' time we get a chance," he murmured, his voice low and filled with satisfaction. "Could get used to this."

She flipped onto her back, yawning and stretching out, her body boneless with satisfaction. "What was that about 'our wedding night'?" She asked, her eyes half-closed. She smiled when she felt his head find her chest, his cheek pressing into the softness of her breast.

Joe lifted his head, blue eyes tracing over her features. "Just planning ahead," he said with a happy sigh. "I meant it. If that's what you're asking."

Her hand found the crown of his head, fingers threading through his hair as she considered his words. "I want that too." The admission was soft, but it filled the space between them, full and warm.

Joe pulled away slightly, looking at her with a sudden seriousness. "Yeah?" he asked, his voice hopeful.

She nodded, her hand stroking his cheek. "More than anything," she said, her voice strong and clear.

The smile that spread across Joe's face was like the sun breaking through storm clouds. He tilted his head up to kiss her, a gentle press of his lips that spoke volumes. When he pulled back, he whispered, "Good to know."

[this-is-tiny-mia]

Window In Front (H.S One Shot +18)

General Masterlist

ceo!harry x fem!reader / assistant!reader

Summary: After discovering your husband’s affair, you take a job with his biggest rival to get even. What starts as revenge quickly becomes something far sweeter—and far more pleasing.

A/n: Hello, my loves! Here’s the smutty one-shot I promised. This story is inspired by a @finelinemia chatbot, so all credit for the trope goes to her. (Thank you for letting me write something based on it!)

Word count: 3.9k

Warnings: SMUT, exhibitionism (for smaaallll moment) workplace dynamics, spitting, dirty talk, unprotected sex, inappropriate workplace relationship, creampie You didn’t cry—not when you found your husband in your bed with your best friend, not when you packed up your life, and not even when you signed the divorce papers. You were broken, sad, and a mess, but somehow, the tears never came. Your mother and sister insisted you go to therapy, and you did. Even your therapist seemed as concerned as everyone else about your lack of tears.

But you weren’t worried. You were consumed by rage, imagining countless ways to get revenge. Yet, no matter how creative or cruel your ideas became, they all felt insignificant compared to what they had done. So, you never dwelled on why you hadn’t cried.

That realization struck you late one night, lying on your sister’s couch at midnight, staring blankly at the ceiling.

How had you not thought of it sooner?

“Meet the Billionaire Next Door: Harry Styles, CEO of StylesCorp.” “Harry Styles, Visionary CEO, Announces Game-Changing Sustainability Initiative.” “StylesCorp Achieves Record Growth: Harry Styles Credits Bold Leadership and a Stellar Team.”

You scrolled through article after article. Harry Styles—your husband’s rival and the enigmatic CEO of the company in the building across the street. You knew about him from the countless nights your husband came home ranting. He accused Harry of sabotage, claimed he had spies within the company, and cursed his name with every failure.

You had barely paid attention back then, more focused on calming your husband and easing his stress. But now, you felt a new kind of clarity.

At first, it started innocently. All you wanted was to get under your husband’s skin. But soon, things began to spiral out of control.

🌷

“I have an interview with Mr. Styles,” you said, adjusting your skirt and ensuring every detail was perfect.

“Eleventh floor,” a woman replied, handing you a large badge marked VISITOR. “Wear this,” she added curtly, already shifting her attention to the next person.

You stepped into the elevator, gripping the visitor badge tightly in your hand. The air felt heavy, and you couldn’t tell if it was the weight of your nerves or the thrill of what you were about to do. Each floor the elevator ascended echoed like a reminder of your mission: revenge, power, control.

When the doors opened, you were greeted by an expansive office space with sleek, modern design—glass walls, minimalist furniture, and the faint hum of employees. People moved with purpose, and you couldn’t help but wonder if Harry Styles himself carried this same commanding energy.

A sharp-dressed assistant approached, her steps precise. “Ms. Y/L/N? This way, please. Mr. Styles is expecting you.”

The assistant opened the door, and you stepped inside, trying to steady your breathing. The office was as grand as you’d imagined. Harry Styles stood by the window—the very window with a direct view of your ex-husband’s office across the street. His hands were in his pockets, and the light cast a golden glow on his perfectly tailored suit. At the sound of your heels clicking on the floor, he turned, his expression shifting from neutral to something far more curious as his eyes met yours.

“I have to say, I’m surprised,” he began, his voice smooth and deliberate. He gestured toward the chair across from his desk. “Mrs. Ashford, isn’t it?”

You hesitated for only a second before walking forward, forcing yourself to meet his gaze. “It’s just Y/L/N now,” you replied, your voice steadier than you felt.

He chuckled softly, leaning back against the desk instead of sitting down. “Of course it is. But forgive me if I’m a bit... curious. It’s not every day that Thomas Ashford’s ex-wife walks into my office. Care to enlighten me as to why?”

Your heart raced, but you kept your composure, crossing your legs and sitting upright. “I’m here for an interview.”

“An interview,” he repeated, rubbing his jaw thoughtfully, his tone tinged with amusement. “For a position at my company. Of all the places in the world, you chose here.”

You shrugged lightly, feigning indifference. “You’re the best in the business. Why wouldn’t I want to work here?”

He tilted his head, a slight smirk tugging at his lips. “Flattery will get you everywhere, Y/N.” Leaning forward, he rested his hands on the desk, his eyes narrowing playfully. “But let’s not pretend there isn’t more to this. I’m dying to know—what would your ex-husband say if he knew you were sitting in this chair?”

Your smile was tight as you glanced briefly at the window across the street, where Thomas’s office loomed. Your voice was steady. “I guess we’ll both have to wait and see.”

🌷

The days were long, filled with emails, meetings, and endless tasks. You moved through the office like a well-oiled machine—efficient, precise, and always a step ahead. It was the only way to keep the overwhelming thoughts at bay, the ones that revolved around your ex-husband, and the bitter reminder of his betrayal.

You entered his office before knocking twice. “Mr.Styles I’m working on the report but I have a few questions about…” Your gaze shifted to the window—just for a second. There, in the office across the street, was Thomas, leaning over his desk, engaged in a conversation with none other than your ex-best friend. Her laugh, that sickeningly familiar laugh. You clenched your jaw, gripping onto the papers in your hands

“What were your questions?” He said, following your gaze to the window. “Ah, I see. Again.”

You turned quickly, caught off guard. “What?”

“Still staring across the street?” Harry raised an eyebrow  “He’s not worth the attention. Believe me, I know what I’m talking about.”

You sighed, rolling your eyes. “It’s hard not to, with him right there.” You didn’t realize how defensive you sounded until after the words left your mouth. “God, sorry” 

“Look, if you’re going to obsess over something, obsess over something a little more fun, like this,” Harry said, leaning forward with a glint in his eyes. He pulled out a Rubik’s Cube from his desk drawer and tossed it toward you. “Try solving this. Keep your hands busy. It’s much more satisfying than watching your ex across the street.”

You raised an eyebrow but couldn’t help but smile. “You think this is going to distract me?”

He shrugged playfully, still watching you intently. “It’s better than staring at a guy who doesn't deserve your time. Trust me.”

🌷

Days passed, and the routine settled into a strange rhythm. You were hard at work—handling schedules, answering calls, organizing meetings—but there was always that window, that constant reminder of the past. You’d catch glimpses of your ex-husband across the street, talking to his team, laughing with your old best friend. It made your stomach twist each time.

It was late one evening, and the office was nearly empty. You’d stayed late, as usual, working through the last few tasks of the day. Harry had been gone for hours—until now.

You didn’t hear him enter, but you felt his presence the moment he stood beside you.

“Still working, huh?” He leaned over your shoulder, looking at the files you were reviewing. His scent was close—fresh and clean—and it was enough to distract you for a brief second.

“Trying to get ahead for tomorrow,” you replied, forcing yourself to focus on the words in front of you. But you could feel his eyes lingering.

He sighed, picking up a pen from your desk and spinning it between his fingers. “You know, it’s dangerous to overwork yourself. What are you really avoiding?”

You froze, your fingers pausing over the keyboard. You hadn’t realized how much you’d been avoiding, or how much you’d been keeping buried under all the busywork. “I’m not avoiding anything,” you said quickly, but Harry wasn’t fooled.

He leaned in, his voice lower now, serious in a way that made your heart skip. “It’s okay to admit that you’re still dealing with it. You don’t have to bury it at work. You can let it out. But not by staring at that window every day.”

For a moment, you just stared at him. He was right—though you hated to admit it, Harry Styles knew exactly how to see through the walls you’d built up.

“Let’s go grab a drink,” he suggested, standing up straight and flashing you a playful smile. “You can’t work all night, and I promise, it’ll get your mind off things. Trust me.”

And though you were reluctant, you found yourself following him, a little bit curious, a little bit grateful. Maybe a drink was exactly what you needed.

---

"Two Aperol Spritzes," Harry said smoothly, catching the bartender’s attention. You furrowed your brows at his choice, unable to hide your surprise.

“Aperol Spritz? Really?” you asked, raising an eyebrow.

“Yeah, my favorite,” he replied with a casual shrug, his lips curling into a playful smile. “Why? Disappointed I’m not the classic whiskey-or-scotch CEO type?”

“Aperol Spritz is a cocktail…a brunch cocktail,” you teased

Harry’s grin widened, his confidence unshaken. “It’s probably 11 a.m. somewhere in the world.”

You couldn’t help but smile. Harry had a way of disarming you with his humor. He was funny, kind, and unexpectedly charming. The polished, sharp-edged CEO exterior often softened in the little moments—the way he’d check in to see if you were doing okay, offer advice without sounding condescending, or flash a grin that felt just for you. He wasn’t anything like the man your ex-husband had ranted about. In fact, he was the opposite—thoughtful, genuine, and surprisingly down-to-earth.

🌷

Your original mission of revenge had become a blurred memory. Working for Harry had turned out to be far better than you ever expected. The work was engaging, and Harry himself felt more like a friend than a boss. You’d catch him staring at you in meetings, his gaze lingering just a second too long. Sometimes, his hand would rest on your back a bit longer than necessary as he guided you toward an office. And you didn’t mind. In fact, you enjoyed it—the attention, the unspoken words exchanged in glances and subtle touches.

Things changed one late night when a casual beer in the office turned into something else.

“Do you miss him?” Harry asked, his voice soft as he leaned back in his chair, beer in hand.

“Not even a bit. I never cried—not once. It’s been nine months, and I feel… nothing,” you replied, staring out the window at the darkened building across the street. “I caught him the other day with her in his office, practically fucking, but they closed the blinds soon enough.”

Harry’s expression didn’t falter. “Proud of you, as I’ve told you before, he’s not worth a second of your time.” he said, his voice steady as he reached out, brushing a strand of hair from your face. The brief touch of his fingers made your breath hitch, the air between you both growing heavier. “And have you dated anyone since?” he asked, finishing off his fourth beer with a casual ease that belied the tension building in the room.

“Not really,” you admitted, your voice quieter now. “I don’t know why.”

“Scared?” he asked, tilting his head slightly

“Scared?” you scoffed, letting out a short laugh. “Of what? What are the odds I’d end up with another douchebag who cheats on me with my best friend?”

“Pretty low, I’d say. Maybe none, if you choose wisely,” he replied, his voice lower now, more serious. His hand moved, resting lightly on your thigh, and your breath hitched again.

Your eyes locked, the tension in the room thick enough to choke on. Harry’s gaze was smoldering, his eyes burning with unspoken desire as his hand rested lightly on your hip, the heat of his touch searing through the fabric of your skirt.

“Do you want to choose?” he murmured, his voice low and rough, a teasing challenge laced within the question. He leaned in closer, so near you could feel the warmth of his breath against your lips.

“Harry…” you whispered, your voice trembling as your eyes flickered to his mouth, anticipation building like a storm inside you.

“Answer me,” he urged, his hand trailing up, fingertips brushing the hem of your skirt. The deliberate slowness of his movements sent shivers down your spine.

“Yes,” you breathed, your eyes fluttering closed as you gave in, allowing yourself to drown in his touch.

“Yes what?” he asked, his voice darker now, the rasp of it caressing your neck as his lips hovered near your skin.

“I want to choose,” you replied, your breath hitching as his hand tightened against you.

“Who” he pressed, his tone thick with a mixture of longing and control. The word hung in the air, a challenge you couldn’t refuse.

“You,” you said, barely above a whisper, your voice breaking as you finally gave him the answer he wanted.

It was the last straw. Harry snapped, closing the space between you as his lips crashed against yours, fierce and desperate. His kiss was hungry, claiming you completely as his hand slid down to the curve of your ass, pulling you flush against him. His tongue parted your lips, exploring your mouth with a passion that made your knees weak. You clung to him, fingers threading through his hair as the world outside his office melted away. There was no rival, no ex-husband, no revenge—just the fire blazing between you and Harry, consuming you both entirely.

The next thing you knew, Harry had pulled back just enough to lift you effortlessly onto his desk. Your legs instinctively wrapped around his hips as his mouth found yours again, hot and insistent. The edge of your skirt slid up, exposing your thighs to the cool air, goosebumps prickling across your skin as the anticipation built to an unbearable peak.

He broke the kiss, his lips trailing down the curve of your neck while his hand slid between your thighs. You shivered, your breath hitching as his fingers brushed over the damp fabric of your panties.

“Harry…” you whimpered, your voice trembling with need.

He grinned against your skin, a low, sinful chuckle that sent a rush of heat through you. His thumb pressed against the wet spot, circling it with maddening slowness. “Fucking perfect wet pussy f’me,” he murmured, his lips brushing against your jaw as his fingers teased you through the fabric.

You rocked your hips against his hand, desperate for more contact, aching for him to give you what you craved. But Harry held back, his touch light and teasing, his lips leaving a trail of kisses along your neck that left you gasping.

“‘S that how you sound, kitten?” he asked, his voice thick with lust as his free arm wrapped around you, pulling you tighter against him. His hips ground against yours, the hardness of his cock pressing through the fabric of his pants, driving you wild with the friction.

Finally, his hand slipped beneath the fabric of your panties, his fingers gliding through the slickness there. You gasped sharply at the overwhelming sensation. “Fucking drenched,” he muttered, his tone dripping with approval as his finger slid inside you, curling just right, making you arch into him.

Your fingers fumbled with the buttons of your blouse, the sensation of his touch making your clothes feel suffocating, like they were shrinking against your skin. As the fabric parted, you revealed a black lace bra—a detail you hadn’t planned for this moment but one you always wore because it made you feel powerful and sexy. Harry’s eyes darkened, his gaze devouring the sight of you.

“Goddamn,” he whispered, his voice rough and low. “You’re a fucking dream.”

Your clothes were quickly discarded in a scattered path across the room, forgotten in the heat of the moment. Your eyes traveled over him, taking in the sight of his thick, throbbing cock, the tip glistening and begging for attention. Without hesitation, you slipped off the desk, dropping to your knees before him. The hunger in his gaze was matched only by the pounding of your own heart as your hands wrapped around his length, stroking him slowly.

“Fuck,” Harry groaned, his hand finding its way into your hair, his fingers tightening as he guided you closer. “Spit on it”

You leaned in, your lips brushing against him before spitting and taking the leaking tip into your mouth. You started slowly, swirling your tongue around it in deliberate, teasing circles. His low groans filled the room, each one sending a rush of heat through you as you worked him with careful precision, savoring every reaction. As his moans grew louder, you took him deeper, relaxing your throat to accommodate his big size. Your hands worked in tandem with your mouth, stroking and squeezing as your tongue danced along his length. Harry’s head tipped back, his grip in your hair tightening as his hips bucked slightly, his cock twitching under your touch.

“Fucking hell,” he muttered, his voice strained, a mixture of pleasure and desperation. “You’re perfect, kitten. Just like that.”

The sounds of his pleasure were intoxicating, urging you to take him as deep as you could. Your lips slid down his shaft while your tongue pressed against the sensitive underside. You felt him pulse in your mouth, his body trembling under your touch as you worked him with deliberate intensity.

Suddenly, his grip in your hair tightened, and he pulled you away, his chest heaving as he caught his breath. Before you could process it, Harry lifted you effortlessly, placing you back on the desk. His kiss was fierce and consuming, a tangle of lips and teeth as his hands explored your body. His length brushed against your inner thigh, teasing as he aligned himself with you. You shivered, your body strung tight with anticipation.

“Birth control?” he rasped, his lips brushing against your ear.

“The pill,” you managed to reply, your voice breathless.

With no further hesitation, he buried himself inside you in one swift, powerful motion. A groan tore from his throat, and your sharp gasp filled the air as the sensation overwhelmed you—the delicious stretch, the feeling of him filling you completely. He stilled for a moment, his forehead pressed against yours as both of you adjusted to the intensity of the moment.

“Fuck…” he whispered, his voice a raw growl against your lips. His hips pulled back before snapping forward, his thrusts deep and demanding. “Fucking tight cunt... You’re so fucking perfect.”

You couldn’t hold back the moans spilling from your lips, your hands gripping his shoulders as he drove into you with relentless precision. Your head tilted back, eyes fluttering shut as you surrendered to the pleasure building inside you. Every movement of his hips sent shockwaves through your body, and you were powerless to do anything but lose yourself in him.

But as you opened your eyes for a moment, a flicker of movement caught your attention. Your gaze drifted to the window, and you gasped softly as you spotted a faint light in the office across the street. There, in the shadows, was your ex-husband, his figure unmistakable, frozen as he stared at the scene unfolding before him.

Your lips parted in a mix of shock and defiance as your eyes locked onto his. Harry, noticing the shift in your focus, followed your gaze. A slow, wicked smile spread across his face as he realized the full extent of your audience.

“Oh, he’s watching, isn’t he?” Harry murmured, his voice low and dripping with smug satisfaction, his rhythm remained steady, deliberate, and maddeningly perfect. “Want me to close the blinds?”

“No... fuck me harder instead,” you breathed, your voice shaking with need. You didn’t care that Thomas was watching. In fact, you wanted him to watch—every second of it. The way Harry’s hips pressed against yours, the way he made you forget everything but him—this was the closure you craved. Not tears, not apologies—just this. Harry’s relentless, all-consuming treatment. “Knew this pussy was made for me, so many fucking days fucking my fist thinking of this” he admitted in the heat of the moment

His lips trailed down the curve of your neck, leaving a hot, wet path of kisses that sent sparks shooting through your body. He moved lower, his tongue circling one nipple before capturing it between his lips, his teeth grazing just enough to make your breath hitch.

“Say my name” he said looking directly into your eyes

“Harry…” you moaned over and over again “Harry…fffu” 

His pace quickened, each thrust deeper and more precise, the tip of his cock finding that perfect spot that made your vision blur with pleasure. A shudder tore through you, your body tensing as heat spread through every inch of you. Harry groaned against your skin, his voice husky and laced with desire. Every movement, every sound, every sensation—he was making you his, and you never wanted it to stop.

“Ffffuck Harry, i’m close” you moaned

And the pleasure finally burst, overwhelming you entirely. A wave of pure bliss crashed over you, and your body tensed, muscles contracting around him. You arched, clinging to him, your nails digging into his skin as the waves of your orgasm washed over you, drowning you in ecstasy. 

And he went right behind you, the sight of your orgasm was too much for him to process, and he quickly painted your insides with stripes of hot cum, filling you up completely. His lips found yours again, the kiss softer now, gentle and affectionate, a stark contrast from the raw hunger of earlier. He pulled out, and a mixture of cum and arousal dripped from your cunt and onto the floor.

Your gaze looked again for the sight of Thomas across the street, but he wasn’t there anymore, his office was again dark. “So sad he didn’t stay for that grand finale” Harry joked also looking at the window

“He watched enough,” you said, still a bit breathless. Harry leaned back, his hands gently trailing down your sides as he steadied your trembling body. “You okay?” he asked softly

You nodded, your breath still coming in uneven gasps. “Yeah… just give me a second to remember how to breathe.”

A chuckle rumbled in his chest as he reached for a tissue from his desk, carefully wiping the remnants of your shared passion from your thighs. “Take all the time you need. I might have overdone it.”

“You think?” you teased

“And for the record, you deserve so much better than him. Always have.”

Your cheeks flushed, and you looked away, your lips twitching into a shy smile. “You’re not so bad yourself, Styles.”

He chuckled, pulling you into his lap as he leaned back against his desk. His arms wrapped around you, his warmth comforting and grounding. “Not bad? That’s all I get?” he teased, feigning offense.

You giggled, burying your face in his neck. “Fine. You’re a amazing. Happy?”

“Ecstatic,” he replied, pressing a kiss to your temple.

The two of you stayed like that for a while, wrapped in each other, the tension and chaos of the night fading into a warm, intimate silence. Harry’s fingers traced soothing patterns along your back, and you felt yourself relax fully in his embrace.

“Let’s get out of here,” he murmured, his lips brushing your hair. “My place. No windows, no exes, just us.”

You lifted your head to meet his gaze, the sincerity in his eyes making your heart skip a beat. “That sounds perfect.”

Taglist: @hermionelove @mads3502

[golden-reverie]

Burnt Out

Author’s note: Hello to anyone who sees this! I’m Elodie, 24, from the Midwest. I love to experiment with writing, and my guilty pleasure is anything to do with Harry Styles. I’ve been so inspired by all the amazing writers on here, so I finally decided to take a stab at something of my own. I hope you enjoy :)

Summary: You’ve been running yourself ragged over a work project, and Harry isn’t having it.

Word count: 4.2k

Warnings: MDNI, spanking, punishment, fingering, pre-established dom/sub relationship, stern dom!harry, sub!reader, fem!reader, aftercare, all actions and dynamics are consensual

The soft glow of the laptop screen flickered against the walls, casting restless shadows in the dimly lit house. Y/N’s fingers danced over the keyboard, her eyes locked onto the cascading lines of code. Stray wisps of amber hair had escaped the messy bun atop her head, and she absently chewed on the end of a pen—an old habit from her college days. The room was silent, save for the rhythmic clicking of keys and the quiet hum of the laptop’s fan.

Harry lingered in the doorway, arms crossed, watching her with a mixture of concern and quiet frustration. The faint aroma of the dinner he’d prepared still clung to the air, a cruel reminder that she had once again skipped a meal in favor of work. Outside, the streetlights cast a soft, silver glow through the thin curtains, tracing ghostly patterns on the floor. Y/N remained wrapped in the world of her screen, completely oblivious to his presence.

He cleared his throat, his voice cutting through the hush like a blade. “Y/N, it’s late. You need to come to bed.”

She didn’t look up. “Just a few more minutes, Harry. I need to finish this.”

Harry sighed, raking a hand through his unruly curls. “You’ve been saying that for the last three hours. You need a break.”

This time, she did glance up—just long enough for him to catch the flicker of exhaustion in her gaze before she turned back to her work. “I can’t. This project is a big one. I have to get it done.”

Harry pushed off the door frame and strode toward her, his presence heavy, unyielding. A warm hand landed on her shoulder, grounding her. “You’ve been at this nonstop for weeks. You need to take care of yourself.”

She shrugged off his touch. “I will. Just not tonight.”

His jaw tightened. “That’s not how this works, Y/N. You know the rules. You agreed to them.” His voice remained level, but there was an edge to it now, a quiet authority that she could no longer ignore. “Your body needs food, rest… You’ll burn out if you keep this up.”

Y/N’s fingers hovered over the keyboard, but for the first time in hours, she hesitated. She exhaled slowly, her voice softer, but still laced with defiance.

“I just… need to finish this. Can’t you see that?”

Harry’s expression didn’t waver. He stepped closer, lowering his voice. “You can finish it tomorrow. During normal hours. Right now, you need sleep. I already let you skip dinner, and we both know that wasn’t the first meal you’ve ignored lately.” He leaned in, his voice dropping to a murmur. “I’ve run out of patience, love.”

Y/N stilled. She understood the implication behind his words. Her breath hitched, cheeks heating.

“Harry, I can’t just—”

“Yes, you can.” His tone was gentle, yet immovable. “And you will.” With deliberate ease, he reached out and closed her laptop, the sudden silence deafening.

She finally looked at him, her eyes flashing with something between defiance and reluctant surrender. “You’re being over the top,” she muttered.

Harry smirked, tilting her chin up with his fingers, forcing her to meet his gaze. “Maybe I am. But someone has to be.” His thumb brushed against her cheek, slow and deliberate. “You’re not taking care of yourself. And that’s not acceptable to me.” His voice was softer now, but it carried an unmistakable weight.

The air thickened, charged with something unspoken yet undeniable.

He took a step back, nodding toward the staircase. “C’mon. Up you get.”

Y/N hesitated for half a second before pushing up from her chair, her body drawn to his like a tide to the shore. As much as she wanted to argue, she knew he was right. This project had pushed her past her limits—late nights, skipped meals, unanswered texts and calls—Harry had let a lot slide. But tonight, that grace had run out. And now that she had been pulled from the blue-light-induced trance she had been under, she found herself grateful for his insistence.

As they ascended the stairs, a different kind of tension coiled low in her stomach. She knew exactly where this was going, and she could already feel the electricity crackling in the space between them.

Harry sat on the edge of their bed, his eyes steady as she hovered in the doorway. He extended a hand, beckoning her forward.

“C’mere,” he commanded.

She found her place in between his legs. His hands fell to her hips and slinked around to the soft flesh under her ass, holding her in place. She looked down at him, anticipating his next move.

“I think you have a pretty good idea of where this is headed, yeah?” His eyes held a quiet patience that stood in sharp contrast to the inevitable sentence looming over her head.

“Yes, Sir,” she whispered, avoiding his gaze.

Harry hummed in approval. “I’ve let a lot slide these past couple of weeks,” he said, tilting his head forward in search of her eyes. “I know big projects come up and that they sometimes get the better of our judgment. That’s just life. But you’re not doing yourself any favors by skipping meals and running on two hours of sleep each day… I know you know that.”

She rested her hands on his shoulders, fingers toying with the fabric of his shirt. A nervous habit.

He blows out a soft sigh, brushing his fingers against her skin, “I gave you plenty of chances to course-correct, Y/N. I wasn’t expecting perfection, but you’ve been running yourself into the ground, and that’s not something I can just overlook.”

She chewed her lip, her gaze flickering anywhere but his face. “I know. I’m sorry.” A frustrated breath escaped her lips, “It’s just… this project is important to me, and you know how cutthroat my coworkers can be. I can’t afford to fall behind.”

“I understand,” he says, lightly squeezing her flesh beneath his hands. “And I love how hard you work, but regardless, you know you can’t be on your A-game if you’re not taking care of yourself… That’s why we put these rules in place, remember? He moves his right hand up to her jaw in a silent command to meet his stare, “Because I love you and I care about you.” His voice was steady, eyes unwavering. “And sometimes you need a reminder to care about yourself, too. Yeah?”

She maintained eye contact this time, the guilt she had been trying to push aside settled heavily in her chest. “I love you too.” she mumbles, her voice barely audible. “I’m sorry.” It wasn’t just an apology—it was an admission. She had ignored the rules, brushed aside her own well-being for weeks, and now the weight of it all felt like it was seeping out of her pores, pooling at his feet.

Harry lets his hand drop from her chin, his expression firm but not unkind. “And I appreciate that,” he says, his tone shifting, sharpening. “But you know the deal.”

It wasn’t necessarily a question, but she answered him, nonetheless.

“Yes, Sir.”

“Alright, over my knee,” he said, his voice leaving no room for argument. He patted his thigh—a silent summons, firm and absolute.

Y/N hesitated for a moment. Not out of reluctance, but out of the sheer pleasure of the moment—this dance between them—the thrill of defiance followed by sweet surrender. She always wanted this, always needed this, and until right now; she hadn’t realized how much she’d been craving it.

He didn’t rush her. He never did. He simply waited, watching her with steady, knowing eyes. The weight of his gaze alone sent a shiver through her, anticipation thrumming beneath her skin. Taking a slow, measured breath, she finally relented, placing her hands on the mattress for balance as she draped herself over his lap.

He took a moment to admire the sight before him—the gentle arch of her back, the delicate vibration in her limbs, betraying her excitement. His hands smoothed over her spine, warm and comforting, a soothing contrast to the tension coiling inside her.

He could feel her trembling almost imperceptibly as she laid there—a quiet, unspoken longing bubbling up from her core. He hooked his fingers into the waistband of her leggings, peeling them down her legs with deliberate ease before tossing them aside.

His palms roamed over the swell of her ass, his touch featherlight, teasing. Y/N bit her lip, resisting the instinct to press her thighs together as he traced the lace trim of her panties, feeling her heat radiating through the delicate fabric. That alone nearly unraveled him. His cock strained painfully against his sweatpants, but he forced himself to linger in this moment—the exquisite torture of making her wait, of drawing it out until she was teetering on the edge.

His hands traveled upward, finding the hem of her shirt, fingertips grazing the sensitive skin beneath. He heard the small hitch in her breath, watched as goosebumps bloomed across her flesh. Slowly, agonizingly, he lifted the fabric, removing it from her body, letting the cool air kiss her bare back as she shivered in his grasp.

He towered over her, his presence commanding every ounce of her attention. His voice, low and unwavering, wrapped around her like a steel chain. “Is your work more important than your own health?”

Y/N inhaled sharply, steadying herself before she answered. “No, Sir.”

“And who decides when you’ve had enough?” His head tilted slightly, waiting—expecting.

His voice rumbled through her, a dark, velvety vibration that settled deep in her bones. Her breath hitched. “You do, Sir.”

A flicker of approval danced in his eyes. “Good girl.”

His palm ghosted over the curves of her ass, tracing gentle circles that did little to soothe the anticipation humming in her nerves. “I want you to count for me.”

She barely had a moment to brace herself before his hand left her skin—only to return with a sharp, resounding crack.

“One!” she gasped. But before she could stop herself, her right hand shot back instinctively, trying to shield herself from the sting.

Harry was faster. He caught her wrist effortlessly, pinning it against the small of her back. His fingers wove through hers, the delicate touch at odds with the firmness of his next words.

“You know better than that.” His voice carried a quiet, heavy disapproval that made her stomach flip. “We’re starting over. Every time you squirm, we’ll go back to one again. Understood?”

Y/N swallowed hard, resisting the urge to whimper. He meant business tonight. “Yes, Sir.”

The next blow landed just as hard.

“One, Sir.” This time, she tagged on the honorific—not required, but a subtle touch she knew he'd appreciate. A ghost of a smile tugged at his lips.

Then came the next. And the next.

“Two, Sir… Three, Sir!” The quick succession stole the breath from her lungs, leaving her voice edged with both pain and something deeper, something needier.

He could feel it—the way her body responded, her skin flushing beneath his touch, heat rolling off her in waves. His palm burned against her flesh, but he reveled in it. He lived for this part: the slow, deliberate breaking down of everything but sensation.

By number twelve, the sharp slap landed against the tender flesh of her lower thighs, and she wailed, the sound raw and unfiltered. Tears pricked at the edges of her vision, but still, she forced the number past her lips.

Harry knew her body better than she did. He knew exactly how to unravel her, how to make her cry out first from frustration—then from sheer, unadulterated pleasure. He wanted her mind empty, consumed only by this, by him.

The next set of strikes sent waves of something heady through her, an intoxicating blend of pain and euphoria. Her breath stuttered. She barely managed to grunt out the numbers between each punishing impact, her body trembling, craving.

By the time he reached twenty-eight, her head had fallen slack against the bed, silent tears soaking into the duvet. This was the most Y/N had ever taken. Normally, he didn’t have to go past twenty before she surrendered completely, but tonight—tonight she had been stubborn. Each slap chipped away at the stress, the tension, the weight she had been carrying for weeks.

He felt the moment her body gave in. The way her fingers went limp in his grasp, her voice raw, spent. She wasn’t resisting anymore—just accepting.

“Thirty, Sir,” she sobbed, the words almost lost in the haze of exhaustion and relief. Then, softer still, “I’m sorry.”

Harry let his hand relax, fingers tracing slow, soothing circles over the heated expanse of her skin. Her body was still shaking, but not from pain. Not anymore. He knew she had slipped, drifting into that quiet, blissful space where nothing existed beyond the warmth of his touch and the safety of his presence.

And he wasn’t about to pull her out. Not yet.

For a long moment, the only sound was the steady rhythm of his palm smoothing over her, and the lingering, uneven sniffles escaping her lips. He let her breathe, let her be.

After a couple minutes, he leaned down, his lips brushing the shell of her ear as he murmured, “You did so good baby. I’m proud of you.”

He pressed a few final, featherlight kisses along the curve of her lower back, his breath warm against her skin as he murmured, “Are you ready for me to check on you?”

He already knew the answer. Knew what he would find when his fingers slipped between her thighs. The anticipation sent a thrill down his spine as he let his hand drift lower, tracing the seam of her slick folds, drinking in the heat that seeped into his skin.

She was dripping.

Harry was hard beneath her, the evidence pressing insistently against her stomach, and he knew she could feel it too. But tonight wasn’t about him. Yes, she had broken the rules—deserved the punishment she had just endured—but more importantly, he wanted to strip away the weight she had been carrying. He wanted to unmake the stress that had hardened her and replace it with something softer.

His thumb found her clit, circling with just enough pressure to make her squirm, a broken whimper muffled against the duvet.

“Good girl, Y/N,” he praised, his voice a low hum of satisfaction.

“Just gonna make you feel good now, yeah?”

He slid a finger inside her, slow and deliberate, while his free hand threaded into her hair, stroking, grounding her.

Her nod was small, but he felt the way her body melted, giving in to his touch. Wetness seeped onto his thigh, further proof of how much she needed this—needed him.

He pushed a second finger inside, reveling in the way her walls clenched around him, her body trembling from the overwhelming sensations. With every stroke, he could feel her tension unraveling, her muscles slackening, the last remnants of restraint slipping away.

The world around him dissolved as his fingers curled inside her, seeking out the spot he knew would make her crumble. “You’ve been so good for me,” he whispered, his lips grazing the damp skin of her shoulder. “Took your punishment like a champ. Now, I want you to come for me. Just like this.”

Her skin tasted of sweat and salt, the scent of her arousal thick in the air.

Y/N was a paradox—a perfect blend of submission and defiance. As obedient as she was, that stubborn streak of hers ran just as deep, a constant challenge that kept him on his toes. But nights like this? When she surrendered completely, yielding every inch of herself to him without hesitation?

He savored it. Relished it. Worshipped it.

Because having all of her—mind, body, and soul—was a privilege he would never take for granted.

He studied her like an artist captivated by the final stroke of their masterpiece, burning the view into his memory—the flutter of her lashes as her eyes turned glassy, the flush that crept down her neck, the way her cunt clenched so tightly around his fingers as if trying to keep him there forever. He wanted to teach her to let go. To release all the anxiety, frustration, and exhaustion that had been suffocating her for far too long.

But he needed it to come from her—wanted her to own her pleasure as much as he did—to know that she was worthy, desired, loved.

Harry’s fingers slid deeper, moving with deliberate slowness as they arched just right, pressing against the spot that had her moaning, her body instinctively grinding against his palm. Her face was buried in the duvet, eyes squeezed shut as she gasped, overwhelmed by the rush of sensations flooding through her.

“Come on, Y/N. Let go for me,” he coaxed, his voice dripping with filthy promise.

Her body tensed, and he knew he had her. She trembled on the precipice before the dam broke. A shattered moan tore from her lips as pleasure ripped through her, muscles spasming in tight, rhythmic waves. The heat of her release coated his figures, and he didn’t stop—not yet.

He worked her through it, his thumb never relenting from the steady, precise strokes against her clit. He wanted everything. Wanted to hear her cry out for him, to watch the pleasure drag her under until she had nothing left to give.

And under she went.

Her cries turned breathless as the last tremors wracked her body, her limbs going boneless beneath his touch. Slowly, he withdrew his fingers, smirking at the needy little whimper she made at the loss. He soothed the ache with soft strokes along her trembling thighs, grounding her as she came back down.

“Atta girl, sweetheart,” he cooed, voice laced with satisfaction. “That feel good?”

A slow, exhausted nod was all she could manage. As the haze of pleasure lifted, she became aware of everything at once—the damp strands of hair sticking to her nape, the tingling in her limbs, the lingering warmth radiating from her backside.

But nothing could pull her back to reality quite like his voice.

“Can you sit up for me, sweet girl?”

***

Water cascaded from the shower head in silken ribbons, a warm, soothing contrast against the cool tile. Steam curled in the air, thick and languid, blurring the edges of the room until it felt like they existed in their own private universe. The scent of eucalyptus clung to the mist, wrapping around them like an embrace.

Harry held Y/N close, his chest rising and falling in a steady rhythm, the quiet strength of him anchoring her. Her head rested against his collarbone, the sound of his heartbeat a calming metronome against the storm that had been raging inside her for weeks.

His hands moved slowly over her damp skin, drawing soothing circles along her spine, his thumbs tracing the delicate ridges of her back. She shivered—not from the cold, but from the contrast of sensations: the warmth of the water, the cool air beyond it, the roughness of his calloused fingers against the softness of her flesh.

She tilted her head up, meeting his gaze through the water’s shimmering veil. Her lips were parted, her lashes heavy, surrender written in every line of her expression. Harry felt something deep and primal stir in his chest.

With a lingering kiss, he turned her around, his fingers threading through her hair as he worked the shampoo into a gentle lather. His touch was reverent, a contradiction of tenderness and strength, his large hands cradling her head with the kind of care that made her stomach flutter. She sighed softly, melting into the sensation as she rested against his muscled body, her small noises of contentment filling the air like music.

When the last suds had been rinsed away, Harry reached past her to shut off the water, the sudden absence of sound leaving them in an intimate hush. Without hesitation, he grabbed the towels he had set out earlier, wrapping her in one before she could feel the bite of the air. He took his time drying her off, the plush fabric gliding over her sensitive skin like a gentle breeze, coaxing a soft sigh from her lips. Then, with the same quiet devotion, he slipped one of his t-shirts over her head, the oversized fabric swallowing her smaller frame.

As Y/N moved through the final steps of her skincare routine, Harry retrieved a bottle of lotion from the cupboard across the room. He approached her with the grace of a shadow, gently tapping her on the bum.

“When you’re done, I want you to lay on the bed on your tummy. Ok?” His voice a smooth, honeyed command.

She finished up and did as she was told, sinking into the mattress, her head resting on her folded arms. Her damp hair spread across the silk pillow like a river of dark water, cool and smooth against the fabric.

The bed dipped beneath his weight, and she heard the soft sound of lotion being smoothed between his hands. A moment later, the hem of her shirt lifted, and his warm palms met the tender skin of her backside. Y/N sighed deeply, the coolness of the lotion a welcome relief to the heat lingering from earlier. His hands moved with slow, deliberate strokes, massaging away the sting, his fingers tracing the curves of her body with intimate familiarity.

The room was quiet, save for the rustle of sheets and the steady rhythm of their breathing. Y/N felt herself unraveling beneath his touch, sinking into the present moment, leaving behind the weight of the stress that had knotted itself into her muscles. He always knew how to bring her back—how to pull her from the depths of her mind and remind her that she didn't have to handle everything on her own.

When he was finished, he leaned down, brushing a stray lock of hair from her neck before pressing a gentle kiss to the delicate skin there.

“How do you feel?” His voice was a low murmur against her ear, thick with warmth and something deeper—something unspoken but understood.

Y/N swallowed, taking a moment to gather her words. “I—I feel good, Sir,” she admitted, her voice still laced with the remnants of pleasure and submission. “Still a little out of it… but good.” She paused for a moment, then continued, “I’m glad for the punishment. I really needed that.”

She shifted to sit up, and he caught her chin between his fingers, maneuvering her head to face him.

Harry’s lips curved into a soft smile, his thumb tracing slow, reassuring patterns along her cheek. “You did well tonight. You know that, right? M’proud of you.”

The weight of his words settled over her like a blanket—warm, protective, unwavering. She smiled softly into his touch.

A beat of silence stretched between them before he spoke again. “When you feel like things are spiraling, I need you to know you can come to me.”

Then, without waiting for a response, he leaned in and kissed her. It was slow and deliberate, filled with everything he didn’t need to say—everything he had already proven.

When she finally pulled away, her voice was softer, more certain. “I do know that. And I’m sorry I didn’t come to you sooner. It’s… a habit, shutting people out when I’m stressed. But regardless, you didn’t deserve that.”

Harry exhaled a quiet laugh, “Yes, I’m well aware of that habit of yours, which we’ll crack one day. But in the meantime, you can push all you want, sweetheart. Unfortunately for you, I’m not going anywhere.”

She giggled, letting him pull her into his chest. “On the contrary. Very fortunate for me,” she corrected, her voice tinged with affection.

He grinned, maneuvering the covers so she could slide beneath them. Reaching over, he switched off the lamp on his bedside table, casting the room into a velvety darkness.

As Y/N melted into him, the last of her tension slipping away, he pressed a soft kiss to the top of her head.

“Get some sleep. I love you.”

“I love you too,” she whispered against his skin, finally surrendering to the quiet lull of sleep’s embrace.

...

Ahhh! Kind of out there for my first post but ¯\_(ツ)_/¯. Hope you enjoyed!

[untitlzd]

rich boys call it love

top!yang jungwon x btm!male reader smut, angst

After the blog makes Y/n’s day unbearable, he disappears—just for a night. Somewhere quiet, somewhere gold-lit. Jungwon’s penthouse is warmer than it should be, his voice softer than Y/n remembers. There’s no pressure. No questions. Just a glass in his hand, the city far below, and a boy who swears he only wants to keep him safe.

a continuation of "rich boys don't lose."

warnings: elitism, power dynamics, degrading, rough sex, unprotected sex, no prep, drugs, manipulation, yandere jungwon, lowkey inspired by gossip girl

Y/n hadn’t expected to sleep. Not after everything. But morning came anyway—unforgiving and too bright, the kind of light that made everything feel exposed. There was no hiding from it, not even under the covers. Especially not from himself.

His body ached in ways he didn’t have names for. His head was heavy, fogged with too many thoughts and not enough answers. He showered in silence, dried off like muscle memory, stared at his reflection longer than he meant to. He couldn’t tell if he looked different. Maybe it was all in his eyes.

The guilt came in slow waves—quiet at first, then heavier the longer he sat with it.

He had walked into that firm. Willingly. Worn something clean, something decent, like he was doing something respectable. Like it wasn’t betrayal stitched into every step he took across that marble floor. He could still hear the way his father’s voice would’ve cracked if he ever found out—that kind of disappointment, the one that doesn’t need yelling to leave a scar.

And worse, he didn’t regret walking in.

Not in the beginning.

That was the part that stung the most. He went for revenge. For the thrill. For some stupid, short-lived taste of control. But he stayed for Jay. For the way Jay looked at him—like he already knew Y/n would fold. And then he did.

Y/n squeezed his eyes shut, jaw clenching.

He’d been stupid. Naive. So fucking easy to read, and easier to use. And now, after everything, he didn’t even know if he hated Jay for what he did—or hated himself for not hating it more.

He sat at the edge of his bed in full uniform, hands limp between his knees, the collar of his shirt suddenly too tight. His stomach twisted.

It wasn’t the blog. Wasn’t the silence. Wasn’t even the fear of someone finding out.

It was the shame.

And not the kind people could see. The quiet kind. The kind that buried itself deep in your chest and echoed when no one else was around.

He had done something he swore he wouldn’t. With someone he swore he hated. In a place he never should’ve been.

And still… a part of him wanted to go back.

That was the worst of it.

By the time Y/n stepped onto campus, St. Augustine’s looked the same. Polished. Controlled. Unreal, in the way all expensive things feel just slightly detached from the world around them.

But something inside him had shifted.

It wasn’t dramatic. There were no fireworks, no breakdowns. Just a dull, persistent weight behind his ribs—like he’d swallowed guilt and it hadn’t dissolved.

His footsteps echoed in the south hallway. No one looked twice.

He passed groups huddled around notes, students half-laughing through their panic, and a few legacy kids too rich to care. His mind wandered through memories he didn’t ask for—Jay’s voice, Jay’s hands, the heat of that glass wall pressing into his cheek like it could swallow him whole.

He tried to shake it off.

Then he saw Jake.

Just outside the lecture hall, casually leaned against the wall, one hand in his pocket, the other spinning a pen between his fingers like he was born to make everything look easy. His hair was perfect. Smile half-there. People around him—two girls, one guy—were practically orbiting.

And yet, Jake was staring directly at him.

Not for long. Just a flicker. A glance that felt like it held too much weight and not enough care. Then Jake looked away.

He didn’t say hi. Didn’t smirk. Didn’t slide in close to whisper something suggestive like he usually did.

Y/n hated that it got to him.

Inside the building, Sunghoon was sitting on the windowsill near the library’s east wing. One leg crossed over the other, a hardcover resting on his lap like he might open it, though he clearly had no intention of doing so. His uniform was immaculate. Posture perfect. Not a single crease out of place.

He didn’t look up as Y/n passed. But he didn’t have to.

His stillness was enough.

Sunghoon didn’t need to speak to make you feel like you were being watched. Judged. Picked apart in silence.

Y/n walked faster.

He pushed open the classroom door, hoping to get to a seat unnoticed. He didn’t. Someone called his name—softly, politely—and when he turned, it was Jungwon.

Jungwon was always polite.

He had a smile that felt genuine. A warmth in his voice that didn’t seem rehearsed. There were rumors about his family—something about luxury hotels overseas, always in the best parts of the world—but Jungwon never bragged. Never even brought it up.

“Hey,” he said, nodding to the empty seat beside him. “Sit?”

Y/n blinked. Then nodded.

It wasn’t that they were close. They weren’t. But there was something calming about Jungwon’s presence—like he hadn’t yet learned how cruel people could be, or maybe he had and chose to ignore it.

“You okay?” Jungwon asked quietly, once Y/n was seated.

Y/n hesitated. “Just tired.”

Jungwon didn’t press.

Class began. Y/n tried to focus. Tried to listen. Tried to keep his hands steady and his breathing even and his thoughts anywhere but there.

But then—Jay walked in.

Late, of course. Always late.

His tie was loose. Shirt unbuttoned just enough to show collarbone. He wore arrogance like cologne—light, expensive, and unmistakable. He walked past the professor without flinching, slouched into a chair three rows ahead, and—without even turning—smirked.

Y/n didn’t need to see his face to know.

He could feel it.

And Jungwon, maybe sensing the shift, nudged Y/n gently beneath the desk. Not invasive. Just… present.

Y/n swallowed hard. Tried to nod. Tried to be grateful.

But all he could think about was the wall. The heat. The sound of Jay’s voice in his ear.

And how he had let it happen.

Y/n kept his eyes on the front of the room, but his mind refused to stay there. The words on the board blurred. The professor’s voice was distant, muted, like it was coming from behind glass. His pen tapped against the desk—not loud, but steady enough to annoy himself.

Then his phone buzzed.

Once. Twice. Then silence.

He didn’t check it immediately. Didn’t have to. He knew that kind of silence—the way the air shifted just slightly, the way people stopped pretending they weren’t scrolling through something they shouldn’t be reading.

Y/n reached for his phone slowly, already bracing for it.

New post. Fresh. Barely a minute old.

"Some people will do anything for attention. Even walk into buildings their fathers would rather set fire to."

"But it’s okay. No one saw, right?"

"Except the cameras." "And us."

"Hope it was worth it."

Below the caption was a photo. Grainy, but clear enough.

Y/n. Walking through the polished lobby of Park & Co. Head high. Shoulders back. Like he belonged there.

His stomach dropped.

The picture wasn’t incriminating. Not directly. There was no context, no timestamp, no tag. But St. Augustine didn’t need context. It needed implication—and the blog always knew exactly how to weaponize that.

Jungwon shifted beside him, glancing at his own screen. His brows knit, just barely. He didn’t say anything, but Y/n felt the weight of it anyway.

Three rows ahead, Jay didn’t move.

Not at first.

But then his head tilted—subtle, slow—and one hand rose to his mouth, like he was covering a laugh that never made it out.

Y/n’s ears burned.

He stared straight ahead, chest tight, fingers curling around the phone still resting in his lap.

He should’ve known.

Silence here was never peace. It was just the calm before your name turned into currency—passed between hands, whispered behind backs, traded in looks.

And his time was up.

The room hadn’t changed, but it felt like it had. The light overhead was too cold. The walls too still. Something about the air made his skin itch, like the oxygen itself had been replaced with attention.

He didn’t look around, but he didn’t need to. He could feel it. The shift. The pull. A flicker of someone’s eyes. The edge of a whisper barely concealed behind a hand. Fingers scrolling too quickly to be subtle. He could hear the rustle of screenshots being taken in silence.

Y/n’s jaw clenched, his fingers wrapped tight around the pen in his lap, like if he held it hard enough, it would anchor him. Like it could ground him through the rush of heat crawling up his neck.

He had known this would happen. Had felt it the second he stepped into that firm, the second the elevator doors shut behind him.

But knowing didn’t make it easier.

It wasn’t just the blog post. Not really. It was the weight of what it implied—what it didn’t say. Because that was always the most dangerous part. The blog never needed to state names or tell the whole story. It only had to point. And people would fill in the blanks with whatever version of you they wanted to believe.

Three rows ahead, Jay was lounging like he belonged to the room. Like the tension didn’t touch him. He hadn’t looked back once. He didn’t need to. The way his fingers tapped idly against the desk, the tiny tilt to his head—he was comfortable.

He was proud.

And Y/n hated him for it.

The class dragged on, the professor’s voice bleeding into white noise. Y/n didn’t catch a single sentence. His knee bounced under the desk. He kept his hands in his lap, trying not to scroll, not to re-read. But it was there anyway—the post, the photo, the words—that sick feeling in his gut that told him this wouldn’t go away in a day. Not like the others. Not like before.

And beside him, Jungwon sat quietly, shoulders still, eyes forward. He hadn’t said a word since class began, but Y/n felt the glance when the post dropped. He’d seen it too.

They all had.

When the class finally ended, the scraping of chairs sounded louder than usual. Y/n moved fast—shoving his things into his bag, movements stiff, mechanical. He just wanted out. He needed air. He needed—

“Hey,” Jungwon said softly. “Are you—”

“I’m fine.”

It came out too quick. Too sharp. He knew it the moment it hit the air.

Jungwon blinked, startled, but nodded once and said nothing else.

Y/n didn’t wait. He walked out with his head low and his heart somewhere behind his ribs, thudding against the bones like it wanted out.

He didn’t know where he was going. Just that he needed to not be seen for a second. To be alone.

But alone wasn’t something you got here.

Not after the blog had your name in its mouth.

The hallway was colder now. Or maybe Y/n was just noticing it—how the air curled under his collar like fingers brushing his spine. His steps echoed louder than usual, even though no one looked his way. He could feel eyes, though. Imagined or not. They pressed against his back the way shame sometimes did—soft at first, then unbearable.

He didn’t head to the dining hall. Didn’t head to the courtyard. Instead, he just… wandered. Let the corridors guide him, let his thoughts spill into the gaps between footsteps. And god, there were so many thoughts.

Jake. The way his hands always found Y/n’s thighs under tables. The way his voice dropped in empty hallways just to say things no one else should hear. He never asked, never warned—just touched, lingered, hovered. And yet… Y/n never pulled away. Jake knew that too. That’s what made it worse. There was something behind his gaze, something too focused to be casual. Something that clung to Y/n like heat.

Then there was Sunghoon. Cold. Controlled. Beautiful in that way porcelain is—untouchable, expensive, sharp when cracked. What happened between them hadn’t been warm, but it had left heat behind. A bruise blooming just beneath the skin, one Y/n kept pressing on. Sunghoon never asked for anything, just expected it. And Y/n gave it. Willingly. That was the part that rattled.

Jay… was different. Violent, almost. Not in action—at least not always—but in presence. He overwhelmed, consumed. Every word a taunt, every touch a dare. But it hadn’t been forced. That was the worst part. Y/n could’ve left. Could’ve said no. But he didn’t. Something about the way Jay pulled him apart made him stay. Something about being seen in all the wrong ways, and still wanted.

Except… none of them really wanted him. Not the way that mattered. He was a game piece. A distraction. A moment of entertainment before the next scandal rolled in. And he’d let himself be moved across their board like it didn’t hurt. Like it didn’t leave cracks.

“Hey.”

Jungwon’s voice broke through the fog—gentle, light, as if he hadn’t been following Y/n through the crowd, letting the space between them close slowly.

Y/n turned. He tried for a smile, but it felt thin, like a bandaid over something bleeding. Jungwon didn’t seem to mind. He stepped closer, eyes soft, searching.

“You don’t have to talk,” he said quietly, “but if you need to get away… I have a place.”

Y/n blinked. “A place?”

Jungwon nodded once, that same soft smile tugging at the corners of his lips. “My parents’ penthouse. Upper East Side. They’re gone until the weekend.”

Y/n hesitated. Not because of the offer, but because it sounded so… kind. So safe. No sharp edges. No expectations.

“No pressure,” Jungwon added, like he could read every hesitation as it formed. “Just thought you might want quiet. Real quiet.”

Y/n looked at him. Really looked. At the way Jungwon held himself—gentle, noninvasive. There was no glint of challenge in his gaze. No games. Just calm.

And yet, something about it didn’t feel small. It felt intentional.

Still, Y/n nodded. “Yeah… maybe.”

“Later tonight?”

“Okay.”

They stood there for a moment—neither moving, neither quite knowing what to say. Then Jungwon smiled again, said he’d text the address, and slipped away with all the grace of someone who didn’t need to be noticed to matter.

Y/n turned toward the gates, the end of the day pressing down on his shoulders. His driver would be waiting out front, same as always. He just needed to get there without running into—

“Y/n.”

The voice stopped him cold.

Not loud. Not urgent. Just… familiar.

He turned.

Jake stood beside the black car waiting at the curb, his own driver leaning against the hood, disinterested. Jake’s tie was loose again, blazer slung over his shoulder like it was an afterthought.

He didn’t smile. Just looked. Quiet. Intent.

And Y/n?

Y/n froze.

Because some things, no matter how far you run, find you again at the car door.

Jake didn’t say anything right away. He just leaned against the sleek black car like it was an extension of himself, hands in his pockets, posture loose but watchful. His eyes flicked over Y/n in a way that wasn’t sharp, but wasn’t soft either—just aware. Present. He looked like he was debating something, jaw tight, tongue pressing to the inside of his cheek before he spoke.

“If you ever need anything…” Jake started, then paused. His gaze shifted away for a second, toward the other side of the street, like the sentence had slipped out before he could stop it. “I don’t know. Just—let me know.”

The words landed awkwardly between them. Not forced, but unpolished. Like Jake didn’t know how to be sincere unless he was three drinks deep or had you against a wall.

Y/n didn’t answer. Not because he didn’t hear him, but because he didn’t know what to do with it. His fingers twitched slightly at his side, like the impulse to respond physically—to shrug it off, to scoff, to pretend it hadn’t happened—was fighting with something else. Something that made his stomach twist.

Because for all the wrong things Jake had said to him, all the times he’d brushed fingers too low or let his hand linger too long, this felt… worse. Not cruel. Not manipulative. Just real. And Y/n didn’t know what to do with real.

Jake must’ve felt it too, that weird shift in the air between them, because he didn’t say anything else. Didn’t press. He just gave a single nod—tight, barely there—before pulling open the door to the car.

He climbed in without looking back.

The door shut with a dull click, the kind that echoed more than it should have.

Y/n stood on the curb, the breeze tugging lightly at the hem of his uniform. He caught a glimpse of himself reflected in the car’s tinted windows—half-there, distorted by the glare. He looked tired. Small. Like someone standing too close to something they didn’t understand.

And somehow, that felt exactly right.

He didn’t know what that moment with Jake meant. Didn’t know if it was an apology, or a warning, or just another loose thread waiting to unravel. But it scared him more than if Jake had smirked and said nothing. Because there was something worse than being used.

It was being seen.

The ride back to his building was quiet.

Too quiet.

The kind that made you feel like your own thoughts were too loud, like they bounced off the inside of the car and came back sharper. Y/n didn’t even look at his phone. He didn’t want to know what else the world had to say about him today.

By the time he stepped into the penthouse, the silence followed.

Everything was exactly where it always was. Polished marble floors. Soft lights. Furniture picked for form, not comfort. He could still smell whatever the cook had prepared earlier, though no one had waited for him to eat. Not that he expected them to.

His father was probably still downtown—working late, making calls, pulling whatever strings were left to pull in a city that only respected you when you bled for it. He’d spent years trying to make their last name mean something. Not just money, but legacy. Respect. Something that couldn’t be whispered away in scandals or erased in blog posts.

His mother? Probably out again. Some charity dinner, some silent auction. She was always moving, always smiling, always just out of reach.

It was just him.

The door clicked shut behind him, and Y/n didn’t bother turning on more lights. The apartment was already dim, the Manhattan skyline stretching out behind the windows in a wash of steel and blue. The sky looked cold—muted grays bleeding into deeper ones. Not quite night, not quite day. That in-between hour where everything felt a little too honest.

He dropped his bag at the entrance, kicked his shoes off without care, and sank onto the edge of the couch like gravity had finally caught up to him.

The silence wasn’t peaceful. It was heavy. Draining. Like the whole day had wrung him out and left him hollow.

His mind drifted—back to the classroom, the way Jungwon had looked at him. Not with pity. Not with amusement. Just… with presence. Like he didn’t want anything from him. Like he could hold space for what Y/n couldn’t say out loud.

And then, there was the offer.

“You should come by sometime,” Jungwon had said, casually. “My parents are out of town. It’s quiet. I think you’d like it.”

Upper East Side. A penthouse. Of course.

He hadn’t committed to it. Just nodded. Just said he’d think about it.

And now, with the apartment swallowing him whole, the echo of everything he’d done sitting too close to the surface, he found himself actually considering it.

Not because he wanted comfort. Not even because he thought Jungwon could give it.

But because he was tired.

So fucking tired of being alone in rooms that looked like they belonged in magazines. Tired of sitting in silence while the weight of Jake’s hands still burned on his hips, while Sunghoon’s gaze still lived on the back of his neck, while Jay’s voice still played like static in his ear.

They’d all touched him.

In different ways.

Jake with the softest cruelty—fingers brushing his thigh, tongue in his mouth, acting like it meant nothing and everything all at once. Like he was just collecting pieces of Y/n to keep in his pocket. And yet, somewhere in the space between Jake’s smirks and his silences, there was something else. Something darker. More possessive. It wasn’t love. It wasn’t kindness. But it was close enough to almost feel like care.

Sunghoon had been colder. More brutal. A storm in stillness. He never needed to say much—his hands had done the talking. Y/n remembered the way he was pinned to tile and marble, remembered the teeth, the hands, the demand. It should’ve made him feel small.

It didn’t.

It made him feel something he wasn’t proud of. Something deeper. Like maybe being wanted—even cruelly—was better than not being seen at all.

And Jay. Jay was chaos. Fire dressed in privilege. Y/n had walked into that office thinking he had the upper hand and left with handprints on his skin and a part of himself he didn’t know how to name. Jay hadn’t lied to him. Hadn’t hidden behind charm. He’d used him—completely, thoroughly—and Y/n had let him. Had wanted it.

That was the part that kept him up.

Because some fucked-up part of him liked it. The powerlessness. The control. The shame.

His fingers twitched in his lap.

He leaned forward, pressing his elbows to his knees, staring down at the silent city. Manhattan looked beautiful from up here—unreachable, indifferent. He hated it for that. He hated that it looked cleaner than he felt.

The invite from Jungwon sat in his mind like a soft light through a crack in the door.

He didn’t know what he expected from it. Maybe nothing. Maybe just a break from the noise. Or maybe the illusion of being wanted for something other than how easily he could be broken.

His phone buzzed again.

He picked it up.

Jungwon: Let me know when you’re on the way. Elevator will be open for you.

Y/n stared at the message, thumb hovering over the screen.

And for the first time all day, something in his chest shifted.

The hours passed in fragments.

Time didn’t move the way it usually did—no clean rhythm, no steady pull toward evening. It dragged. Slow. Sludgy. Like the day itself had gotten stuck somewhere and was refusing to end.

Y/n didn’t move much from the couch. Just shifted positions when the stiffness got too uncomfortable. Once onto his side, once back again. The TV played in the background—something muted, some show he wasn’t really watching. His phone lay face down on the coffee table. He hadn’t touched it in hours.

Every now and then, a housekeeper passed through the room—quiet, efficient, polite in the way expensive training taught you to be. They didn’t ask questions. Didn’t hover. One of them brought a tray with tea he hadn’t requested. Another adjusted the pillows near his feet, like that might help somehow.

He offered them a small nod, a quiet thank you, and they disappeared again.

It wasn’t pity. It was caution. They were trying to be kind without being noticed. Trying to make things feel normal without asking why he looked like a ghost in his own home.

He hated that it helped.

His eyes drifted to the edge of the coffee table, then to the phone.

He thought about Jake again.

About that moment outside the gates, the way he’d spoken—not teasing, not cruel, just… off. Like the words didn’t come naturally. Like he’d meant them more than he wanted to admit.

“Let me know if you need anything.”

Y/n had replayed it once. Then twice. The tone, the weight, the way Jake looked at him. It hadn’t felt fake. Not quite. But it hadn’t felt selfless either.

Nothing Jake did ever was.

He wondered if Jake actually cared. If that line was his version of concern—or just another way to keep Y/n tangled in his orbit. A soft leash instead of a hard grip. A hint that he still had a hold, even when he didn’t tug.

It didn’t matter.

He wasn’t going to text him. Not tonight.

Y/n turned his head to the windows. The sky was darker now, bleeding into the kind of purple that Manhattan wore well. Lights flickered on across the skyline like stars that cost too much.

He exhaled. Slow. Deep. Letting the weight settle again.

His eyes dropped back to his phone.

Jungwon.

He still hadn’t answered the message. Hadn’t confirmed anything. It would’ve been easy to stay right where he was, blame the mood, claim exhaustion. To not go. To disappear into his own silence.

But something about that didn’t sit right.

Jungwon hadn’t asked for anything. Hadn’t pushed. He’d just been… there. Present in a way that didn’t demand anything from him. Kind, but not performative. Soft, but not naïve.

It wasn’t the kind of comfort Y/n was used to. But maybe that’s why it stuck.

And maybe, after everything—after Jake’s cold looks, Sunghoon’s judgment, Jay’s cruel smirk—maybe he didn’t want to feel wanted.

Maybe he just wanted to feel normal.

Y/n pushed himself off the couch with a groan, limbs stiff from too long in one place. He stretched, rolled his shoulders, ran a hand through his hair and blinked at the weight behind his eyes.

Then he turned and made his way to the bathroom.

The water ran hot, almost scalding, but he didn’t flinch. He stepped in and let it soak into his skin, let it press the day out of his muscles, let it melt the stiffness from his limbs. The steam rose thick around him, curling against the mirror, fogging out the pieces of himself he didn’t want to see. He washed slowly, methodically, as if the warmth could erase everything that had happened—if only for a little while.

By the time he stepped out, the bathroom was a cloud. His skin was flushed, his breath calmer. Not whole, but clearer.

He dressed in something soft. Comfortable, but decent. Just enough to say I’m okay without having to lie.

He picked up his phone. Typed out a short reply.

Y/n: I’ll be there tonight.

No emoji. No extra words.

He didn’t need them.

It wasn’t about what Jungwon wanted. Or what the blog would say. Or what the others would assume.

It was just… something to do. Somewhere to go. A break in the noise.

He set the phone down and stood at the window for a while, watching the city flicker to life.

And somewhere beneath the shame, beneath the exhaustion, beneath the day that had drained him down to his bones—there was a flicker of something else.

Something small. Something quiet.

Maybe not hope.

But something close.

Y/n left the apartment just after nine.

The air outside bit against his skin in that early spring way—sharp, clean, tinged with the perfume of wet concrete and distant traffic. His driver stood by the car with the door already open, waiting in that familiar stillness that came with being paid well enough not to speak unless spoken to. Y/n nodded once in greeting and slid into the backseat. No words. No music. Just the thrum of tires on pavement and the way the city slid past the windows like a memory too fast to grasp.

He spent the ride thinking—not in full thoughts, but in fragments. Flashes. Jake’s face outside the gates. Sunghoon’s silence. Jay’s smirk in the classroom like he hadn’t done anything at all. It all blurred into a low ache in the back of his skull, quiet but insistent, pressing down with every block they passed.

The Upper East Side was different at night. Calmer. Richer. Less of the neon chaos of downtown and more of the kind of quiet that came with old money—money that didn’t have to announce itself because it had already bought the world twice over. The building Jungwon lived in was like that: tall, discreet, with doormen that didn’t look twice and an elevator that opened directly into the apartment with a soft chime.

Y/n stood there for a second. Just long enough to ask himself why he was doing this. Why, after the week he’d had, he was still showing up at someone else’s door—why he still wanted to be seen.

But the door opened before he could think himself out of it.

And there was Jungwon.

No shoes. A soft, oversized sweater hanging loose on his frame. His hair slightly mussed, like he’d been laying down a moment ago. “Hey,” he said, warm and simple, like he hadn’t been waiting but somehow still expected him. “Come in.”

The penthouse didn’t feel like most he’d seen. It wasn’t sterile or cold or dripping in sleek, impersonal design. It felt like someone lived there. Really lived. There were floor-to-ceiling windows, yes—but also heavy curtains, half-drawn. Plush armchairs. A shelf of records and another lined with books, not for show but for reading. A fireplace sat low and humming. A candle burned near the kitchen in a cut-glass jar, citrus and sage curling through the air like a soft reminder that this place had soul.

Jungwon didn’t offer a tour. He didn’t need to. Everything about the space felt natural—like an invitation already extended.

Y/n stepped inside slowly, scanning the room like it might vanish if he blinked too fast. A glass of water already sat on the edge of the counter. The lighting was low, golden, as if even the lamps understood that tonight required softness.

“How was your day?” Jungwon asked, voice barely above a murmur.

Y/n didn’t answer right away. He crossed to the window instead, gaze catching on the skyline—those too-bright towers stacked against a navy sky, everything shining and hollow. “It was loud,” he said after a beat. “Even when no one was speaking.”

Jungwon didn’t ask for more. Didn’t nod like he understood. He just stood beside him for a moment, shoulder not quite touching, and let the silence settle like dust between them.

They didn’t talk about the blog. Or Jay. Or the photo. Jungwon didn’t try to guess how it had felt to see his own shame stamped beneath a caption meant to humiliate. He didn’t ask what Y/n had expected when he’d walked into that firm, or why he hadn’t run the second things turned cruel.

Instead, he walked toward the couch and sat down with the kind of ease that invited company without needing to ask for it.

Y/n followed a moment later, sinking into the cushions with a breath he hadn’t realized he was holding. The fabric was soft against his skin. Everything was. The room, the air, the moment.

“Do you want music?” Jungwon asked, already reaching for the small remote on the coffee table.

Y/n shook his head. “It’s okay like this.”

And it was.

They sat in the hush together, the kind that didn’t press against your ribs. That didn’t require performance. For once, Y/n didn’t feel like a puzzle people were trying to solve. He wasn’t being picked apart, or pulled in two different directions.

He was just… here.

Jungwon leaned forward slightly, elbows resting on his knees, fingers loosely laced. “You don’t have to say anything,” he said. “Just stay. However long you need.”

Y/n nodded slowly, the movement more instinct than agreement.

Because he didn’t know how long he needed. He didn’t even know what he needed. But for the first time in days, something about this—about Jungwon’s quiet, about the way the penthouse held warmth without trying too hard—felt like enough.

He looked at Jungwon then, really looked. His profile in the light. The way his lashes shadowed his cheeks. The slight crease between his brows, like he was thinking too much but refusing to let it show.

There was something in Y/n’s chest that tugged a little.

Not want.

But comfort.

And maybe, for tonight, that was more important.

Y/n hadn’t meant to compare. But it happened anyway.

The moment his shoulders sank into Jungwon’s couch, his mind reached for the contrast—how his own penthouse, though taller, grander, and dressed in marble, felt like it belonged to someone else. His home was quiet in a different way: cold, vast, empty. Everything was curated, stylized, too pristine to be lived in. No warmth. No sound. Just a cavernous hush that echoed beneath his footsteps and swallowed them whole. A place meant to impress, not comfort.

Here, in Jungwon’s world, everything felt different.

The penthouse wasn’t any less luxurious—of course not. Y/n recognized the money in the bones of the place: in the dark oak floors, in the subtle weight of the linen curtains, in the hand-carved molding that held no need to be admired. This was old money, confident money—the kind passed down through bloodlines and black-tie legacies. But there was softness here, too. A lived-in warmth that money couldn’t buy. A kind of gentleness in the furniture, in the way the lamps cast golden halos on the walls, in the candle burning low on the coffee table, citrus and clove curling through the air like memory.

It wasn’t just a home. It was a haven. A place that had seen people cry and laugh and sit in silence without having to fill it.

And Jungwon matched it.

He was curled at the other end of the couch, sweater sleeves covering half his hands, his frame relaxed, gaze soft but unreadable. He didn’t push. Didn’t pry. He didn’t offer empty comforts or reach for Y/n’s wrist like he could fix the tension pulsing beneath his skin. He simply stayed. Steady. Present.

“Want a drink?” he asked eventually, voice barely above the sound of the record playing in the background.

Y/n nodded. “Yeah. I think I do.”

Jungwon returned from the kitchen with two glasses of red wine—deep and velvety, probably something that cost more than most weekend vacations. Y/n took his glass and drank. Slowly, at first. Then more. He wasn’t trying to get drunk. Just… quieter. Softer. He wanted the sting to fade. The thoughts to dull around the edges.

Halfway through the second glass, his cheeks felt warm. His limbs a little loose. The kind of floaty where you can feel your thoughts stretching out, soft and slow, like they’re underwater.

But Jungwon didn’t say anything about it. Just sipped his own wine, fingers curled gently around the stem, eyes occasionally drifting toward Y/n like he was checking on him—not watching. Not calculating. Just… there.

“You can stay the night,” Jungwon said eventually, like it had just occurred to him again. “The guest room’s ready.”

Y/n didn’t answer right away. He stared into the red sheen of his wineglass, then nodded. “Okay.”

“Come on. I’ll show you.”

The walk down the hall felt slower than it should have. Maybe it was the wine. Or maybe it was the way everything here felt too quiet. Too soft. Like walking through a museum after hours—velvet roped and glass cased, but humming underneath with something you couldn’t quite name.

The carpet muffled their steps. The lights burned a muted gold, like the whole penthouse had been dimmed to match a mood Y/n hadn’t known he needed.

Jungwon stopped in front of a door.

“This one,” he said, voice light, hand already on the knob.

And then he opened it.

Y/n took a step in.

And froze.

It didn’t hit him all at once. At first, the guest room looked… normal. Elegant, even. Wide bed, thick blankets, floor-to-ceiling windows, the city glittering just outside. But something in the air shifted—an invisible pull dragging his eyes to the far wall.

His breath caught.

Photos.

Dozens. Maybe more.

Framed in black. Perfectly aligned. A full wall of surveillance.

All of them were of him.

At first, he thought he was mistaken. But then—

There he was. Head tilted, lip bitten, standing just outside Jake’s guest room door.

There again. Blurry. Reflected in a bathroom mirror. Sunghoon just out of frame.

Another—seated on the edge of a leather couch in Park & Co., one foot tucked behind the other, waiting.

Another—pressed against a glass wall. Jay’s shadow behind him.

The longer he looked, the clearer they became. All grainy. All distant. Some zoomed in just enough to catch the expression on his face. Some taken from angles no one should’ve been able to get.

And more—dozens more. Him walking alone. Looking over his shoulder. Standing too close to someone. Laughing when he thought no one saw.

He didn’t know how long he stood there.

Behind him, Jungwon didn’t move. He hadn’t even stepped fully into the room. Just leaned lightly against the doorframe, wine glass still in hand, as if none of it was strange. As if it was all just… decoration.

“As promised,” Jungwon said softly. “No one else uses it.”

Y/n didn’t turn around. Couldn’t. His throat felt dry. His skin buzzed like it wanted to peel off. But his feet—his feet stayed planted.

And behind him, Jungwon smiled. Still gentle. Still kind.

Like nothing was wrong at all.

Y/n’s breath caught, sharp and cold.

The kind of cold that didn’t come from the room, but from inside. From that place in your gut where your instincts live—where something ancient and primal whispers: run.

But he didn’t.

He couldn’t.

Because Jungwon was still there. Barefoot, calm, glass of wine dangling from his fingers like this was just a normal night. Like the wall behind Y/n wasn’t a collection of stolen moments and personal invasions. Like it wasn’t evidence.

And he still smiled.

That same soft, warm smile that made people trust him. That made Y/n trust him.

“You don’t have to be afraid,” Jungwon said, taking another slow step forward. “It’s not what you think.”

Y/n’s throat was dry. He turned slightly, just enough to keep the wall in his periphery. “Then what is it?”

Jungwon didn’t answer at first.

He looked at the photos again, tilting his head as if he were admiring them. Like they were art. His voice was low when it came—measured, careful.

“I just wanted you to know how much I see you.”

He said it like it was a gift.

Y/n blinked, trying to process, but his thoughts were already moving faster than his body. He looked at the photos again—Sunghoon in the stall. Jake’s guest room. The glass wall at Park & Co. All places he thought had been private. All moments he thought were secrets.

The blog always knew.

And suddenly it clicked.

Not like a lightning strike. Not a dramatic gasp or world-shattering realization. Just… a slow, sick unfurling in the pit of his stomach.

Jungwon didn’t ask about the post because Jungwon knew about the post.

He knew before it went up.

He always knew.

The timestamps. The tone. The way the captions cut just deep enough to bleed but never named names. The way the blog always struck when Y/n felt safest—when he let his guard down for even a second.

Because Jungwon had been there the whole time.

Not watching.

Documenting.

He turned fully toward him now, slow and stiff, chest rising unevenly. His mouth moved before his brain could catch up.

“It’s you.”

Jungwon blinked, gaze flickering—but not in surprise. In acknowledgment.

“You’re the one running the blog.”

It wasn’t a question.

The air between them stretched thin. Too quiet. Too still.

And Jungwon… smiled.

Not wide. Not wicked. Just soft. Familiar. That same gentle curve of lips that had made Y/n feel safe for weeks.

“I never wanted to hurt you,” he said, voice low and calm. “Everything I wrote—it was for you. About you. I just wanted you to understand how important you are.”

Y/n felt like he was floating. Or drowning. He couldn’t tell the difference.

“This isn’t how people show that.”

Jungwon’s eyes flicked across his face, like he was memorizing it in real time. “People don’t see you the way I do,” he murmured. “Not Jake. Not Jay. Not Sunghoon. They touch you like you’re something temporary.”

He took another step forward. Y/n didn’t move.

“I don’t want to touch you,” Jungwon whispered. “I want to keep you.”

The words landed like ice.

And behind him, the photos watched.

Y/n’s heartbeat pounded in his ears. His limbs buzzed, not from the wine anymore—but from adrenaline. From the wrongness of it all.

And Jungwon just stood there. Close. Calm. Like this was love.

“Love doesn’t look like this,” Y/n whispered, eyes flicking to the wall again. His voice shook—not loud, but it was the first time he’d said the word. Love. He didn’t know why he said it. Maybe because part of him needed to believe that’s what this wasn’t.

Jungwon’s expression didn’t flicker.

He stepped closer. “No,” he agreed. “Not the kind you’re used to.”

Y/n swallowed hard, throat tight. “You shouldn’t have taken those.”

“I didn’t take them to expose you.” Jungwon’s voice was softer now, almost fragile. “I took them because no one ever sees you when it matters. I did. I do. I always will.”

His words weren’t sharp. They weren’t even defensive. They were tender, careful—delivered like an apology wrapped in silk.

And that, somehow, made it worse.

Y/n blinked at him, stunned into stillness. “Why me?”

Jungwon tilted his head, like he genuinely didn’t understand the question. “Because you’re not like them,” he said. “You walk around like you’re disposable. Like if people want you, it’s always for the wrong reasons. But I don’t want you like they do.”

His fingers barely lifted, brushing against the doorframe beside Y/n’s shoulder. Not touching—just near. Just close enough for Y/n to feel the presence of him.

“I don’t want to use you,” Jungwon said. “I want to keep you safe.”

Y/n’s breath hitched.

His mind told him this was too much. That he needed to walk. Call someone. Say something. But the room was warm. The wine still hummed in his blood. And Jungwon’s voice was so low, so gentle, that it almost sounded like love.

“I know it’s wrong,” Jungwon murmured. “I know how it looks. But I didn’t do any of it to scare you. I did it to hold onto you, even when I couldn’t have you.”

Y/n’s heart twisted.

He should’ve walked. He knew he should’ve. But his legs didn’t move.

And when Jungwon took one more step forward—carefully, slowly—Y/n didn’t stop him.

“I’ve seen you fall apart,” Jungwon whispered. “And I still want you.”

His hand lifted, hovering just near Y/n’s cheek. Not touching. Not yet.

“Not because you’re broken,” he added. “But because I know what it’s like to be alone in a room full of people who only want parts of you.”

Y/n’s eyes burned. Not with fear this time, but something closer to recognition. Or maybe exhaustion. He didn’t know what was worse.

“You shouldn’t be alone tonight,” Jungwon said. “Not with them in your head.”

And then, finally, his fingers brushed Y/n’s jaw—light, hesitant, like a question. Like he’d stop if Y/n flinched.

Y/n didn’t.

“I don’t want anything from you,” Jungwon said. “Just this.”

His other hand rose, cradling the side of Y/n’s neck.

And then, without force—without pressure—he leaned in.

And kissed him.

Soft. Unhurried. Like he had all the time in the world. Like he’d been dreaming of this and didn’t want to ruin it by rushing. His lips were warm. Familiar. Too careful.

Y/n stood frozen. Not kissing back. Not pulling away.

Just caught.

Because he wasn’t sure what scared him more—that Jungwon had kissed him.

Or that, somewhere deep in the part of him that always craved to be seen, he didn’t hate it.

The kiss ended with the gentlest pause—Jungwon’s lips lingering just long enough to leave a warmth behind, a tremble in its absence.

He didn’t pull away far.

Just enough to look at him.

Their foreheads hovered a breath apart. The air between them thinned, thick with unsaid things, and Jungwon didn’t fill the silence with reassurances. He didn’t need to.

His touch said enough.

Y/n stood still, eyes locked on the hollow of Jungwon’s throat, heart slamming too loudly in his chest. It wasn’t just the kiss. It wasn’t the photos, or the wine, or even the truth still echoing in his ears.

It was the terrifying calm in Jungwon’s voice.

The sincerity.

Like he believed it all—believed that love could look like surveillance. That devotion could look like control.

Y/n had always thought the worst thing someone could do was leave. But maybe this was worse. Maybe it was being held so tightly someone thought they were protecting you, even while they were bleeding you dry.

But still—

Still—

He hadn’t moved.

His body stayed rooted, his skin aching beneath Jungwon’s fingertips, not from fear but from the overwhelming tenderness of it. The kind that made you forget what danger felt like.

Jungwon’s thumb brushed gently against his cheekbone.

“You don’t have to say anything,” he whispered. “I know you’re tired.”

Y/n’s lashes fluttered. The wine buzzed faintly in his blood, warm and slow and traitorous. The ache in his chest was no longer sharp. It had dulled, melted into something heavier. Sadder.

And maybe that’s why he didn’t push Jungwon away.

Not yet.

Because it was easier to be held than questioned. Easier to feel someone’s breath on your skin than sit in a room alone with what they’d done.

“I know you,” Jungwon murmured, his voice almost reverent. “Even the parts you try to hide.”

Y/n blinked hard, eyes burning.

“I watched you disappear in places where you should’ve been seen,” Jungwon said, fingers slipping gently behind his neck. “I just wanted to prove I was watching. That I wouldn’t look away.”

It sounded so soft. Like a promise.

But promises from people like this were never clean.

Y/n let out a breath he didn’t know he’d been holding. His limbs were too heavy to lift. His mouth too full of dust to speak.

He should leave.

He should tell Jungwon this wasn’t love. That obsession dressed in silk was still a cage. That seeing someone wasn’t the same as knowing them.

But when Jungwon kissed him again—slower this time, deeper—Y/n still didn’t pull away.

Because maybe being wanted like this, twisted and quiet and dangerous, still felt better than not being wanted at all.

And somewhere behind them, the wall of photos watched in silence.

The second kiss didn’t catch Y/n off guard.

This time, he didn’t stand frozen. He didn’t rationalize or fight or flinch. He just let it happen—let the heat press into him, let Jungwon’s mouth move against his like it belonged there. And when Y/n breathed in, he felt the weight of it: warm wine, low light, a hand still cradling the back of his neck like it was the most fragile part of him.

It should’ve scared him. The softness. The patience.

But it didn’t.

Not in that moment.

He kissed back—slowly, uncertainly, like testing the edge of something sharp. His lips parted beneath Jungwon’s, a small noise catching in the back of his throat, one he hadn’t meant to make. And it wasn’t just the kiss. It was everything beneath it. The wall of photos. The wine. The exhaustion in his bones. The fact that someone had been watching him, really watching him, and hadn’t looked away.

Maybe it should’ve been horrifying.

But it wasn’t.

Not yet.

Jungwon inhaled against his mouth—like the contact was something sacred—and his fingers tightened slightly, just enough for Y/n to feel the intention beneath the gentleness. Not possessive. Not demanding. Just there. Anchoring.

And Y/n let himself lean into it.

For a second, maybe two, he forgot how he got here. Forgot that he had come to this penthouse for air, for quiet, not for this. He forgot the wall behind him entirely, and focused instead on the way Jungwon’s thumb brushed just beneath his ear, trailing heat down the curve of his jaw.

“You feel that?” Jungwon whispered against his mouth, voice velvet-soft, eyes half-lidded and unreadable.

Y/n swallowed. His pulse was everywhere—neck, wrists, deep behind his ribs.

“I see you,” Jungwon continued, his other hand settling feather-light on Y/n’s waist, just above his hip. “Not like they do. Not like a game. I see the whole of you, even the parts you think no one should want.”

His hand didn’t move lower. Not yet. But the promise of it lived in the space between them.

Y/n didn’t pull away.

He hated himself a little for that.

But he didn’t.

Instead, he tilted his chin up slightly—just enough to close the distance again. Just enough to press his lips back to Jungwon’s, slower this time, deeper, until the kiss turned molten and something low sparked beneath his skin.

A hum slipped out of Jungwon’s throat—barely there. His thumb brushed across Y/n’s lower lip when they pulled apart, and he looked at him like he was already memorized.

“You don’t have to run anymore,” Jungwon murmured.

Y/n’s breath hitched. He wasn’t sure if it was from the words, or the way Jungwon’s fingers had ghosted beneath the hem of his shirt for half a second before returning to stillness.

Maybe it was both.

He didn’t answer.

Didn’t need to.

Because his body had already leaned closer. Because his pulse hadn’t slowed. Because the heat building between them was no longer coming from the wine or the room.

And Jungwon just smiled, soft and patient, like he knew. Like he always had.

Jungwon didn’t kiss him again right away.

He just stayed there, close enough for Y/n to feel the warmth of his breath, his fingers still resting lightly at his waist—as if holding too tightly might shatter something between them. His touch wasn’t hungry. It was patient. Measured. The kind of patience that only someone with control could afford.

Y/n didn’t move. His breath was shallow. His limbs didn’t shake, but they felt heavy. Like all the exhaustion and confusion and guilt had settled into his bones.

And still, he didn’t pull away.

Jungwon’s hand drifted up slowly, brushing a strand of hair from Y/n’s face. The backs of his fingers skimmed down his jaw, over the column of his throat, light as static. Like he was learning him by touch. Memorizing.

“You’re always holding yourself so tight,” he murmured. “Like you’re afraid of taking up space.”

Y/n didn’t answer. He wasn’t sure how to. His head was spinning—not from the wine anymore, but from the closeness. From the soft, deliberate care of it all. From the way this moment felt suspended—like time had paused just for them.

Jungwon leaned in again. His lips grazed the corner of Y/n’s mouth first, soft, slow. A question, not a demand.

Y/n answered with a kiss of his own.

It wasn’t eager. It wasn’t even clear if it was a yes. But it was something—an anchor in the quiet. His hands slid forward, finding the fabric of Jungwon’s shirt and curling there, not pushing, just holding.

Jungwon deepened the kiss, just slightly. His hands settled on Y/n’s hips, not gripping, just resting. His mouth was warm, unhurried. It wasn’t about lust. Not yet. It was about presence. About claiming.

Y/n pulled back first. Just enough to breathe.

His chest rose and fell with a quiet rhythm, the room too still around them.

Jungwon’s fingers slipped beneath the hem of his shirt, ghosting along his skin like a secret. He didn’t rush. When he moved to undress Y/n, it was careful, almost reverent. Like it mattered.

And Y/n let him.

He lifted his arms. Let the shirt fall.

The air kissed his skin, cool against the heat blooming beneath his ribs.

Jungwon’s gaze trailed down, slow and unreadable. He didn’t leer. He didn’t praise. He just looked—really looked—like he’d spent so long seeing him from a distance that now he couldn’t help but commit every line to memory.

Then Jungwon peeled his own sweater off, quiet as a breath.

Y/n didn’t stare. But he saw.

The pale curve of Jungwon’s waist. The way the shadows touched the hollows of his arms. How the lamplight settled over his chest in warm tones, softening every line. 

Their chests brushed when they moved closer again. Bare skin to bare skin—warm and real.

Y/n’s fingers pressed into Jungwon’s side. And when their mouths met this time, it wasn’t careful.

It was need.

Still slow, but heavier. Messier. Their hands started to move with more weight—finding waists, backs, the edges of zippers. Neither of them spoke.

Because this wasn’t about words.

It was about being wanted in a way that didn’t ask.

It was about being touched in a way that said: stay.

Jungwon’s mouth never left his for long.

Every time Y/n tried to catch his breath, Jungwon pulled him back in—kissing like it was something he’d earned, something he owned. Not rough. Not fast. Just… deep. Possessive. Each press of lips was slow and weighted, like he needed Y/n to feel it hours from now. Like he wanted the ghost of it to stain.

Their clothes came off in pieces.

Jungwon didn’t tear. He peeled. Tugged fabric down like unveiling something precious. His palms were warm as they dragged over skin—slow at first, then with more hunger. Like touch alone wasn’t enough. Like he needed Y/n beneath him. Needed him still and open and his.

When their hips met, it wasn’t clean. It wasn’t choreographed.

It was messy. Bare thighs brushing. Hands everywhere. Y/n gasped when Jungwon’s grip slid down, strong and certain, grounding him with one hand at the curve of his lower back, the other holding his jaw like it was glass.

“You don’t get it,” Jungwon whispered against his mouth. “They touched you like a secret. Like a sin.”

His lips trailed lower, down Y/n’s neck, biting just hard enough to leave a mark.

“I’ll touch you like you’re mine.”

Y/n’s head fell back with a low sound he didn’t recognize as his own. The air burned hot around them. Every nerve was awake, begging. He didn’t know what he wanted more—the release or the closeness or the comfort—but Jungwon gave him all three in fragments, pulling them from him like confessions.

“Pretty,” Jungwon murmured, dragging his teeth along Y/n’s collarbone. “You were always so fucking pretty like this. All those times they used you like a game—I watched. I waited. And now…”

His fingers tightened at Y/n’s waist.

“…now you’re here. Where you were always supposed to be.”

Y/n shivered, every inch of his skin hypersensitive, raw in ways that had nothing to do with touch. Jungwon’s voice was too calm, too smooth, threading through him like silk cut with wire. And still—still—he didn’t pull away.

He couldn’t.

Because a part of him liked it. Liked being seen. Liked being handled.

Liked being wanted so much it bordered on worship.

Jungwon pressed their foreheads together, breath ragged. “Say you want it.”

Y/n’s lips were swollen, trembling.

“…I want it.”

Jungwon smiled.

Dark. Soft. Like a promise sealed.

“Good.”

Jungwon’s breath hitched when Y/n said it.

Not because he was surprised—but because it confirmed something he’d already decided for himself. Something he had carried for months in silence. A truth so deep in his ribs it had become instinct.

Y/n wanted it.

Maybe not the way he was supposed to. Maybe not with clean lines and gentle promises. But want wasn’t always pure. And Jungwon had never asked him to be.

He leaned in, slow and sure, and kissed him again. This time with more weight. Less air.

Jungwon pulled back only far enough to look him in the eye.

“Come here,” he said—quiet, but firm.

He took Y/n’s hand and turned, guiding him toward the bed. The room shifted around them like it was holding its breath. The shadows stretched long across the floor, brushing their feet as they moved.

Y/n followed.

Not because he had to.

But because he didn’t want to be anywhere else.

The bed was already turned down—sheets smooth, corners folded. Jungwon let go only to pull them back with slow, practiced ease, then looked up again. His gaze held a question, but not uncertainty.

He waited.

And when Y/n stepped forward, Jungwon met him there.

The mattress dipped beneath their weight. They moved without choreography, knees brushing, hands fumbling for skin. Y/n wasn’t sure when his breathing had gotten so shallow, or when his pulse had started drumming behind his ears. All he knew was that Jungwon’s hands were back on his skin—skimming his ribs, sliding up his back, grounding him in heat and pressure.

No more speaking.

Only the sound of movement—of sheets shifting, of breath hitching, of mouths finding skin.

Jungwon touched him like he was something rare. Like the want was real. Like nothing about this moment was about control, even if it was.

And Y/n, for once, let himself be wanted.

Not as a symbol. Not as a mistake.

But as a person.

And it wasn’t gentle. Not entirely. But it was full. Full of attention. Full of hunger. Full of something that felt too much like devotion to be anything else.

The world outside that room didn’t matter.

Not when Jungwon pulled him closer again, and Y/n went willingly into the dark.

 Jungwon’s teeth sank into the meat of Y/n’s shoulder as he shoved him face-down into the mattress, the rip of fabric echoing as he tore his boxers free. He laughed, spit-slick fingers circling Y/n’s hole without warning, pressing in to the knuckle.

Y/n’s knees dug into the mattress, his chest pressed flat against the sheets as Jungwon loomed over him, one hand fisted in his hair to yank his head back. “Fuck—clenching around me already. You need it this bad?”

Y/n choked on a moan, hips jerking back instinctively, but Jungwon’s palm cracked against his ass—sharp, stinging—before gripping the swell hard enough to bruise. “Stay still.”

He didn’t. Couldn’t. Not when Jungwon’s cock slid heavy and insistent between his thighs, the thick head catching against his balls with every ragged thrust. Y/n’s own dick dripped onto the sheets, untouched, leaking as Jungwon rutted against him like an animal—all teeth and sweat and mine, mine, mine growled into his spine.

“J-Jungwon—”

“Shut up.” A hand fisted in his hair, yanking his head back as Jungwon’s other palm smeared precome down his shaft, stroking once, twice, painfully slow.

The mattress dipped dangerously as Jungwon pinned him down, his weight a delicious anchor. “You don’t get to beg. Not after letting them touch you.” He spat the words, hips snapping forward to grind his cock against Y/n’s ass, the tip catching at his rim. “This is what you wanted, right? To be used?”

Y/n’s sob caught in his throat as Jungwon shoved in—no prep, no mercy—stretching him raw on his cock. “Fuck—!”

“Tight,” Jungwon hissed, bottoming out with a groan, hips flush against Y/n’s ass. “Fucking—made for this. Made for me.” He didn’t wait, didn’t let Y/n adjust—just pulled out and slammed back in, setting a brutal pace that punched cries from Y/n’s chest with every thrust.

Y/n clawed at the sheets, tears blurring his vision as pleasure coiled viciously low, Jungwon’s cock dragging over his prostate with every snap of his hips. “S’too much—”

“No.” Jungwon leaned over him, biting the nape of his neck, fingers digging into his hips hard enough to leave marks. “You take it. Take all of me.” 

Jungwon’s hand fisted in Y/n’s hair, yanking his head back as he thrust up into him with a snarl, the slap of skin echoing off the walls lined with proof of his obsession. “Open your eyes,” he demanded, voice raw and ragged, hips pistoning mercilessly. “Look at what you let them do to you.”

Y/n’s tear-blurred gaze dragged across the gallery of his own shame—grainy stills of Jake’s hands under his shirt, Sunghoon’s teeth on his neck, Jay’s smirk as he’d bent him over that glass wall. Jungwon’s cock speared deeper, harder, as if punishing him for every captured moment. “Pathetic,” he hissed, fingers tightening in Y/n’s hair until his scalp burned. “Letting them use you like a common whore.”

“N-no—”

The denial died in a scream as Jungwon slammed him face-first against the wall without pulling off, the photos rattling under Y/n’s splayed palms. Cold glass bit into his skin, his reflection fractured across a dozen images of his own debasement. Jungwon’s breath scorched his ear, hips rolling in a cruel, grinding rhythm that dragged his cock over Y/n’s prostate. “Liar. You craved it.” He spat the words, one hand snaking around Y/n’s throat, squeezing just enough to make him dizzy. “Admit it. Admit you’re nothing but a cum dump for anyone with the guts to take you.”

Y/n’s moan cracked open, high and broken, as Jungwon’s thumb pressed down on his trachea. “Say it.”

“Y-yes—!”

“Louder.” Jungwon’s teeth closed on his shoulder, biting down as he fucked into him with short, brutal strokes. “Tell me what you are.”

“A whore—fuck—!” Y/n sobbed, hips jerking back onto Jungwon’s cock, shame and need twisting together until he couldn’t breathe. “Y-your whore—!”

Jungwon’s laugh was dark, triumphant. He released Y/n’s throat only to grab his jaw, forcing his head toward a particularly damning photo—Sunghoon’s ice-cold fingers between Y/n’s thighs in the locker room. “He ever make you come like this?” he purred, snapping his hips forward so hard Y/n’s knees buckled. “Ever fuck you so deep you forgot your own name?”

Y/n shook his head wildly, drool slicking his chin. “N-no—!”

“Liar.” Jungwon’s palm cracked against his ass, the sting blooming hot as he pinned Y/n tighter against the wall. “But I’ll fix that.” His free hand wrapped around Y/n’s neglected cock, stroking in time with his thrusts—too rough, too perfect. “Gonna ruin you for anyone else. Gonna make sure you dream about this cock.”

The dual assault shattered Y/n. His back arched, a broken scream tearing loose as he came untouched—again—spilling over Jungwon’s fist in ragged pulses. Jungwon growled, fucking him through it, relentless. “That’s it—drench me, you slut. Show me how bad you needed this.”

Y/n’s legs gave out, but Jungwon held him up, slamming into his oversensitive hole until his own release hit—a guttural snarl against Y/n’s spine as he filled him to the brim, hot and claiming.

They slumped against the wall, Jungwon’s teeth still buried in Y/n’s shoulder, the photos staring down in silent judgment. “Mine,” he panted, licking the salt from Y/n’s throat. “Every fucking inch.”

Y/n’s weak nod was all he could manage.

Jungwon smiled, tender and terrifying, as he turned Y/n’s face toward the largest photo—Jay’s handprint bruised into his hip. “Good boy. Now let’s burn them.”

The last thing Y/n remembered was Jungwon’s breath against his neck—warm, steady, anchoring him as his body finally, finally settled.

He didn’t know when sleep pulled him under. It must’ve been sometime after—the haze of touch still lingering in his chest, his limbs too heavy to move, Jungwon’s body curled close behind him like a second skin. The sheets were tangled around their legs, the heat between them softening into something quieter. Less charged. Almost peaceful.

Almost.

Because when he woke, the room was too quiet.

His eyes blinked open slowly, eyelashes heavy, breath still shallow with the weight of a night he hadn’t fully processed. Jungwon was asleep beside him, still. One arm resting over Y/n’s waist. His face was turned toward the pillow, peaceful in the dim gold light seeping in from behind the curtains.

It should’ve felt safe.

But when Y/n turned his head—just slightly—the photos were still there.

That wall.

Unmoving. Unchanged. Still watching.

The frames caught the morning light in jagged ways now, casting thin, angular shadows across the floorboards. And somehow, they looked different in daylight. Less romantic. Less intimate.

More invasive.

The one near the top corner was the first to hit him: the sliver of him in Jake’s bed, jaw slack, eyes half-lidded in something he hadn’t thought anyone else had seen.

And below it, the bathroom stall with Sunghoon. And then the one outside Jay’s father’s office. His back was to the camera in that one, but it still made his stomach twist.

He sat up slowly. Careful not to wake Jungwon.

He didn’t know what made his chest feel so tight. It wasn’t fear. Not exactly. It was something quieter. Like a bruise being pressed. Like knowing you’d given something away and only realizing too late how much of yourself it had cost.

He got out of bed with careful steps, each one muffled by the thick rug underfoot.

In the bathroom, he didn’t look at himself in the mirror. He let the water run hot until steam clouded the edges of the glass, until his skin flushed with the heat of it. He scrubbed gently, slowly, as if washing off something he couldn’t name.

Something invisible. But lingering.

When he stepped out, the towel stayed wrapped loosely at his hips as he moved through the room again. Jungwon hadn’t stirred. His face was still soft in sleep, one hand now curled into the space Y/n had left behind.

He dressed quietly.

The same clothes from yesterday, a little wrinkled now, but they’d do.

Y/n didn’t leave a note.

Didn’t make a sound.

He just slipped on his coat and walked out the door.

The elevator was quiet. Too quiet. The ride down felt longer than he remembered. And when he stepped out into the cold morning air, the Upper East Side had already begun to move—slow and polished, people in coats with coffee cups and clean shoes.

He walked.

Nowhere in particular.

He shoved his hands into his pockets and kept walking. Past the corner where a florist was opening. Past the café Jake liked. Past a bookstore that once reminded him of his mother.

He didn’t know why it hit him then.

Maybe it was the cold. Maybe it was the night catching up with him. Or the photographs burning in the back of his eyes.

But somewhere along 75th, with the wind cutting across his cheeks and the buildings towering overhead like they didn’t even notice he was there, something in him cracked.

And he started crying.

Not loudly.

Not dramatically.

Just—quiet tears. Slow. Hot. Falling without permission.

He wiped them away once. Then again. But they kept coming.

And he just kept walking.

The cold helped keep him upright. It stung just enough to make him feel present, like something real was touching him. But inside, everything was fraying. His chest was tight in that ugly, quiet way—like grief, but messier. He kept walking, hands jammed into his coat pockets, the air harsh against his face.

And then it started.

The thoughts.

Slow at first. Then faster. Like pieces being forced into place long after the puzzle should’ve been done.

It wasn’t just the photos. It was how perfectly timed they were. How Jungwon had always known when to be quiet. Where to stand. The angle of every frame suggested he’d been there. Close. Too close.

Y/n’s steps faltered.

The bathroom. Sunghoon.

That knock—the loud, too-rhythmic knock on the stall door. The water running. The way the silence cracked open in the middle of something that was never meant to be witnessed.

He’d thought it was a student. Just someone being annoying. Someone passing through.

But it wasn’t.

It was him.

Jungwon. Quiet and sweet and always too close without being seen.

And the party—Jake’s party. The first night it had all blurred. The first time he felt like his body wasn’t his own. He remembered the laughter, the glasses of wine that kept being replaced without question, the way the room had felt tilted even though he hadn’t drunk that much.

He’d blamed himself for that night. For the way his head spun. For the things he let Jake do. For the way his body responded before his mind caught up.

But it wasn’t him.

Jungwon had been there too. Somewhere in the background, tucked in a corner like furniture. Pouring drinks. Watching. Waiting. And now, it all made sense.

The warmth in his blood that hadn’t been wine.

The dizziness that hadn’t been guilt.

He stopped in the middle of the sidewalk, breath fogging the air, heart hammering.

He had never seen him—not really. Not back then.

But Jungwon had always seen him.

Y/n didn’t notice the car at first.

The morning air was raw against his skin, and each step felt heavier than the last. Y/n didn’t know where he was walking—just that he couldn’t stop. Not yet. His hands were deep in his pockets, breath shallow, face still warm from the quiet, embarrassing weight of crying in public. It was that kind of ache. The kind that lingered in the bones.

The car rolled up quietly beside him.

Black. Polished. Familiar in a way that made something in his chest twist. He didn’t need to look to know whose it was.

The back door eased open, and there was Jake—already outside, leaning against the car like it belonged to him. Like he belonged to it. His blazer hung off two fingers, and his shirt was wrinkled in that deliberate way, collar open, sleeves rolled. Hair neat. Posture loose but alert. He looked like the kind of tired you can’t name.

He didn’t speak.

Didn’t ask if Y/n was okay. Didn’t tell him he looked like shit. Didn’t offer a joke to fill the silence.

He just looked.

And then—quietly, like it meant nothing—he stepped forward and draped the blazer over Y/n’s shoulders.

The fabric fell heavy and warm. It smelled like Jake: clean soap, woody, something expensive and muted, like a memory. Y/n didn’t flinch, but his breath caught in his throat.

Jake adjusted the lapels once, lightly. His fingers brushed against Y/n’s chest but didn’t linger. Then he pulled back and nodded toward the open car door.

Y/n didn’t argue.

He stepped inside.

The door shut behind them with a soft, final click. The city vanished—muted through tinted windows and thick leather. Inside, the warmth wrapped around him like the coat had.

Jake didn’t press. He sat beside him, silent, one arm resting loosely across the back of the seat. His eyes flicked toward Y/n once, then away. He didn’t try to talk.

And Y/n was grateful for that.

He turned toward the window, watching Manhattan blur past in streaks of glass and movement. His chest tightened again, throat thick. The streetlights bled gold onto the fogged glass. Somewhere between avenues, it happened.

The tears came back.

Quietly.

No sound. No shaking. Just hot, slow tears sliding down his cheek as he stared out, blinking hard but not fast enough to stop them.

He thought maybe Jake would ignore it. That he’d pretend not to notice. That would’ve been easier.

But Jake didn’t.

He reached over—not suddenly, not clumsily. Just reached. His fingers brushed over Y/n’s hand once before settling around it. His palm was warm. Steady.

He didn’t squeeze.

Not yet.

Just held.

Y/n’s shoulders tensed—briefly—before softening again. The weight of the moment pressed into his ribs, but Jake’s hand stayed. Anchoring. Real.

And then, with his thumb, Jake pressed gently into the back of Y/n’s hand. Just once. A small movement. A wordless gesture that said I see you.

It wasn’t like the touches from before.

Not sharp. Not flirtatious. Not claiming.

It was soft. Grounded.

A contrast so clear that it made Y/n’s chest twist again—but for another reason entirely.

Jake still didn’t say anything.

But maybe he didn’t have to.

Maybe, for once, his silence wasn’t about withholding.

Maybe it was his way of staying.

note: and just like that… the rich boys universe has reached its ending. at least for now. i honestly don’t even know how to begin this — this chapter was the biggest one i’ve ever written, and wrapping it all up felt surreal. i started this series on a whim, just playing around with dynamics and tension, never expecting it to grow the way it did. and now here we are, with jay, sunghoon, jake, jungwon, and y/n each having carved out their own space in this messy, chaotic, emotionally layered little world. i really wanted this final part to feel full — not just plot-wise, but emotionally too. every interaction, every choice, every glance was written with the intention of giving each the development they deserved. especially y/n, who’s carried so much without always realizing it. and jay, who’s rough around the edges but more fragile than he lets on. and jake and sunghoon with all their complicated silence. and jungwon... quietly dangerous in all the best ways. i wanted to give them all a moment to feel real. and i hope that came through. i’m endlessly grateful for the support you’ve all given this series. the comments, the asks, the wild reactions, the overanalyzing (which i loved) — it all made this process so much more fun and meaningful. writing this wasn’t always easy, especially with life and deadlines and blocks getting in the way, but knowing people were reading and caring? that pushed me to keep going every time. thank you for being here, for staying through the drama, the silence, the slow burn tension, and all the heartbreak in between. i hope this ending gave you something — closure, a little ache, a breath of relief. maybe all three. truly… thank you so much. i’m really proud of this one. and i hope you are too. with love, luke :)

[hauntsoul]

— Beneath the Spotlight.

SYNOPSIS: You, a devoted fan, are thrilled when Park Sunghoon, a famous idol, slips a secret note into your pocket at his fan meeting. But as the days pass, you start to wonder if his fleeting attention was ever meant to last.

GENRE: 18+ (minors dni), toxic, angst, little fluff.

WORD COUNT: 7.1k

PAIRING: idol!sunghoon x obsessedfan!reader (sunghoon is pretty toxic)

WARNING: toxic dynamic, oral (f. receiving), fingering, overstimulation, no protection, bathing together, phone sex?, masturbation (f), choking, creampie, reader has no self respect. halfway through is not proofread.

AUTHORS NOTE: hello! this is my first ever post so i hope you all will enjoy it. this is actually based off a manga i read a while ago, so full inspiration from there. i hope you all love the story. <3

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents either are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events or locales or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

Park Sunghoon.

A name that tastes like honey on your tongue.

A name that echoes in your mind, sending you through spirals.

A name you’ve engraved into your heart.

His face dominates your world. His posters cover every inch of your walls, his piercing gaze watching you wherever you go. Your lockscreen? A candid shot from his last concert, sweat dripping down his jawline, his expression so intimidating it feels intimate. His voice? It fills every moment of silence, every song on your playlist filled with his songs, his melodic tone.

You’re obsessed. Not the dangerous kind, not yet, but close enough to feel the lines blur. You know him better than you know yourself, or so you tell yourself. For three years, you’ve followed his journey. From him starting his path on the ice rink, his movements elegant, to the idol on many global stages, with millions of fans following him. Including you of course.

Currently, he stands in front of you. Well, in front of thousands. The stage lights catch every angle of his sharp features, making him appear almost otherworldly. The microphone amplifies his voice: smooth, melodic, and commanding, as he speaks to the audience.

You’ve been to countless fan meetings before, how could you ever miss one? But no matter how many times you see him, the sight of Park Sunghoon always leaves you fascinated.

He smiles as he talks about the little things, the cheery moments he shared with his family during his break. The crowd laughs, cheers, and some even shout desperate attempts to catch his attention. And he rewards them with a polite smile, a small nod, or a fleeting glance.

But to you, every gesture from him gives you butterflies. His black hair falls effortlessly into place, framing his flawless face. His piercing eyes scan the crowd, and even though they never land on you, it feels like they do. The tiny mole near his eye, the way he smiles, it’s all too perfect, too intoxicating.

You can’t stop staring. You can’t look away.

"Now, it’s the fun part!” Sunghoon exclaims, his voice sparking excitement through the crowd.

The audience buzzes with anticipation, murmurs spreading around rapidly. Fun part? Your stomach tightens, a mix of curiosity and hope swirling inside you.

The stage lights brighten as staff members hurry onto the platform, carrying a small table with a large glass bowl resting on top. Sunghoon steps forward, his presence catching everyone’s attention.

“In this bowl,” he announces, his voice smooth and teasing, “are slips with seat numbers. If I pick your number, you’ll get the lucky chance to come on stage and take a photo with me.”

The crowd explodes into cheers and screams, the energy palpable. Your heart hammers against your ribs. Could it be you? Out of thousands of people, could you really be the one?

Sunghoon dips his hand into the bowl, the motion slow and deliberate. Your breath catches as you watch his fingers swirl through the slips of paper, your body tense. The air feels heavy, and every second stretches longer than it should.

Finally, he pulls out a slip, holding it between his fingers like it holds the secrets of the universe. The audience hushes, a sharp silence falling over the room. Your palms are clammy, and you press them against your thighs.

“B14!”

Gasps ripple through the crowd as heads twist, scanning for the lucky winner. You glance down at the back of your seat, where “G25” is engraved, and disappointment sinks in. Not you.

“It seems like B14 isn’t here,” Sunghoon remarks, his tone light. He reaches back into the bowl, his hand swirling through the papers again.

Your heart races faster, the hope creeping back in. Your fingers clutch the armrests, nails digging into the fabric. Time slows as he pulls out another slip, unfolding it with a teasing smile.

“G25.”

Your heart stops. For a moment, the world seems to blur, the only thing you hear is the pounding of your pulse.

Your seat number.

Your heart thunders wildly in your chest. You’re going to be up close with Park Sunghoon.

Slowly, you rise from your seat, your knees shaky, the weight of thousands of eyes falling on you. But it doesn’t matter, not when his eyes find yours. For a brief moment, Sunghoon stares, his gaze sweeping over you in a way that makes your breath hitch. The corner of his lips curls into a slow, deliberate smirk. He lifts a finger, motioning for you to come on stage.

And you do.

Each step toward him feels surreal, like you’re walking through a dream. The bright stage lights blind you for a second, but then you see him. Right in front of you. Closer than you’ve ever imagined.

He’s perfect… no, more than perfect. Up close, he seems almost unreal, his features sharper. The crowd murmurs, some fans letting out squeals of excitement, but all you can focus on is him.

Sunghoon extends a hand, his fingers long and steady. Tentatively, you place yours in his. His palm is warm, his grip firm, and it swallows yours completely. With a gentle tug, he pulls you closer, so close you can feel his breath ghost against your skin.

Then, he wraps his arms around you.

Your heart threatens to burst as he holds you, his embrace firm yet careful, like he knows exactly what this moment means to you. His scent: fresh and intoxicating, fills your senses, and for a second, the world disappears. You don’t want to move. You don’t want this to end.

A camera flashes, and Sunghoon tilts his head toward you, his lips brushing close to your ear.

“Look at the camera, princess.” he whispers, his voice low, sending shivers down your spine.

You glance up, dazed, and meet his smirking gaze as the camera captures the moment.

You plaster a smile on your face as the cameras flash, capturing the moment that feels too perfect to be real. But then, you feel it; a subtle movement, his hand slipping into your pocket. Your heart skips a beat. Did he just…?

You turn your head slightly to look at him, confusion flickering in your eyes. Sunghoon doesn’t say a word, only meeting your gaze with a soft, knowing smile. It’s the kind of smile that makes your knees weak.

Your heart flutters, the moment feeling surreal, almost too good to be true. His closeness, the way his presence dominates everything else, leaves you breathless. But as quickly as it began, it’s over.

The staff gestures for you to step down, and disappointment washes over you like a cold wave. You force yourself to walk off the stage, each step feeling heavier as the distance between you and Sunghoon grows. Your chest tightens as you return to your seat, the memory of his warmth already fading.

But still, you smile faintly to yourself. You got a picture with Park Sunghoon, not just a picture, the picture. His arms were around you, holding you like you mattered, even for a fleeting moment.

As you settle back into your seat, a strange sensation tugs at your memory. The pocket.

Your hand shoots down to check, your fingers brushing against a small slip of paper. Pulling it out, your breath catches. Written in messy handwriting are the words:

“Call me. +0 xxxx xxxxx xxx”

Your heart stops, the paper trembling in your hands. You glance up at the stage, where Sunghoon continues to smile and interact with the crowd, as if nothing had happened.

When you finally get home, you collapse onto your bed, clutching the small slip of paper in your trembling hand. Your eyes scan the number over and over, your thoughts racing uncontrollably. Is this a joke? Why would he do this?

Your heart pounds in your chest as doubt creeps in. Was he just playing with you? Or could this really be real?

Your other hand hesitates as it slips into your pocket and pulls out your phone. The paper crinkles softly in your grasp as you stare at the digits, debating with yourself. But before you can talk yourself out of it, your fingers move almost instinctively, typing the number into your contacts.

You pause. Your thumb hovers over the screen for a long moment before you finally gather the courage to send a single message:

“hello?”

The moment the message delivers, you throw your phone onto the bed, your heart threatening to burst out of your chest. You bury your face in your hands, convinced this is all some elaborate prank. Maybe he does this at every fan meeting. Maybe—

Your phone buzzes.

The sound jolts you, and your head snaps up. Your breathing falters as you reach for the screen, hands shaking slightly. With a swipe, the notification pops up:

“hello princess.”

Your heart freezes. The room feels smaller, like the air’s been sucked out of it. Staring at the message, you feeling your heart beat rapidly.

It wasn’t a prank. It was real.

And Sunghoon had just texted you.

“R u real..?” you type, your hands trembling as you hit send.

The response comes almost instantly, as if he was waiting for you.

“Why wouldn’t I be? I put my number in your pocket, after all.”

You stare at the screen, biting your lip. The words feel surreal, like something straight out of a dream or maybe a cruel joke. You sigh, still unable to shake the doubt crawling through your mind.

Before you can respond, another message pops up:

“By the way, I told you to call me, not text me.”

“So call me.��

Your heart races, the pounding in your ears almost drowning out everything else. For a moment, you just sit there, staring at the screen.

Could this really be happening?

Your thumb hovers over the call button, hesitation gripping you. But the curiosity, the chance that this might be real, pushes you forward.

With a deep breath, you press it.

The phone rings twice. Just twice.

Then, the other line picks up.

Your heart stops as silence falls between you, your hand gripping the phone so tightly your knuckles turn white. You stay quiet, your mind scrambling for what to say, still half-convinced this is some elaborate prank.

But then you hear it:

“Are you gonna speak to me?” His voice is smooth, teasing yet commanding, the kind that makes your chest tighten.

It’s really him. You’re actually talking to the real Park Sunghoon.

“H-Hello…” you manage to stutter, your voice barely above a whisper.

He chuckles softly on the other end, the sound sending shivers down your spine. “You sound nervous, princess. Didn’t I tell you to call me? And here you are, all shy now.”

“I-I just didn’t know if it was really you…” you admit, your words tumbling out awkwardly.

“You doubted me?” he asks, his tone light but with a faint edge of amusement. “Do you think I go around giving random fans my number?”

“No! I just—” you stammer, but he cuts you off."

"Relax,” he says, his voice dropping slightly, more serious now. “I wouldn’t waste my time playing games like that. If I put my number in your pocket, it’s because I wanted you to use it.”

The way he says it... so certain, makes your heart race even faster.

“O-Okay…” you stutter, unsure of what else to say.

“Good.” He pauses, and you hear the faint sound of him shifting, like he’s getting comfortable.

For a moment, there was an awkward silence, and you couldn’t help but feel a strange mix of confusion and excitement talking to him.

"I’m sorry, but I just want to know… why did you want me to have your number?" You ask, your voice trembling slightly, unsure of how to phrase it. "I mean… isn’t this kind of dangerous for your reputation?"

He laughs, the sound low and rich, like it’s just for you. "Anything’s worth a risk if it’s with a pretty girl like you."

The words hit you like a wave. Pretty. Park Sunghoon just called you pretty. Your heart flutters uncontrollably, a rush of warmth flooding your cheeks. You can almost feel the heat spreading across your face as your mind tries to catch up with his words.

"Y-You think I’m pretty?" You manage to ask, barely able to form a coherent sentence.

"Did you think I was just playing around?" He pauses, a smirk evident in his voice. "I don’t give out my number to just anyone, princess. I gave it to you because I wanted to."

You swallow hard, trying to steady your breath. The idea of him wanting you feels almost impossible, but his confidence, his voice, so sure of itself, makes it feel like nothing could be truer.

"You’re still quiet," he adds, his voice dropping lower. "You’re shy, aren’t you?"

"I’m not shy," you lie, but even you can hear the hesitation in your voice.

"Mm, sure you’re not." He laughs again, but this time, it feels more teasing, like he’s enjoying every bit of your nervousness. "You’re just nervous because you know I’m real. You can hear my voice, feel the heat between us already. Don’t tell me it doesn’t make you want me, too."

Your breath catches. The way he speaks, so sure of himself, like he already knows everything about you, makes your pulse spike. "I… I don’t know what to say."

"You don’t have to say anything," he murmurs, his voice almost a whisper. "Just listen, and let me show you how real this is."

Your heart beats faster, the line between fantasy and reality blurring with every word he speaks.

"Just admit it," he continues, his tone turning more seductive. "You wanted this. You wanted me to notice you. And now I have."

You can barely breathe, his words echoing in your mind. "I… I didn’t think it would be like this."

"Of course, you didn’t," he says, his voice full of confidence. "But now that we’re here, don’t pretend you’re not enjoying it. Don’t pretend you don’t want more."

You bite your lip, your thoughts racing. How could you want anything else? He made it clear that he was interested in you, and the idea of it is too thrilling to ignore.

"Tell me," he presses, his voice low and husky, "do you want more?"

Your heart stops at the question. But the truth is, you don’t even have to think about it. "Yes." The word slips out before you can stop it.

"Yeah, princess?" His voice is a low, teasing drawl, almost like he's savoring every moment.

You can feel your breath hitching, your nerves on edge, unable to believe this is really happening. Just a few hours ago, you were in the crowd, just another face in the sea of fans, and now your here, getting wet while he's on the other line.

You couldn't help it. The way he teased you, the tone of his voice, dominant and authoritative. You could feel your panties grow increasingly wet the more he talked to you.

You needed him, and you wanted him to know that.

"Sunghoon.." you murmur as you slowly slide your hand underneath your underwear, your fingers feeling your aching clit.

"Mm, I'm listening princess. I know what you want." His voice gets raspy, which only led to you to rub your clit in a faster pace. God, it felt so good. This wasn't the first time you've touched yourself to Sunghoon.

But this was different, he could hear you. He could hear your light whimpers as you rubbed your clit to his voice. You imagined his large veiny hands slowly going down on your aching wet cunt and fingering you till you couldn't take it anymore.

Suddenly, he hangs up the phone.

You stare at your phone screen, wide-eyed and in disbelief. The call abruptly ends, leaving you in the sudden silence. Your heart pounds, a mix of confusion and frustration clouding your thoughts. Was that it? Did he just... hang up?

For a moment, you can’t bring yourself to move. You stare at the blank screen, hoping he might call back. Maybe it was an accident, right? Maybe he had to go. But as the seconds tick by, you feel your disappointment kicking in.

You clutch your phone tighter, trying to calm your racing mind. Was he playing with you? Why would he do that? You thought everything was going well. But now... there’s only silence, and it makes your thoughts spiral.

"Did I do something wrong?" you whisper to yourself, unsure if you even want an answer.

Minutes pass. You’re about to convince yourself that it was all a mistake when your phone buzzes suddenly, breaking the silence.

It's a message from Sunghoon.

When you click on the notification, your shocked to see that it wasn't a message he sent, but a location.

Your pulse quickens as your eyes scan the address. It’s a motel, not too far from where you live. The realization hits you like a cold wave, leaving you both excited and nervous at once. What was he thinking? Why here?

You stare at the screen, your heart racing as your fingers hover over the keys. Is this real? You ask yourself.

But before you can talk yourself out of it, you find yourself typing a response, your mind still whirling.

"I’m on my way."

The ride to the motel feels like it takes forever, your thoughts bouncing between excitement and anxiety. You keep imagining what will happen when you get there, what he’ll say, what you’ll do. Your hands are clammy, your stomach doing flips with each passing minute.

Finally, you arrive, the dim lights of the motel casting long shadows over the parking lot. The nerves in your body are almost overwhelming, and yet, you feel a magnetic pull urging you forward.

You take a deep breath and step out of your car, the cool night air brushing against your skin. Every step feels heavy as you walk toward the entrance. Your heart beats faster with each step closer to the room.

You reach the door, and before you can even knock, it swings open.

There he is. Park Sunghoon. Standing just a few feet away, his expression unreadable. His eyes meet yours, and in that moment, the world around you seems to disappear.

"Come in," he says, his voice calm but holding an intensity that makes your pulse race.

You hesitate for a moment, unsure if you should take the step forward, but his gaze holds you in place, pulling you in. You don’t say a word as you walk into the room, your breath shallow, your body tense with anticipation.

The door shuts behind you with a soft click, and you’re left standing there, face-to-face with him.

As you step into the dimly lit room, the door softly closing behind you, the air shifts. The space feels smaller somehow, as if the weight of what’s about to happen is pressing in around you. Sunghoon stands in the center of the room, looking at you with that familiar intensity, his eyes dark yet filled with something more.

He doesn’t speak at first, just watches you with a quiet sort of patience, as if giving you time to adjust to the moment. Your heart races, and you feel the familiar flutter of nerves settle deep in your stomach.

“Come here,” he says, his voice low, coaxing.

You hesitate for a moment, the air thick with the unspoken tension. You know what he wants, but there’s still something inside you that holds back, unsure of whether you should take that next step. But Sunghoon doesn’t wait for you to make up your mind. With a few slow steps, he closes the distance between you, his hand reaching out to gently cup your cheek.

His touch is soft but firm, as if he’s grounding you, and you can’t help but lean into it. His thumb brushes over your skin in slow, soothing circles, and the tension between you builds, an electric current crackling in the space around you.

“You’re beautiful,” he murmurs, his words so quiet you almost think you imagined them. But you didn’t. His eyes never leave yours, studying every flicker of emotion that crosses your face, as if he’s searching for something, something to pull him closer.

You swallow hard, your pulse quickening at his words, feeling like they hold more weight than they should. There’s something in the way he says it, the way his voice dips, just turns you on.

The space between you seems to disappear in an instant, and Sunghoon leans in just enough to rest his forehead against yours. The proximity makes your breath catch in your throat, the tension between you almost suffocating, but at the same time, you can’t tear yourself away.

For a moment, neither of you moves, both of you just breathing in the same air, letting the silence stretch between you, heavy with anticipation. You feel like you’re on the edge of something, but you’re not sure what that something is yet.

“You don’t have to be nervous,” he says softly, his voice barely above a whisper. “I just want to be close to you.”

Before you can react, Sunghoon tilts his head just slightly, his lips brushing against your forehead in a light, lingering kiss. His breath is warm against your skin, and the softness of his kiss sends a flutter through you. It’s gentle, but the weight of it makes your chest tighten, a quiet but undeniable ache building inside you.

When he pulls back, just enough to look into your eyes again, you can see it in his gaze, he wants you right now.

It’s your turn now, and without thinking, you close the space between you, your lips meeting his in a rough, intense kiss. It’s everything—the warmth of his mouth against yours, the way his hand slides to the back of your neck, pulling you closer with a quiet urgency. The kiss deepens, his tongue making way into your mouth. His free hand makes it's way under your shirt, as he manages to unclasp your bra easily.

You pull away from the kiss, looking at his piercing eyes. Sunghoon breathes slowly, staring right you with a smirk on his face. And just like a flash, you could feel him roughly pull up your shirt, causing your bra to fall in the process. Now you stood completely topless infront of him.

He stared at your delicate breasts, before lowering himself to lick your hard nipple. You bite your lips to hold back a whimper that dared to escape. He looked so fucking good. His eyes wander back up at yours before he latched his mouth on your entire nipple, sucking softly. You could feel yourself grow wet at his actions as you whimpered softly at the gentle pleasure Sunghoon was giving you. He slowly pulls away and gives small kisses to your breast before trailing it down your stomach.

"You're so fucking pretty. I need to taste that pussy princess." Sunghoon whispers before pulling down your skirt, revealing the cute pink lacy panties you wore, just for him.

He smirks at the sight of them, your stomach churned in embarrassment as he slowly pulled down your panties, a trail of your wetness sticking onto the pantie as it went down.

Sunghoon almost drools at the sight of your wet pussy. All you guys did was just kiss and yet your already this turned on? He felt himself getting hard just at the mere sight of you being this pathetic. He pushes you lightly against the wall, making you lean on it before spreading your legs slightly more open. Your whole pussy is now in clear view infront of him and the scent of your cunt is driving him crazy.

His lips make contact with the plush of your inner thighs, planting small kisses in different spots. His teasing only further driving you crazy and more needy. You let out a breathy whisper saying his name, and he just smirks while looking up at you.

His hands hold your thighs apart while he uses his thumbs to spread your pussy lips, giving your clit more space. He brings his mouth closer to your cunt before licking a small stripe from your leaking hole to your clit, spreading your wetness alll over. That action alone leaves your stomach churning. His tongue starts to give your clit small kitty licks.

"Mpmh, oh.. fuck-" you whimper as you bite your lip to prevent any more noises from leaving your mouth.

Feeling riled up, Sunghoon starts to suck on your clit. His eyes never leaving yours, staring at you while his tongue works wonders. Your fingers fists his hair as he slowly brings his fingers up to cunt, inserting a finger in. You tug his hair harder at the sudden feeling of his long finger inside you, making him moan into your wet cunt. Your moans can't stop leaving past your lips, this only motivates Sunghoon to insert another finger inside, thrusting them at a quick pace.

"It's so fucking good Hoon!-" You cry out loud, his thick fingers feeling inside your warm walls, already having you see clouds.

“Taking it like such a good girl..” he mumbles, the vibrations of his voice stimulating your clit even further.

You could feel your stomach forming a knot, it was too intense. Your legs feeling weak and the only support being Sunghoon's hands that are gripping your thighs tightly. You couldn't take it anymore.

"H-Hoon- 'm close!" You babble out. Sunghoon continues to curl his fingers inside you at an even faster pace, his tongue pressed hardly against your clit making an '8' motion. The knot becomes too tight, and you couldn't hold it in anymore.

You finally let loose, letting your orgasm wash over you. Your legs begin to tremble as you grip Sunghoon's hair so tight, you almost felt like you were about to rip some of it off his hair. His tongue and fingers slowed down a little, helping you ride off your orgasm. You take heavy breaths, looking at him as he just smiles before starting to thrust his fingers in and out of you at a rough pace.

"Hoon- I can't take it-" Your choke out your cries as now he starts to overstimulate your cunt. Your legs start to shiver and kick around gently, trying to get him off your pussy.

"Be a good girl and stay still." His voice, raspy and dominant. He only looks up at you with a smirk as his fingers ram in and out of you, making you feel the familiar feeling of the knot in your stomach again.

Not even two minutes had passed by since your first orgasm, and your already feeling your second orgasm wanting to unleash all over his fingers. Sunghoon curls his fingers, directly feeling your g-spot which sends you over the moon. And with that, you squirt all over his fingers. Making a sticky mess from your cunt to his fingers to the floor.

You look at him, still in a daze, your heart pounding relentlessly inside your chest. You were nervous—really nervous. You hadn’t done anything like this in forever, and now… with Park Sunghoon? The thought sent your mind spiraling as a bead of sweat trickled down your temple.

He seemed to sense your hesitation, his sharp gaze softening just enough to catch your unease. Without a word, his hand moved, fingers still dirty with your cum, and cupped your cheek.

“Let’s take a bath together, yeah?” His voice dropped, low and smooth. His lips curved into a faint smile. “We can’t have you all tensed up here.”

Before you could gather your thoughts, he straightened, turning with an almost lazy confidence as he headed toward the bathroom.

The warm water sunk you, soothing your tense muscles as you leaned back against the tub. The room was dim, lit only by the soft glow of a single light above the sink. You ran your fingers absentmindedly along the surface of the water, thinking about him.

A soft knock at the bathroom door startled you.

“You decent?” Sunghoon’s familiar voice called out, teasing but warm.

You managed a nervous chuckle, “We’re way past that, don’t you think?”

The door creaked open, and there he was, his dark hair slightly damp from the steam, clinging to his forehead, his eyes catching the soft light. Without saying a word, he stepped into the room, letting his towel drop with casual ease.

You quickly looked away, your cheeks flushing as the sound of water shifted behind you. You felt the weight of him stepping into the tub, the water level rising as he sank in across from you.

The space between you felt both small and vast, the soft lapping of water, the quiet hum of his breathing. For a moment, neither of you spoke, the silence hanging comfortably in the air.

“You’re quiet,” he finally said, his voice low.

“I just…” You paused, searching for words. “I’m still trying to process all this. It feels… surreal.”

He leaned back against the edge of the tub, his dark eyes studying you. “I get that. Believe me, I do.”

You tilted your head, curiosity piqued by the sudden seriousness in his tone. “Do you?”

“More than you think.” He let out a soft sigh, his gaze dropping to the water. “People always see me as… well, him. The idol. The perfect image. The untouchable Sunghoon.” His lips twitched into a bitter smile. “But that’s not who I am. Not really.”

His words hung heavy in the air, and you felt your chest tighten. You leaned forward slightly, resting your arms on your knees. “Then who are you? Really?”

His eyes flickered up to meet yours, something raw and unguarded glimmering beneath the surface. “I’m just a guy. A guy who’s scared of letting people see the parts of him that aren’t perfect. The parts that don’t shine on stage.” He paused, his jaw tightening for a moment before continuing. “There’s so much I keep buried. So many things I’ve never told anyone.”

Your heart ached at the vulnerability in his voice. “Why are you telling me this?”

He hesitated, his fingers tracing small circles in the water. “Because… with you, it feels different. Like I don’t have to try so hard. Like maybe, just maybe, I can be myself for once.”

His words hit you like a wave, and you felt your chest swell with an emotion you couldn’t quite name. He looked up again, his gaze softer now, the smallest hint of a smile playing on his lips.

“It’s scary, you know,” he murmured, his voice barely audible over the water. “Letting someone see all the messy parts of you. But with you… it doesn’t feel so scary.”

The weight of his confession settled between you, and you realized how close you’d leaned toward him without noticing. You reached out instinctively, your fingers brushing against his beneath the water.

“I’m glad you trust me,” you said softly, your voice trembling with sincerity. “It… means a lot.”

For a moment, he just looked at you, the intensity of his gaze making your breath hitch. “You’re special,” he said finally, his voice steady, resolute. “And I don’t say that lightly.”

The warmth of his words wrapped around you like a blanket, and for the first time since stepping into the tub, you felt completely at ease. The space between you... it felt safe.

The two of you sat there, the water cooling slightly as time slipped away, sharing stories and moments that no one else would ever know. And in that quiet, steamy bathroom, you felt a connection deeper than you’d ever imagined.

"It-It's too big.. fuck I can't-" you hiss out, your words coming out breathy as Sunghoon inserts his tip inside your wet hole. Of course, you both being naked in a bathtub together would lead to you being bent over the tub, his hands on your hips as he slowly inserts himself in.

"You can take it for me princess, be good and let me do the work." He says in a husky whisper.

Your walls suddenly feel full as he inserts himself fully inside your cunt. You led out a load moan, the pleasure overwhelming you. Sunghoon adjusted himself, gripping onto the flesh of your hips before starting to move.

He first moved slowly and carefully, putting just enough force to make his dick enter you all the way and make you feel completely full. His movements were perfect, the mixture of his precum and your cum from your previous orgasms creating the perfect lube for his dick. His hand on your hip tightened as he was feeling drunk every time your pussy swallowed his cock and he felt the warmth of your walls covering every inch of it.

"Fuck princess, you feel so fucking good. God, I love you and this sweet cunt of yours."

The sudden confession from your idol only makes you further clench around his cock, making him groan as he frees one of his hands from your hips to wrap them around your neck, lightly choking you.

“I-I love..- ngh-” you muttered out barely, “you..!” you emphasized that word really loudly, causing him to chuckle and to only quicken his pace, knowing the affect he had on you.

His cock twitched inside your pussy, making you understand that he's going to cum soon. You weren't getting any further from your orgasm as his movements became more rough. The sound of your guy's skins slapping each other and moans echoed throughout the bathroom. You could feel your chest burn up as he continues to quicken his pace, his balls hitting your cunt which vibrated towards your clit, giving you extra stimulation. His thrusts became more needy, and you could barely form coherent thoughts and the grip on your neck only become tighter, having you take quick breaths between each thrust.

“Hoon...!” you moaned out his name before you couldn't take it anymore. You could feel you wet yourself around his cock, causing him to let out a small chuckle as the scene got more messy. Sunghoon, no longer able to hold back, thrusted a few more times before he finally came. The sudden feeling of his warm cum filling you up inside made your legs twitch, Sunghoon groans from the feeling of satisfaction of the long needing orgasm. You both pant heavily as you both ride out your orgasms, before he pulls out, leaving your cunt empty with only his cum inside.

He admires the sight infront of him. You, bent over, with his cum dripping out of your pussy. His fingers grabs any cum lingering outside and brings it up to your hole before inserting his finger in gently, preventing anything from spilling out of your sweet cunt. His gentle action causing you to let out a small moan as he pulls his finger out of your sensitive pussy.

"You really enjoyed that didn't you?" He teases, making you turn your head to look at him and nod.

The two of you walked side by side, the soft hum of the city filling the silence between you. You clung to his arm, your grip firm as if afraid he’d slip away. The cool night air kissed your skin, but despite your closeness, something felt off.

Sunghoon’s focus was on his phone, his face illuminated by the glow of the screen. His brows furrowed occasionally, his thumbs tapping away with an ease that made it clear whatever he was doing held more importance than your presence beside him.

You glanced at him, your chest tightening with unspoken words. You tried to shake the creeping feeling of being invisible, telling yourself it was just nerves. After all, he had spent the night with you. That had to mean something, right?

“Did you have a good time tonight?” you asked softly, your voice barely above the hum of passing cars.

“Hmm?” he murmured, his eyes still glued to his phone. “Yeah, it was fine.”

Fine. The word stung more than you wanted to admit. You bit the inside of your cheek, hoping he’d elaborate, but he didn’t. Instead, he typed something quickly and let out a quiet chuckle—clearly amused by whatever was on his screen.

Your fingers tightened around his arm as you tried again, forcing a smile. “It’s nice out tonight. The city looks so pretty at this hour.”

“Mm,” he muttered, nodding absently.

Your smile faltered, and you turned your gaze to the ground. Each step toward the train station felt heavier, the initial glow of the night dimming with every passing second.

When you finally reached the platform, the faint rumble of an approaching train filled the air. You stopped walking, turning to face him. He didn’t notice at first, too busy scrolling on his phone, but you gently tugged on his sleeve, catching his attention.

“Sunghoon,” you said, your voice wavering slightly.

He looked up, his expression unreadable as he slipped his phone into his pocket. For a moment, you thought you’d see the same warmth he’d shown earlier, but his face remained calm, distant.

“I’ll text you when I get home, okay?” he said, his tone light but firm.

Your chest tightened at his words, but you nodded, forming a smile “Okay.”

The train screeched to a halt in front of him, and he took a step back, creating just enough space between you that it felt like miles. He gave you a small nod, a hint of a smile tugging at the corner of his lips, then turned to board the train.

You raised a hand in a half-hearted wave, watching as the doors closed behind him. The train pulled away moments later, leaving you standing alone on the platform.

It had been two weeks. Fourteen days of silence that chipped away at you, piece by piece.

After that night, after the promises whispered between breaths, you had waited. You’d replayed every moment, every touch, every word, trying to hold onto the warmth of him. But as the days stretched on, that warmth faded, replaced by an icy void in your chest.

You had convinced yourself that he was just busy. He was an idol, after all. His life wasn’t like yours. He had schedules to follow, appearances to make, fans to please. But even those excuses began to crumble under the weight of the silence.

At first, you’d kept it casual.

"Heyy! Did you make it home safe?"

"How are you?"

But when days passed with no reply, you became more vulnerable.

"Did I do something wrong?"

"Please, just let me know if you’re okay."

Each message went unanswered, some marked with the cruel sting of seen, others left on delivered, hanging in the void like a conversation with yourself.

The realization crept in slowly, like a shadow swallowing the light. He had used you. What felt so real to you—his touch, his whispered words, the way he’d held you so close—had been nothing more than a fleeting moment for him. A single night. You were just another girl to him.

And yet, even as the bitterness settled in your heart, there was a part of you that couldn’t let go. You couldn’t delete the messages you’d sent. You couldn’t bring yourself to block his number. A part of you still held onto the foolish hope that he’d text back, that he’d tell you it wasn’t what you thought, that he cared.

When you received the email reminder about his next fan meeting, your stomach twisted. The ticket had been booked weeks ago, back when the idea of seeing him again filled you with joy instead of dread. You debated not going, but the ticket was non-refundable, and deep down, you couldn’t resist the thought of seeing him again. Even if it hurt.

The day of the fan meeting came, and you moved through it like a ghost. The outfit you’d chosen weeks ago: a perfect blend of cute and casual now felt heavy on your body now. The usual excitement you felt while waiting in line, surrounded by fans buzzing with energy, was absent.

When Sunghoon finally stepped onto the stage, the crowd erupted in cheers, screams, and tears. You looked up at him, your breath hitching for a moment. He looked just as perfect as you remembered, his dark hair falling over his forehead, his smile as radiant as ever.

But as you watched him laugh and interact with the crowd, you felt none of the joy you used to. Instead, it felt like watching a stranger. The man who had held you, who had whispered promises in your ear, felt so far away now.

Your eyes followed him as he scanned the crowd, his gaze briefly landing on yours. Your heart leapt despite itself, but the moment passed as quickly as it came. His expression didn’t change. There was no flicker of recognition, no smile, no warmth. He simply looked away, moving on as if you were just another face in the sea of fans.

You tried to swallow the lump in your throat, but it refused to go away. The rest of the fan meeting blurred together, the moments dragging on painfully. By the time it ended, you felt relief—relief that you could finally leave, that you wouldn’t have to keep pretending you were okay.

You stood up, clutching your bag tightly as you made your way out of the venue. The noise of excited fans filled the air, but it all felt muffled, like you were underwater.

As you stepped outside into the cool evening air, your phone buzzed. You paused, your heart skipping a beat. Without thinking, you pulled it out, expecting it to be a notification about the event.

But it wasn’t.

His name flashed across your screen.

Your breath caught as you opened the message, your fingers trembling.

“Same place. Tonight.”

You didn’t reply. You didn’t need to. Deep down, you knew you’d go.

For a moment, you felt like the world was spinning too fast, like you were losing control. And maybe that’s exactly what he wanted.

Because even though you knew better, even though every part of you screamed that this wasn’t love, you stayed.

And he knew you would.

[majikkulu]

━━ ❝MASTERLIST❞

in this pick-a-card reading, we’ll explore the dynamic between you and your future spouse. i’ll also mention a couple that might represent this energy! keep in mind this is a general reading, so take what resonates and leave what doesn’t.

choose the picture or pile you feel most drawn to, and let the magic unfold!

𓂃⋆.˚

PILE ONE this relationship will unfold naturally, like the seasons shifting without force. it will grow with honesty, fairness, and mutual respect as its foundation. clear communication will be the key to keeping the balance, ensuring neither of you feels ignored or burdened. for some, this bond carries the weight of karmic lessons, teaching responsibility and the importance of compromise. you’ll both need to break free from old patterns, the ones that no longer serve you, and though it may be hard at times, it will ultimately strengthen your connection. there will be moments of insecurity, of overthinking, when past wounds resurface and make you question yourself. the road will be bumpy, but you’ll work through it, each challenge bringing you closer. in your relationship, you’ll find a safe space for your fears, where they can be acknowledged and healed. remember to speak up about your worries instead of bottling them up, for that’s where comfort and reassurance lie. even with the struggles, your journey together will be one of adventure and discovery, an optimistic energy that propels you forward. you’ll explore new passions, try things you’ve never done before, bringing fresh life to the relationship. when difficult decisions arise, you’ll face them as a team, collaborating and supporting each other. the spark between you will never fade, a constant source of excitement and inspiration, much like the playful, yet profound bond between darcy and elizabeth from pride and prejudice.

PILE TWO the attraction between you and your future spouse will be undeniable, a force that draws you together in a way that feels almost magnetic. there will be a shared spark, whether it’s in your passions, hobbies, or your spontaneous approach to life. you’ll always find ways to keep things exciting and fresh. however, the rush to dive into new experiences together might sometimes cause you to overlook important conversations or decisions, creating moments of distraction. one of you will naturally take on the role of protector, guiding the relationship with a steady hand. this balance of energy will feel seamless, with one partner bringing structure and tradition to the table, while the other infuses the relationship with adventure. there will also be moments when you both need to step back, recharge, or reflect. this isn’t about taking breaks from the relationship, but more about honoring the space needed to reconnect with yourselves. during these times, your bond will deepen. still, there may be times when emotional distance creeps in, when one of you withdraws, creating a sense of disconnection. it’s important not to take each other for granted and to remain present with one another. if emotional walls start to build, addressing them openly will be key to maintaining your connection. this dynamic brings to mind the unpredictable, intense bond between joker and harley quinn—wildly passionate, sometimes turbulent, but always deeply tied together.

PILE THREE one of you may approach the relationship with a sense of caution and guardedness, especially when it comes to trust and vulnerability. there might be a tendency to cling to what feels familiar and safe, possibly due to past wounds or the fear of losing control. it could take some time for either of you to fully open up and let your guard down. but there will be a conscious effort to release old burdens, responsibilities, and overwhelming emotions. both you and your future spouse have likely carried heavy emotional loads in past experiences, and now is the time to let go. this process won’t just bring relief—it will offer freedom. you’ll work together to relieve  each other’s stress and anxiety, helping one another shed the emotional weight that’s been carried for too long. in this relationship, mutual support will be the cornerstone. both of you will contribute equally to every aspect of the relationship, with a healthy balance of giving and receiving. neither of you will feel neglected or drained, as there will always be a steady flow of energy between you. this partnership will be dynamic and forward-looking, with both of you constantly seeking ways to build your future together, eager to grow and expand your horizons. it will be a relationship where both parties are deeply invested in lifting each other up, supporting one another’s growth, and shaping a life full of shared dreams. it brings to mind the bond between fiona and shrek—two people with different worlds.