#It's the etheral blurred light...

[sskk-manifesto]

--

[terralysium]

[yaghrib]

Illusion of Escape in the Infinite.

Yaghrib 2023.

[animex001]

[diaryofasymmetryworker]

// PURPLE SUPREMACY? //

photographed by me (sparkling universe.)

[flux1563]

Between two worlds ft. Gaeul

Words : 9k

Tags : multiple orgasm, squirting, public sex, creampie

In the bustling heart of Seoul, where neon lights painted the night in vivid hues, there was a young woman named Gaeul. Known to millions as the ethereal center of a chart-topping K-pop group, she had the kind of white skin and skinny frame that seemed to float on the pages of glossy magazines. Her eyes, a deep brown, held a spark that could electrify an entire stadium. With a height of 164 cm, she cut a delicate figure, her every move a study in precision and poise.

Gaeul stepped out of the luxurious van that had brought her to the club, the paparazzi's flashes leaving afterimages like a trail of shooting stars in her vision. The air had the promise of music and mischief, a stark contrast to the meticulously crafted image she presented to the world. The club's bassline thrummed through her, setting her nerves alight with an energy she hadn't felt in months. A rare night out, away from the suffocating embrace of her manager's schedule, she craved the anonymity of the pulsating crowd.

Inside, the club was a cavern of shadows and strobing lights, the air thick with the scent of expensive perfume and the sweat of freedom. Gaeul felt a rush of exhilaration as she slipped into the throng, her heart racing in time with the music. The press of bodies, the smiles and whispers of recognition that danced around her, it was all a thrilling masquerade.

Her eyes fell upon you, Y/N, a stranger amidst the sea of faces. You were tall, with broad shoulders that tapered down to a waist that made her heart flutter. There was something about your confident stride, the way you moved with the music, that spoke of a soul unshackled by the constraints of the world outside these walls. You noticed her watching, and for a moment, your gazes locked, the music fading to a distant hum as the world narrowed to just the two of you.

Gaeul felt an unexplainable pull, a gravitational force drawing her to you. She approached, her heart a wild drumline in her chest. You didn't flinch at her celebrity, instead, you offered a genuine smile that made her feel like she was more than just the sum of her parts. Together, you began to dance, your movements complementing each other's as if you'd been partners for a lifetime. The air around you crackled with an undeniable chemistry.

The dance floor became a stage, the spotlight of the DJ's attention shifting to the magnetic pair. Your hands found hers, and the electricity grew stronger, a dance of fingers and palms that spoke a language more intimate than words. As the music reached a crescendo, the tension between you was palpable, a silent symphony of attraction that could no longer be contained.

Her heart racing, Gaeul leaned in, and you met her halfway. Your lips met in a kiss that was fiery yet tender, a secret shared in the chaos of the dance floor. It was a moment out of time, a silent promise that the night had only just begun. When you finally pulled away, breathless and grinning, she whispered in your ear, "Would you come to my apartment?" The question hung in the air, laden with anticipation and desire. Without a moment's hesitation, you nodded, your eyes reflecting the excitement that danced in hers.

You followed her out of the club, the cool night air a stark contrast to the warm embrace of the club's interior. Gaeul led the way to a sleek, black sedan parked at the curb, the engine purring quietly. The driver opened the door for her, and she slid in, beckoning for you to join her. The car's interior was a cocoon of luxury, the leather seats enveloping you both as you sped through the neon-lit streets of Seoul. The city passed by in a blur, a vibrant tapestry of life outside the window that seemed so far removed from the intimate bubble you now shared.

The sedan pulled up to a towering building, its glass façade gleaming under the moonlight. Gaeul's apartment was high above the city, a penthouse that offered a breathtaking panorama of the urban sprawl. The elevator ride was a silent countdown to an unknown future, the air thick with the promise of what lay beyond the doors. As the elevator dinged and the doors slid open, Gaeul took your hand, her touch sending a shiver down your spine.

Her apartment was a sanctuary, a stark contrast to the chaos of her public life. The walls were adorned with art that spoke of quiet contemplation, and the floor was a cool marble that seemed to whisper secrets underfoot. The living room was bathed in soft, muted lighting, casting an intimate glow over the plush sofas and the grand piano that sat in the corner, a silent sentinel of her other passion. Gaeul slipped off her heels, the sound echoing through the space, and you followed suit, feeling the comfort of the plush carpet beneath your feet.

Without a word, you took her hand, leading her to the couch. The tension between you had grown into something palpable, a living entity that demanded release. You leaned in, your eyes never leaving hers, and kissed her again, deeper this time, your tongues exploring the uncharted territory of each other's mouths. Her hands found their way to your shoulders, then slid down to the hem of your shirt, her fingertips tracing the lines of your abdomen as she pushed the fabric upward.

Gaeul's skin was warm and soft, and as you touched her, she shivered with pleasure. Your kisses grew more urgent, your hands working in tandem to strip away the layers that separated you. Her dress fell to the floor, revealing the lacy lingerie beneath, a stark contrast to the armor she wore on stage. She broke the kiss only to whisper a breathy "yes," her eyes never leaving yours, a silent invitation to continue.

With trembling fingers, you unclipped her bra, letting it fall to the floor with a whisper of fabric. Her breasts were small but perfect, the nipples peaked with desire. You took one in your mouth, teasing it with your tongue as she gasped and arched her back. Her hands found the button of your pants, and with a flick of her wrist, the zipper was undone. You stepped out of them, leaving only your boxers as a barrier to the warmth of her touch.

The air was heavy with the scent of desire, a heady mix of perfume and pheromones that seemed to amplify every sensation. Your heart was racing, the blood pounding in your ears as you slid her panties down her legs, revealing the apex of her thighs. She was bare and beautiful, and you couldn't help but marvel at the sight before you. Gaeul reached for you, her hand wrapping around your hardness, her touch sending shockwaves through your body.

Her cheeks flushed a delicate shade of pink as she caught you staring. "Don't look at me like that," she murmured, but the way she said it was more of a challenge than a reprimand. Her eyes held a playful glint, and you could see the excitement dancing in their depths. You met her gaze, unable to resist the allure of her unblemished skin and the way her body responded to your touch. She was a vision, and you were the lucky one who got to behold her.

With a smirk, you leaned in and whispered, "I think your fans will envy me," your voice low and teasing. The laugh that bubbled from her was genuine, a sound that didn't often reach the ears of the outside world. It was a rare glimpse into the person she was when the lights and cameras weren't watching. She playfully swatted at your chest, but her hand lingered, her thumb tracing circles over your heart.

You took the cue and gently pulled her closer, your hand sliding around to unbutton your shirt. As the fabric parted, revealing your bare chest and abs, Gaeul's eyes widened in surprise. But it was the sight of your boxers, straining against your arousal, that truly left her speechless. With a sense of the dramatic flair that was part of your own nature, you slid the boxers down, freeing your erection. It stood proudly, the size of it making even Gaeul gasp. Her eyes were glued to the thick length of you, her pupils dilating as she took in the full view.

Her hand reached out tentatively, her fingertips brushing against your skin. The sensation was electric, sending shockwaves through your body. She wrapped her hand around you, her grip firm yet gentle, and began to stroke. It was a heady experience, having this goddess of K-pop, adored by millions, worship your body in the quiet sanctity of her penthouse.

With a hunger that could no longer be contained, you guided her to the plush carpet. The coolness of the floor sent a thrill up her spine as you laid her down, her legs spreading to accommodate your weight. Your kisses grew more fervent as they trailed down her neck, her collarbone, her breasts, until finally, your mouth found her center. Gaeul's hips bucked in response, her body arching like a bow drawn taut.

Her grip on your hair tightened as she whispered, "Yeah, keep going, I'm gonna cum." Her voice was a sweet symphony of pleasure, the words echoing in your mind like a siren's call. You lapped at her eagerly, your tongue exploring her folds with a mastery that surprised even you. Her breaths grew ragged, her body trembling beneath you as the tension built to a crescendo.

And then she screamed. A primal, uninhibited "Ahhhh" that filled the room, her legs shaking so hard it was as if she was in the throes of a seizure. Her back arched off the floor, her body a sculpture of ecstasy as she reached her peak. The sound was a declaration of your power over her, a testament to the intimate connection you two shared in this stolen moment.

Her eyes fluttered open, and she met your gaze, a soft smile playing on her lips. "That was..." she began, but the words trailed off as she struggled to find the right ones. You kissed her thigh, the taste of her still lingering on your tongue, feeling a sense of pride and satisfaction. You had given her something she hadn't experienced before, something real and raw and utterly human.

After catching her breath, Gaeul pushed herself up onto her knees, her eyes never leaving yours. Your cock stood tall and proud before her, a symbol of your desire for her. She reached out tentatively, her hand cupping you with a reverence that made you ache.

"Is this your first time with a cock this big?" you asked, a hint of curiosity in your voice.

Gaeul nodded, her cheeks still flushed from her orgasm. "Yes," she murmured, her eyes wide and earnest. "In all the glamour of this industry, the men are often... less than adequate." Her confession was a stark reminder of the hidden truths behind the glitzy façade of stardom.

With a gentle smirk, you leaned back, giving her more room to explore. "Don't worry," you assured her, your voice low and soothing. "I'll go slow." Her hand hovered over your erection, her thumb tracing the vein that pulsed along the shaft. Her curiosity was palpable, and you felt a thrill at the thought of being her guide in this new realm of pleasure.

You took her hand and brought it closer, wrapping her delicate fingers around your girth. "Start with your hand," you instructed, showing her how to pump gently. Gaeul's eyes were wide with fascination as she followed your lead, her grip tightening and loosening in time with your demonstration. The sight of her small hand trying to encircle your cock was more arousing than you could've ever imagined.

"Now, use your mouth," you said, your voice a gentle command. Gaeul leaned in, her eyes never leaving yours. She kissed the tip, her soft lips a tantalizing promise of what was to come. You felt your cock twitch in anticipation as she took you into her mouth, her teeth grazing your sensitive skin. You guided her, showing her how to take more of you in without gagging, her eyes watering slightly as she adjusted to your size.

You praised her with murmurs of approval, encouraging her as she found her rhythm. Her cheeks hollowed with effort, and she took you deeper, her tongue swirling around the head in a dance that had you gritting your teeth to hold back. She was a fast learner, eager and attentive. Each stroke of her mouth sent bolts of pleasure shooting through your body, making your toes curl and your abs tighten.

Gaeul's eyes remained locked on yours as she bobbed up and down, her hand still working in tandem with her lips. You could see the concentration in her eyes, the determination to please you. It was a heady feeling, one that only served to amplify your desire. You reached down to caress her cheek, the silkiness of her skin a stark contrast to the rough stubble on your own.

Her eyes grew more focused, more intense, as she took you deeper still. The saliva from her mouth coated your length, making it slick and easier to glide in and out of her. You felt your control slipping, your hips beginning to thrust gently, urging her to take more of you in. Her moans of effort only served to turn you on further, the vibrations resonating through your cock and straight to your core.

"Glukk... glukk... glukk," she murmured, the wet sound of her mouth enveloping you. You watched in amazement as she took you in, her cheeks hollowed out, her throat working around you. Gaeul had never felt so alive, so in the moment. The power dynamics of their world had flipped, and she was in control, the one bringing pleasure to the person she had once thought untouchable.

"Ahh, so tight and warm, Gaeul," you moaned, the words sending a bolt of pleasure straight to her core. She redoubled her efforts, eager to hear more of those delicious sounds. You could feel your orgasm building, the tension in your body tightening like a coil ready to spring. Your hand found its way to the back of her head, guiding her, setting a rhythm that had your toes curling in the plush carpet.

Her eyes watered and she gagged a little, but she didn't stop. Instead, she took it as a challenge, pushing herself to take more of you in. The sounds of her efforts grew more urgent, a symphony of "glukk" and "gluk" as she worked her mouth along your length. You watched in amazement, feeling your climax near, the base of your cock swelling with each passing second.

And then it hit. "Ahh, I'm cumming," you warned, your voice strained with pleasure. But instead of slowing down, you thrust into her mouth harder, faster, your hand tightening in her hair. Gaeul took it all, her eyes never leaving yours, her own arousal spiking at the sight of your pleasure. Your cock pulsed, and she felt the hot, thick jets of cum hit the back of her throat. She swallowed instinctively, her eyes widening in surprise at the taste and the sensation of having you come in her mouth.

As the last tremors of your orgasm subsided, you pulled away, leaving Gaeul panting and gasping for air. Her lips were swollen and wet, a testament to her dedication. You watched as she licked her lips, savoring the taste of you. "Wow," she murmured, a hint of awe in her voice. "That was..."

You chuckled, running a thumb over her plump lower lip, catching a rogue droplet of cum. "A little too much?"

Gaeul's eyes twinkled with mischief. "No," she said, swiping her tongue across her lips. "It's perfect." She sat up, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand.

The power had shifted again, and now it was your turn to be the eager pupil. "Get on all fours," you told her, your voice firm but not unkind. Gaeul's heart raced at the command, and she felt a thrill of excitement at the thought of being taken so primally. She obeyed, her skinny body moving with the grace of a gazelle as she got onto her hands and knees on the plush carpet.

Her ass was high in the air, the perfect handfuls of flesh that you hadn't been able to stop thinking about since the moment you saw her in the club. You knelt behind her, taking a moment to appreciate the view. Gaeul glanced back over her shoulder, a seductive smile playing on her lips. "Is this what you want?" she purred, the challenge in her tone unmistakable.

You didn't answer with words, instead, you lined yourself up with her slick, waiting entrance. With one firm thrust, you pushed into her, the sound of your hips slapping against her skin echoing through the penthouse. Gaeul's gasp was music to your ears, her "Ahhhh" a symphony of pleasure and surprise as you filled her completely. Her walls tightened around you, a velvet vise that had you groaning with the intensity of sensation.

"Already cumming? Such a needy slut," you murmured, your voice a mix of amusement and satisfaction. Gaeul's eyes flashed with a hint of defiance, but she didn't deny it. Instead, she pushed back into you, urging you to go deeper. Your rhythm grew faster, the sound of skin on skin punctuating the quiet of the night. Each stroke sent waves of pleasure through her body, making her feel alive in a way she hadn't in years.

"Yeah, fuck me like a dirty slut," she repeated, her voice a throaty growl that sent a shiver down your spine. The words were like a drug, spurring you on to claim her even more fiercely. You reached around to find her clit, rubbing it in circles as you pounded into her. Gaeul's moans grew louder, a symphony of pleasure that filled the room. Her body trembled with each thrust, her muscles tightening around you as she approached another orgasm.

Her nails dug into the carpet, the pain a sharp counterpoint to the exquisite feeling of you inside her. "Harder," she begged, her voice a desperate whine. You didn't hold back, slamming into her with all the force you had. The sound of your hips smacking against her ass filled the air, a rhythm that matched the pounding in your chest. You could feel her pussy getting tighter, her body preparing for another powerful release.

"Oh, fuck, yes," Gaeul moaned, her voice hoarse with passion. "Make it hurt so good."

Her words were like gasoline on a fire, and you picked up the pace, each thrust more powerful than the last. Your hands gripped her hips tightly, leaving bruises that would serve as reminders of this illicit night. Gaeul's body moved in sync with yours, her hips pushing back to meet your every advance. The sound of skin slapping skin filled the air, a cacophony of desire that drowned out the distant sounds of the city.

With a wicked grin, you raised your hand and brought it down sharply on her ass. The slap echoed through the room, and she yelped, "Ahh, it hurts!" But the way she pushed back into you, the way her pussy clenched around your cock, told you she didn't mean it. You smacked her again, the sound louder this time, leaving a red handprint on her pale skin. Her moan was a mix of pain and pleasure, a siren's song that only made you want to give her more.

Her breath grew ragged, and she began to chant, "Fuck, fuck, fuck, I'm gonna cum again." Her words were a sweet incantation, a spell that had you utterly captivated. Without a second thought, you reached for your phone, the glow of the screen briefly illuminating your face. You started to record, capturing every second of her impending release.

But then, she looked back at you, her eyes wide with a sudden panic. "Don't record it," Gaeul said.

You paused, your hand hovering over your phone, a smirk playing on your lips. "Don't lie, Gaeul. Your pussy gets tighter when I record it," you said, your voice a low purr of challenge. She bit her lip, the internal struggle clear on her face. The thrill of the forbidden, the knowledge that this moment could be captured and watched again, was too tempting.

Her eyes searched yours, and you knew she was weighing the risks. The walls of her penthouse were thick, the chances of anyone hearing them minimal. But the thought of being caught, the possibility of the video leaking, was a thrill she hadn't experienced in a long time. Gaeul's breath hitched as she nodded, a silent permission for you to continue. You tapped the record button again, the red light a beacon of their shared desire.

With renewed vigor, you slammed into her, each stroke a declaration of your dominance. Your hand fell in a steady rhythm, the slap of your palm against her skin echoing through the room. Her cries grew louder, a symphony of pleasure that matched the beat of your hips. Each smack was met with a whine and a thrust, her body begging for more as you painted a picture of passion on the canvas of her skin. The red handprint grew darker with each hit, a brand of your claim on her perfect ass.

"Fuck, Gaeul, I'm gonna cum," you growled, the words a declaration of war on your last shred of control. She looked back at you, her eyes glazed with desire, her cheeks flushed from the exertion and the sting of your hand.

"Just cum inside me," she breathed, her voice a desperate plea that sent a shiver down your spine. "Fill me up." It was a demand that was as much a declaration of trust as it was a bid for dominance.

With a roar of pleasure, you did as she asked, releasing a torrent of cum deep within her, marking her as yours. Gaeul's body convulsed around you, her own orgasm crashing over her like a wave. She collapsed onto the floor, her legs trembling, her breath coming in ragged gasps.

You pulled out of her, the sight of her gaping pussy, slick with your seed, making you groan. You couldn't help but capture it, the phone's camera zooming in on the intimate view. Her body was a canvas of pleasure, sweat glistening on her skin, the red handprint on her ass a stark contrast to her porcelain complexion. You moved to film her face, the camera capturing her flushed cheeks, her eyes glazed with satisfaction, her swollen lips parted in a soft moan.

Gaeul looked up at you, her eyes hooded with passion. "Show me," she panted, her voice barely above a whisper. You handed her the phone, and she took it with shaking hands, her eyes devouring the footage. The sight of herself being fucked so thoroughly, her body's reactions laid bare, was intoxicating. She watched as you recorded her, the video a testament to the raw, primal connection you shared.

The video played on a loop, the sounds of your lovemaking a siren's call that drew you both back in. Each groan and sigh, each smack of your hand against her flesh, was a reminder of the power and vulnerability you had shared. The red handprint on her ass was a trophy, a symbol of your passion, and she traced it with a fingertip, the slight sting sending a fresh jolt of arousal through her.

The room was filled with the scent of sex and sweat, a heady aroma that seemed to cling to the air. You sat beside her, your legs tangled together, watching the footage unfold. Gaeul's hand drifted between her legs, her fingers finding her sensitive clit. The sight of her touching herself, her body still trembling from your touch, was too much to bear. Your cock grew hard again, eager to claim her once more.

Without a word, you leaned over and took the phone from her, setting it aside. "Let me show you how much of a slut you are," you murmured, your voice thick with desire. You pushed her onto her back and spread her legs wide, the camera capturing the moment with a cold, unflinching eye. Her pussy was open and inviting, your cum leaking out of her and down her thighs. You dipped a finger in, watching as her eyes rolled back in her head.

You brought your hand to her mouth, the scent of sex strong on your skin. "Taste yourself," you ordered, and she obeyed, sucking your finger with a hunger that surprised even you. Gaeul's tongue swirled around your digit, tasting her own juices mixed with yours. The sight was too much, and you found yourself growing harder still, your need for her insatiable.

You leaned down, your cock nudging against her entrance. She was so wet, so open, that it took no effort to slide back in. Her legs wrapped around you, her heels digging into your back as you began to move again, the rhythm slower, more deliberate. The camera rolled, capturing every intimate moment, every gasp and moan, every bead of sweat that rolled down her body.

The world outside the penthouse walls had ceased to exist. In this moment, there was only you and Gaeul, your bodies joined in a dance of passion and power. And as you watched the footage, you knew that this was only the beginning. The night was still young, and there was so much more to explore, so much more to conquer. The story of your forbidden union was being written in sweat and sighs, in the stark red of her ass and the glint of the camera lens.

You moved from position to position, each one more intimate, more erotic than the last. Gaeul's lithe body was a canvas for your desires, her moans the brushstrokes that painted the picture of your pleasure. You recorded every moment, every twitch and spasm, every gasp and cry. Her legs wrapped around you in a vice-like grip, her heels digging into your back as you claimed her in every way possible. You watched the reflection in the floor-to-ceiling windows, the two of you a tableau of lust that could never be forgotten.

When you were both spent, you led her to the bathroom, the marble countertop cold against her skin as you sat her down. The room was bathed in a soft, candlelit glow, the steam from the running tub a gentle caress against your skin. You filled the tub with water scented with jasmine and lavender, the fragrance a gentle reprieve from the raw scent of sex that hung in the air.

With a lazy grin, you grabbed the phone from the floor, the wetness from the pool of your combined juices smearing across the screen. You sat cross-legged in the tub, the water lapping against your skin as you began to scroll through the footage. Gaeul leaned against you, her head on your shoulder, her eyes glued to the screen.

"See, baby?" you said, your voice smug as you played back the moments of her body shuddering under your touch. "You're a fucking goddess."

Her cheeks flushed with a mix of pride and embarrassment. "It's just... I've never felt this way before," she murmured, her voice barely audible over the sound of the running water. "It's so raw, so... real."

You chuckled and kissed her temple. "And that's what makes it hot," you said, your hand idly stroking her thigh. "You should think about it, though. An OnlyFans account. You'd make a fortune."

Her eyes snapped to yours, a spark of excitement in them. "Really?" she breathed. "You think so?"

You nodded, your cock stirring again at the thought of her sharing her beauty with the world. "Just blur your face," you said, your voice a low rumble. "Let them see the body that drives them wild every time you're on stage."

The idea grew in her mind like a seed planted in fertile ground. Anonymity had always been a struggle in her line of work, but this... this could be her escape. A way to claim power over her sexuality and share her passion without the constraints of her public image.

The water grew cold around you, but neither of you noticed as you continued to watch the steamy scenes play out. Gaeul's hand trailed down to her pussy, her fingers idly toying with her clit as the video played. You felt your own arousal stirring once again, your cock thickening against her back.

With a growl, you turned her to face you, the water sloshing around you both. "Again?" she whispered, a mischievous smile playing on her lips.

"Always," you replied, your eyes dark with lust.

The night went on like a never-ending symphony of pleasure, each position a new note to be played. You recorded it all, the camera capturing every inch of her body as you explored each other with an intensity that left you both breathless. The walls of the penthouse echoed with your moans, the sound of slapping flesh a testament to your unbridled passion.

In the days that followed, Gaeul found herself in a whirlwind of excitement and anticipation. The idea of creating an OnlyFans account, a secret garden where she could share her sexuality without the prying eyes of her fans and management, was intoxicating. She chose the name 'like kim gaeul' as a clever nod to her stage persona, a way to keep her identity hidden while still giving a nod to her public image.

The first content she uploaded was a still from that fateful night, a shot of her bent over in doggystyle, your hand raised in mid-air, poised to deliver a firm spank. The caption read, "Imagine Kim Gaeul getting spanked in this position." The photo was tasteful yet tantalizing, a teaser that had subscribers clamoring for more. The power of anonymity was intoxicating, allowing her to express herself without the fear of judgment or repercussion.

The comments section exploded with excitement, the words "Wow, she's like Gaeul," "Gaeul is such a slut in this," and "I can't believe she's doing this" repeated over and over. Each message sent a thrill through her, the knowledge that she was giving them something they hadn't expected, something that made them question everything they knew about their favorite idol. It was a heady feeling, one that had her body buzzing with anticipation.

Her subscribers grew by the hundreds, and with each new member, Gaeul felt a little more powerful. The thrill of being someone else, of being the slut they all dreamed of, was like a drug. She found herself eagerly checking her inbox, eager to see the reactions to her latest posts. The thought of her fans getting off to her content was a constant source of arousal, her pussy always wet and ready.

One particularly daring fan wrote, "I bet if Gaeul saw this, she'd want to be my slut too." The message was a spark that set her imagination ablaze. What would happen if the real Gaeul found out about her secret life? Would she be repulsed or intrigued? The risk was exhilarating, a thrill she hadn't felt since her early days in the industry. She decided to lean into the fantasy, posting a video with the caption, "What if Gaeul was really this naughty?" Her heart raced as she hit send, the anticipation of their reactions a delicious torment.

The feedback was overwhelming, a deluge of comments praising her beauty, her brazenness, her willingness to be their fantasy. It was like a drug, each message feeding the fire in her belly, making her want more. The line between Gaeul the idol and Gaeul the slut grew thinner, until she could almost believe it herself. Her mind raced with ideas for new content, each more daring than the last. The persona she had created was a siren's call, drawing her further into a world where she was in complete control of her own desires and the desires of others.

In the dim light of her penthouse, surrounded by the trappings of her celebrity life, Gaeul felt a sense of freedom she hadn't experienced in years. The mask she had worn for so long had been shattered, revealing the woman beneath, and she liked what she saw. The feedback from her subscribers was a balm to her soul, a validation of her sexuality that she had been craving for so long.

And so, she continued to upload, each video and photo more explicit than the last. She lost herself in the role, becoming the slut they all wanted her to be, the goddess of their darkest dreams. The comments grew bolder, more demanding, and she reveled in it. The thought of her fans jerking off to her was a thrill that never waned, a reminder of the power she held in her slender fingers.

The more she posted, the more she realized that she was not just playing a role; she was rediscovering herself. The shy, insecure girl who had been molded into a star was giving way to a woman who knew what she wanted and was unafraid to take it. Her OnlyFans was a declaration of independence, a middle finger to the industry that had tried to control her every move.

But amidst the pleasure, there was always the fear. The fear of being found out, the fear of losing everything she had worked so hard for. Yet, she couldn't deny the thrill it brought her. Each time she posted, she felt like she was playing with fire, and she liked the burn.

As the weeks turned into months, Gaeul's account grew in popularity. Her subscribers were devoted, showering her with praise and money.

One evening, she found herself staring at a blank screen, her mind racing. The thrill of the new had worn off, and she was desperate for something that would set her apart from the sea of other creators. Inspiration struck her like a bolt of lightning. "Y/n," she whispered into the phone, her voice a seductive purr. "I need content for my OnlyFans. Let's do something wild... like public sex."

Your heart skipped a beat at the suggestion. The excitement of the potential risk and the thrill of the forbidden had your blood racing. "Are you sure?" you asked, playing it cool despite the rush of adrenaline coursing through your veins.

"Yes," she said, the determination in her voice unmistakable. "We're going to do it. And it's going to be amazing."

The adrenaline was palpable as you picked her up in your sleek black sports car, the engine purring beneath you like a living beast. The city lights reflected off the windows, creating a dazzling array of color that bled into the dark leather of the seats.

As Gaeul stepped inside, you watched with anticipation as she slipped off her top and unclipped her bra, the fabric sliding off her shoulders like a lover's caress. She was a vision in the soft glow of the car's interior lights, her small breasts bouncing gently as she complied with your command. The oversized jacket was thrown over her shoulders, swamping her slender frame, a stark contrast to the tight dress she had worn to the club. She slid the vibrator into her wetness, the sound of it buzzing to life a symphony of excitement in the confined space.

"Now what is the plan?" Gaeul asked, her eyes gleaming with mischief.

"Let's go to the mall," you suggested, the excitement building in your voice. "We'll make a vlog in there."

Her eyes widened, a mix of surprise and arousal. "Really?" she whispered, her voice shaky with excitement. "That's so risky."

You chuckled, reaching over to stroke her thigh. "Isn't that part of the fun?" You pressed a button on the vibrator's controller, and she gasped as it buzzed to life against her clit. She nodded, her breath hitching as you began to drive, navigating the streets of Seoul with one hand while the other played with the intensity of the vibrations.

The drive to the mall was a delicious mix of anticipation and pleasure. With every stop light, you increased the power, watching her squirm in her seat. Her eyes darted around, searching for any signs of recognition, but the streets were mostly empty, the only witnesses the occasional neon signs flickering to life in the night.

"You're going to make me cum before we even get there," she murmured, her voice tight with need. Her hand rested on your thigh, her nails digging in as the vibrations grew more intense.

"That's the plan," you said, your eyes never leaving the road. You had to admit, the thrill of it all was making it harder to focus on driving, but you weren't about to let that ruin the moment. You took a deep breath and concentrated on the task at hand, both literally and figuratively.

When you finally pulled into the mall's parking lot, you killed the engine and turned to her. "Ready?"

Gaeul nodded, a wicked smile playing on her lips as she took the mini camera from the center console. She attached it to your button shirt, making sure it was angled down to capture everything. The anticipation was like a living thing in the car, pulsing with every heartbeat.

You stepped out of the car, her hand in yours, the vibrator still nestled between her legs. The mall's bright lights washed over you both as you walked towards the entrance, her hips swaying slightly with each step. The thrill of what you were about to do made your heart race. Gaeul's hand was in your pocket, the vibrator's controller hidden from view as she expertly manipulated the settings, keeping her on the edge of ecstasy.

The mall was bustling with life, shoppers milling about with bags in hand, the sound of laughter and music filling the air. Despite the chaos, Gaeul's eyes never left yours. She leaned into you, her breath hot against your ear. "Keep going," she murmured, her voice a seductive whisper. The vibrator's intensity grew, and she stifled a moan, her knees threatening to buckle.

You led her through the crowded corridors, her hand tightening around yours as you passed by a group of teenagers, their heads swiveling to catch a glimpse of the famous idol. They had no idea what she was hiding beneath the oversized jacket, her pussy singing a silent symphony of pleasure with every step she took. You felt a rush of power, knowing that you had her right where you wanted her.

The camera captured everything, the secret life of a kpop star laid bare for the eyes of her devoted fans. She was both Gaeul the idol and 'like kim gaeul' the slut, and the dichotomy was intoxicating. You stopped in front of a lingerie store, the mannequins in the window dressed in lacy garments that made you think of her.

With a grin, you whispered, "Pick something out. Something that makes you feel like a slut." She blushed but didn't hesitate, her hand moving to the controller to reduce the intensity just enough to regain control. She stepped away, the vibrator still humming against her clit, as she scanned the racks of underwear.

You watched as she chose a black lace set, her eyes never leaving yours. The vibrator was a constant reminder of what was to come, a silent promise of pleasure that had her moving with a sensual grace that drew the attention of those around her. As she stepped into the changing room, you couldn't resist the urge to join her, the camera rolling as you closed the door behind you.

The small space was filled with the scent of new fabric and arousal as you both shed your clothes. She stepped into the lingerie, her body a canvas of desire. You took the camera and captured every moment, her skin glowing in the fluorescent light.

The vibrator was forgotten for a moment as you kissed, your hands roaming over her body, reacquainting themselves with every curve and dip. But soon enough, the need for more took over, and she slipped the panties to the side, exposing herself to the cool air. You took the controller and cranked it up, watching as her body responded, her eyes rolling back in pleasure.

The mall outside was oblivious to the erotic scene unfolding in the cramped changing room, the camera capturing every gasp and shiver. The sound of fabric rustling and the low murmur of shoppers' conversations were a stark contrast to the symphony of moans that filled the space.

As the vibrator brought her to the brink, you whispered, "Do it, baby. Cum for them." And with a scream that was muffled by your hand, she did, her body convulsing as the orgasm crashed over her. The camera kept rolling, capturing the moment of pure, unadulterated bliss that she had never allowed herself to feel before.

You both stepped out of the changing room, her face flushed, her eyes sparkling with the aftermath of her climax. The vibrator was tucked away, the secret of her pleasure safely hidden. The thrill of what had just transpired had her moving with an extra sway in her hips, a silent announcement to the world of what she had just done.

You led her through the mall, the vibrator's buzz a constant reminder of your shared power play. She bit her lip to stifle the moans that threatened to escape, her eyes darting around nervously. Each time you stopped to browse or chat with fans, she had to fight the urge to lean into you, to beg for more.

The feeling of the vibrator against her clit as you walked through the crowded mall was a delicious form of torture. Each step was a battle between maintaining her composure and succumbing to the pleasure that threatened to consume her. Her breath grew shallower, her eyes glassy with need as the minutes ticked by. The shoppers around her had no idea that their favorite idol was being brought to the edge of ecstasy right beside them.

You couldn't resist the urge to push her further. You whispered in her ear, "Keep walking, baby. Just a little longer." Each word was a challenge, a promise of more to come. The vibrator remained nestled between her legs, the humming a constant presence that had her legs trembling.

Gaeul managed to keep it together, though just barely. The feeling of you in control, of her body responding so viscerally to your commands, was a heady mix of fear and desire. She walked with you, her hand in yours, her body a live wire of pleasure.

Her steps grew more erratic as the vibrator continued to pulse against her, and you could see the struggle in her eyes. The mall's lights played across her flushed skin, casting shadows that only served to highlight her arousal. She bit her lip hard enough to draw blood, her eyes darting around as if searching for an escape from the relentless wave of pleasure that threatened to overwhelm her.

As you stepped out into the cool night air, Gaeul's grip on your hand tightened, her breaths coming in short, desperate gasps. "I can't... I can't take it anymore," she whimpered, her voice strained with need.

"Just hold it," you murmured into her ear, your voice a seductive rumble that sent shivers down her spine. "200 meters to the left is our car. Think about the rush when we finally get there."

Her eyes widened with a mix of terror and excitement, but she nodded. The vibrator was a persistent reminder of the thrill you were both chasing. You continued your leisurely stroll through the parking lot, Gaeul's hand in yours, the camera capturing every step she took.

As you approached the halfway point, Gaeul's resolve crumbled. With a gasp, she pulled away, her jacket and panties pooling at her ankles. The cold concrete met her bare skin, sending goosebumps racing across her body. She didn't care about the stares or the whispers, all she could focus on was the pulsing need between her legs. The vibrator slipped out of her and she stepped away from you, her hands moving to her clit.

"Oh fuck," she moaned, her legs shaking as the first spurt of pleasure shot through her. The vibrator lay forgotten on the ground as she squirted, her juices painting an abstract pattern on the pavement. The sight of her, standing there in the open, unabashedly claiming her sexuality was more than you could handle. Your cock throbbed in your pants, begging for release.

With a primal growl, you swooped her up into your arms, carrying her like a bride across the threshold. She wrapped her legs around your waist, her naked body pressed against yours, her pussy still quivering from the aftershocks of her orgasm. The cool night air kissed her skin, sending shivers down her spine that only served to heighten her arousal.

When you reached the car, you set her down gently, the anticipation thick between you. Her eyes locked onto the prize, the thick, throbbing cock that had brought her so much pleasure already that night. Without a word, she knelt before you, her hands trembling as she gripped your shaft firmly.

The cool air of the parking lot caressed her bare skin as she took you in her mouth, her eyes never leaving yours. The feel of her warm, wet mouth around you was almost too much to bear, but you held back, enjoying the show of power she had become so adept at giving. The vibrations from her pussy had made her desperate for release, and now she was eager to return the favor.

Her mouth worked you with the skill of a pro, her tongue dancing around the head, teasing the slit before taking you deep. You could feel her eagerness, her hunger for your pleasure a mirror to your own. The camera captured it all, the look of pure need on her face, the way her eyes watered as she took you deeper.

Her hands moved to your ass, her nails digging in as she worked you faster, her own orgasm still a fresh memory. You watched as she swallowed around you, her cheeks hollowing with each bob of her head. The sight was too much, and with a roar, you came, spilling your seed down her throat. She took it all, her eyes never leaving yours, a silent declaration of victory in her gaze.

You helped her to her feet, her legs wobbly from the intense climax. She leaned into you, her body still trembling with the aftershocks of pleasure. Behind the car, hidden from view, you didn't hold back as you kissed her deeply, tasting yourself on her lips. The adrenaline from the public display had you both on edge, your bodies craving more.

Without a word, you turned her around and bent her over the trunk, her ass in the air. The vibrator was forgotten, replaced by the need for the real thing. You lined up with her wet entrance, her moan muffled by your hand as you slammed into her. She was tight, a perfect fit around you, her pussy clenching as you began to pound into her.

The sound of your skin slapping against hers echoed through the quiet parking lot, a rhythm that grew louder with each thrust. Gaeul's eyes rolled back in pleasure, her body moving with yours in a dance that was both fierce and beautiful. The fear of being caught only added to the excitement, each grunt and gasp a silent chant of "fuck yes" that seemed to resonate through the night.

Her moans grew louder, her body begging for release. You knew she was close, could feel it in the way her pussy gripped you like a vise. With one hand, you reached around, finding her clit and pinching it hard. She came with a scream that you muffled with your hand, her body shaking violently as the orgasm ripped through her. You followed suit, your own climax a hot wave that left you weak in the knees.

You both stood there for a moment, panting, the cold metal of the car cool against your skin. The thrill of the moment had etched itself into your bones, a memory that would fuel your fantasies for weeks to come. The camera had captured it all, a testament to your wild night of rebellion and desire.

With a final, lingering kiss, you pulled away and helped her into the car. The drive to her penthouse was filled with a mix of excitement and exhaustion. You watched her in the rearview mirror, her eyes heavy with satisfaction, the glow of the city lights reflecting off her sweat-slicked skin. You couldn't help but feel a sense of pride in her transformation, from a shy idol to a sexual goddess claiming what she wanted without fear.

When you finally pulled up to her building, she took one last look at you before exiting the car, the oversized jacket still hanging loosely around her. She leaned in through the window, her eyes shining with a mix of gratitude and mischief. "Thank you for an amazing night," she murmured, her voice a seductive whisper that sent a shiver down your spine.

You watched her retreating figure as she sashayed towards the elevator, her hips still swaying with the aftermath of the intense public encounter. The thrill of it all was like a drug, leaving you craving more. As the elevator doors closed, you couldn't help but wonder what the next chapter in this secret life would hold.

Once back in her penthouse, Gaeul wasted no time in editing the video you had just shot. She sat cross-legged on the floor, her laptop open before her, her eyes glued to the screen. The sight of herself on the screen, her face contorted with pleasure, had her panties growing damp again. She felt a twinge of guilt for enjoying the objectification, but it was quickly drowned out by the rush of power and excitement it brought her.

Her nimble fingers flew across the keyboard, snipping and arranging the footage with a finesse that belied her inexperience. Each edit brought her closer to the climax she had experienced in the mall, her body responding to the visual cues she had so meticulously captured. She watched her own face, the desperation in her eyes as she came in the changing room, and her breath caught in her throat.

The video was a masterpiece of desire and rebellion, a testament to the woman she had become. Each frame was a declaration of her sexual prowess, a stark contrast to the innocent girl-next-door image her fans adored. Her heart raced as she added a seductive soundtrack, the bass thumping through her chest like a heartbeat.

Her hand slipped between her legs, her pussy already wet and aching for release. She watched herself take your cock in her mouth, her own mouth watering at the sight. The vibrator she had used earlier was forgotten in the bedroom, but she didn't need it now. Her mind was the best toy she had, replaying the sensations of the night as she touched herself.

Her strokes grew faster as she watched herself get fucked against the car, her orgasm building like a crescendo. The video was almost done, and she knew it would be a hit on her OnlyFans. The thought of her fans jerking off to her most intimate moments had her on edge, her clit swollen and begging for attention.

As she reached the climax of her editing, her own climax hit her like a wave, crashing over her body and leaving her trembling. She stared at the screen, her chest heaving, the video now a perfect representation of the raw, unbridled lust that had taken her over.

With a satisfied smile, she hit 'publish', sending the video into the abyss of the internet. The anticipation was almost as sweet as the act itself. She knew the response would be intense, the comments and messages flooding in like a storm of validation.

For a moment, she just sat there, basking in the glow of her own rebellious spirit. The line between Gaeul the idol and 'like kim gaeul' had blurred, but in that blur, she had found a sense of freedom she had never known before. She took a deep breath and leaned back, her body sated and her mind racing with ideas for the next wild adventure.

As the video spread through the depths of the internet like wildfire, the comments section grew more and more frenzied. Fans speculated, their imaginations running wild. Some posted gifs of her shocked expressions from music videos, others wrote feverishly about their newfound love for her 'naughty' side. The anonymity of the platform allowed them to express their darkest desires, and she reveled in every word.

One comment caught her eye, though. It was from an account with a profile picture that was eerily similar to one of her backup dancers. 'If real gaeul watching this...' it read, followed by a series of emojis that could only be interpreted as shock and arousal. Her heart skipped a beat as she wondered if it was him, if he knew her secret. But she pushed the thought aside. Tonight was about her, about the power she held in the palm of her hand, quite literally.

The next day, the buzz had reached a fever pitch. Her video had become the talk of the town, the whispers of "Did you see?" echoing through the hallways of the entertainment company she worked for. She walked with her head held high, her secret identity like a secret weapon she could unleash at any moment. The thrill of potentially being recognized, of the world knowing what she had done, was a potent aphrodisiac.

The fear of being caught was a thrill she hadn't anticipated. Each time she saw a group of people huddled around a phone, her heart raced. But she was careful, always one step ahead. The persona of 'like kim gaeul' was a double-edged sword, one that could both elevate and destroy her career. But for now, she reveled in the power it gave her.

Her interactions with fans grew more intense, their gazes lingering just a moment too long. They knew something had changed about her, could feel the electricity in the air when she walked by. The whispers grew louder, the glances more knowing. And she loved it. She was no longer just a pretty face on a poster, she was a force to be reckoned with.

But amidst the chaos, she found a strange comfort in the arms of Y/N. He was her rock, her confidant in this new world of secret lust and public adoration. The bond between them had grown stronger with each shared secret, each intimate moment captured for their private pleasure.

Their relationship had evolved beyond the physical, into something deeper, more profound. They had become co-conspirators in a game of desire played out for the world to see, yet only they knew the rules. The thought of him watching the video, his eyes dark with need, had her squirming in her seat.

Gaeul knew she had to tread carefully. The line between her two worlds was precariously thin, and one wrong move could shatter the illusion. But she was addicted to the rush, the thrill of the unknown. And as she scrolled through the endless stream of comments, she couldn't help but feel a sense of pride, of accomplishment. She had done what no other idol dared, and she had done it with style.

The story of 'like kim gaeul' was just beginning, and she was ready to write the next chapter. Whether it was in the safety of her penthouse or in the shadowed corners of the city, she was going to claim what was hers. Her heart pounded in her chest as she thought of the possibilities, the thrills and dangers that awaited her. But she knew she wasn't alone. With Y/N by her side, she could conquer the world. Or at least, the internet.

[snail-day]

Haze

Sum: Epilogue to Hysteria

Yan!SatoSugu x Reader

WC: 13k (I deeply apologize)

TW: Yandere Behaviors, Reader Dies, Suicide, Improper use of medication, Medical AU, Noncon, Infantalization, Miscarriage, Narcotics, Captivity, Forced Relationship, Reader is going through it, MDNI, ANGST. Dead Dove: Do Not Eat

A/n: thank you @pink-cakes-and-treats for listening to me ramble about my thoughts about this so much, also for the rest of you that asked for a good ending...here it is.

The world felt too big. The lights, too bright. The bed beneath you, too vast, swallowing you whole. Falling down a well—like Alice tumbling into the unknown—yet instead of cold air slicing past, warmth enveloped every inch, layers of soft blankets cocooned you in a thick comfort that verged on suffocation. Yet, beneath it all, something in your mind felt irrevocably wrong.

As if your mind was drowning in an ocean of disorientated static. 

The kind that crinkles and crackles like an old television screen, sizzling along the edges of your skull, humming against your bones in waves of distant white noise. Thoughts tried to rise, tried to form, but they slipped too easily through the curves of your mind - dripping down, vanishing into the untethered abyss of memories that refused to take shape.

Nothing was sticking. It hadn’t for the past few days. Nothing made sense. Blinking felt laborious, each movement sluggish, your lashes weighed down as sterile overhead lights glared harshly, searing your retinas with their artificial glow. You tried to focus, but the world refused to stay still—softening, sharpening, then blurring again—flickering in and out like the remnants of a half-forgotten dream.

Something was wrong.

Your limbs refused to obey, heavy and unresponsive, as if they no longer belonged to you. A dull, insistent pressure pressed into your temples, pulsing in time with the faint, rhythmic beep... beep... beep of a nearby monitor.

Where… are you?

Your mind scrambled, clawing through the fog, reaching for something—anything—solid. But all it found was emptiness. A hollow absence where something important should be.

A scream echoed in the distance.

No, not a sound. Not a noise.

A feeling.

A desperate, clawing, silent terror digging its fingers into your ribs, shaking you, demanding that you - 

Wake up.

Nothing answered.

The panic, slow and insidious, seeped in, curling its fingers around your throat. Your pulse quickened, your breath hitched - your body recognized the fear before your mind could. You knew something was wrong. Something inside you knew.

You tried to shift, but your muscles refused to cooperate. A dull ripple of discomfort ran through you, a sluggish protest of aching limbs and numb skin - Fingers tightened around your hand.

The sensation shot through you like an electric shock, sharp and immediate. Heat pressed against your palm, the unmistakable warmth of lips brushing over your skin in something gentle - something aching.

You forced your head to turn, each movement sluggish, uncoordinated - like swimming through molasses. The world lagged behind, colors smearing at the edges of your vision until, finally, your gaze settled on— White hair. Snow-bright. Almost glowing beneath the sterile fluorescent lights, like some ethereal specter - an angel poised between salvation and sorrow.

Were you dead?

For a moment, the thought lingered. A part of you almost wished it were true. Anything to quiet the thing inside you - the thing that clawed at your ribs, wove its fingers through your veins, coiling tighter with every shallow breath. A restless, insatiable presence, scratching against your heartstrings, whispering in a voice you couldn’t quite decipher.

Anxious. Begging.

Something was trying to break free.

And then - blue. Eyes like a summer sky far too brilliant, too sharp, slicing through the haze searching your face for answers, longing. 

Satoru.

Your best friend.

But something was wrong.

His eyes, why were they red? Had he been crying?

A flicker of confusion stirred in your chest, Satoru didn’t cry. Satoru would grin, laugh, and tease. Satoru was the playful, loveable one, yet he was watching you, unmoving, the grip on your hand tight. His long, pale fingers trembled. Soft pink lips moved, forming words too soft to reach you, soundless incantations spilling from his mouth - A prayer or perhaps even a curse. Just barely, like a breath stolen by the wind, a name fell from his lips.

"Suguru."

The name slipped through the air, familiar yet somehow distant.

Suguru?

Ah, your husband. Warmth unfurled in your chest, small and fragile, like the dying embers of a long-burning fire. Satoru and Suguru - best friends since forever. If Satoru was here, then Suguru must be too. Right?

Suguru. Your Suguru. Sweet, kindhearted, safe.

But something inside you—that thing, that restless, clawing monster curled deep beneath your ribs—shrieked. A wrongness slithered through your thoughts. A dissonance, like a note played off-key, as if looking at a picture you knew should be whole but seeing only fractures. Your mind reached for him, for the feeling of him, the strength in those steady hands of his. A memory struggled to surface, rising through the fog breaching the suffice as the drowning thing it was grasping for air.

Documents. A trembling hand. Ink smudged against paper. Fingers curled too tightly around a pen.

The monster inside you thrashed.

Then…softness.

A smile, small and instinctual, formed before you even understood why.

Oh. Right.

Your marriage license.

So why did something in you still scream?

You had been so nervous that day. Your hands had trembled so badly that Suguru had to cover them with his own, guiding your fingers across the paper. Helping you sign because you couldn’t stop shaking. So why did the memory feel like it was slipping through your grasp like something was missing or wrong?

"Hey, princess"

Satoru’s voice rang as it pulled you back to the present, light and teasing, laced with an unsteady waver in each trembling word. His grin—boyish, familiar—was wobbly at the edges as he pressed the back of his hand to your forehead.

Why wouldn’t this feeling go away?

This dread. This creature inside you burning so brightly. 

"Sa-toru," your voice rasped. The syllables felt wrong in your mouth, tongue sluggish as it rolled through the vowels, throat too dry choking on every sound. Words weren’t coming out the way they should.

Why weren’t things working?

Why did everything feel wrong?

Satoru clicked his tongue, shaking his head as he rested his chin in his palm.

"Y’know, princess, you had me worried there. I was this close to calling it - figured you were done for, gonna leave me stuck with him for the rest of my life."

An exaggerated pout lined his lips that did little to mask the way his fingers twitched. You blinked at him, the words slow to process. The fog in your mind hadn’t lifted, not really, but something about his presence felt safe, reliable, a lighthouse in this haze.

"Sa-toru," you rasped again, the name tasting foreign in your mouth. His teasing grin twitched, faltered for just a second before he leaned in closer, his bright blue eyes flickering over your face like he was mapping out every change, every shift in your expression.

"That’s me, sweetheart," he said smoothly, flashing you a grin as if he wasn’t completely unraveling inside. "Figured you’d miss me first - ‘course you would, I’m your favorite, right?"

Something about that didn’t feel right. Not wrong, exactly, but something tugged at you, something missing, something empty.

Wake up. That voice, those claws continued deep inside you. Scratching, crawling to the surface just to plummet back down to the abyss.  You frowned, trying to focus, the ache in your skull pulsed harder, pushing your thoughts back down before you could grasp them. Satoru exhaled, watching you struggle, and his smile softened just slightly.

"Okay, let’s run some tests, yeah?" he murmured, voice dropping into something more careful, more measured. But then, like a switch, his teasing lilt returned, masking that fear rescinding inside himself. "Don’t worry, princess, this is just to make sure your brain didn’t completely short-circuit. Wouldn’t want you drooling on yourself just yet."

You scowled, the reaction automatic, and Satoru’s grin widened like he’d just won something.

"Oh? Look at that! Someone’s still got some bite in ‘em," he mused, his thumb lazily stroking the back of your hand. "Maybe you didn’t fry up there after all."

Your scowl deepened, and the corners of his mouth twitched. His bedside manners truly needed some work. 

"Alright, first test, nice and easy," he said, holding up two fingers. "How many fingers am I holding up?"

You stared. It should’ve been simple. Easy. 

But the answer didn’t come.

Your head throbbed, thoughts slipping like water through your fingers, the shape of numbers nothing but static in your mind. The more you tried to force the answer, the further it slipped, like trying to remember a dream the second you wake up.

Your breathing hitched. Your stomach turned.

"I—" The syllable barely escaped, weak, unsure.

Satoru didn’t move, didn’t rush you, just hummed under his breath, as if he had already expected this.

"No biggie, don’t stress it," he said, waving his fingers dismissively. "It’s not like I needed you to count anyway. I can do that all by myself."

The teasing should’ve been annoying. Instead, it kept the panic from swallowing you whole. Kept that beast inside you from crawling through your throat. Kept the tears at bay. 

"Let’s try something else," he continued smoothly. He tapped a finger against his chin, pretending to think, then pointed at you with a smirk. "What’s your name?"

A simple question. The simplest of all.

But nothing came.

The realization hit you like ice water, a slow, creeping horror climbing up your spine.

Your mouth parted, but no words formed.

You knew you had a name—you should know it—but it was like trying to grasp smoke. It slipped through your fingers and refused to stick. Your lips trembled, breath catching in your throat.

Satoru saw it.

And for the first time, his expression truly faltered.

The smirk faded.

The playful gleam in his eyes dulled, just slightly. His long, pale fingers tightened ever so slightly around yours before he clicked his tongue, releasing your hand, and leaned back, stretching his arms over his head as none of this bothered him in the slightest.

"Wow. You really did a number on yourself, huh? Forgetting your name? Tsk, tsk, princess." He let out a dramatic sigh, shaking his head. "Guess I’ll have to give you a new one."

You stared at him, heart still hammering, but his words pulled you just enough from the sinking pit of panic.

"Ooooh, how about ‘Dumpling’? No, wait—Sunshine—nah, too generic." He tapped his chin in mock thought. "Oh! I know - ‘Satoru’s Favorite Person in the Whole Wide World.’ Bit of a mouthful, but you’ll get used to it."

Despite the terror twisting in your chest, something about his voice -ridiculous, insufferable voice - kept you from spiraling completely.

"What about Suguru?"

The question was quieter. Measured. Satoru’s teasing lilt softened, but his gaze didn’t leave your face. The name struck something inside you, something distant, something deep. Suguru. Your husband. Your sweet, kindhearted husband. And like a memory from another lifetime, you saw him—Suguru’s hands over yours. Suguru whispering against your temple. Suguru’s voice, warm and fond, calling you—

"Of course," you murmured, a small smile ghosting your lips. "Suguru… he’s my husband."

For a second, the room felt too still.

Satoru didn’t move.

Didn’t breathe.

Then, with a slow exhale, he slumped forward, forehead pressing against the blankets beside your hand.

"Shit," he whispered, voice muffled.

You blinked at him, confused.

"What’s wrong?"

He shook his head against the various plush blankets, a groan escaping his lips as he burrowed his face deeper into the sheets. 

"Nothing," he muttered. "You remembered Suguru. That’s… good."

His fingers curled into the sheets, gripping them tightly, his shoulders stiff. Then, just as quickly, he snapped back up, plastering a lopsided grin on his face like he wasn’t just falling apart a second ago.

"Well, that settles it. You’re half-broken, but we’ll work with what we’ve got." He reached over and flicked your forehead - lightly, but enough to make your brow furrow. "I’ll go get Suguru. Pretty sure he’ll be happy you didn’t wake up hating his guts."

Something about the way he said it felt wrong.

But you didn’t get the chance to ask, because Satoru was already standing, stretching dramatically before turning toward the door. Before he stepped out, his voice dropped to something almost too soft to hear.

"Suguru better be right about this."

And then he was gone. The room felt different without him. Too still, too empty. The kind of silence that settled under your skin, stretched itself thin over your ribs, pressing into your lungs. Satoru was gone for what felt like forever. Time moved strangely, warping at the edges as you lay there, staring at the IV in your arm, the slow drip of liquid pooling into your veins. The steady tick of the clock anchored you, but barely. Each second bled into the next, a sluggish, drawn-out eternity. You tried closing your eyes, hoping that would at least calm the unease curling in your chest. Instead, the moment your lids shut, scorches of bright light flashed behind them, too sharp, too sudden, forcing you to snap them open again.

A headache threatened to bloom, but something else lingered beneath it.

A feeling.

The faintest echo of something soft - a kiss pressed to your forehead, warm, familiar. Muscle memory, perhaps. A habit long-engrained, something your body recognized even when your mind couldn’t.

You turned your head slightly, catching sight of the mirror on the far side of the room.

That was… you.

Your reflection blinked back at you, dazed and uncertain. Recognition flickered, though it felt distant, like staring at a childhood home you hadn't visited in years.

At least you knew yourself. That had to mean something.

A soft exhale escaped your lips, burrowing deeper into the blankets, allowing the warmth to cocoon you. Suguru would be here soon. He would make everything better. He always did. And Satoru…

Satoru was a good friend.

You let your gaze drift to the ceiling, counting the tiny, glowing stars plastered there. Numbers didn’t come easily, slipping from your grasp the same way your name had earlier, but you kept looking anyway, following each little dot of light like it might steady the tremor beneath your ribs.

Outside, voices broke the stillness.

Muffled, tense.

The walls weren’t thick enough to block them out completely, though the words slipped in and out, only fragments reaching you.

"You said - "

"—not how it was supposed to go—"

"Things aren’t okay - "

Something about the tone sent a shiver crawling up your spine. That monster deep inside you sank into the abyss once more. As if the conversation, it recognized, recognized more things than you did. 

The door creaked open, and there stood Suguru.

Another wave of warmth spread through your chest, comforting and safe, even as something deep inside you—a creature you couldn't name—trembled in fear. You could almost hear it, a faint, howling whisper buried beneath the haze of your thoughts, clawing at your ribs as if warning you of something you couldn’t remember.

But Suguru’s presence made you feel safe.

Suguru had always been your safe place. 

Hadn’t he? Still, something was… off. Not because of the quiet, caged thing inside you, not because of some nameless fear pressing against the back of your mind.

No—Suguru.

He stood there, unmoving, his violet eyes flickering between something unreadable and something that looked dangerously close to relief. His chest rose and fell in shallow breaths, like he had been holding it in for years.

Like he hadn’t seen you in years.

But… you had seen him.

Hadn’t you?

When was the last time?

The question fluttered through your thoughts, weightless and empty, and yet, before you could grasp it, it was gone, slipping through your fingers like water.

After what felt like an eternity—though time had started to feel strange, stretched and warped—his shoulders dropped. The tension in his frame melted away, his entire body sagging, the rigid set of his jaw loosening just slightly.

And then he moved.

Slow steps carried him to your bedside, where you lay wrapped in layers of soft, warm blankets.

"Angel," he breathed.

His voice cracked.

Something in your chest lurched at the sound.

You shifted, instinctively trying to sit up, but the IV in your arm tugged, the discomfort sharp enough to make your breath stutter.

And suddenly—he was there.

Fast. Too fast. One hand curled around your arm, firm but careful, the other settling on your back, steadying you before you could even sway. His grip was secure, protective, possessive a cocktail of something you couldn’t place in that haze of your mind as the abyss swirled with his touch-  his touch that sent something warm and sweet through you, like a childhood memory of being tucked into bed on a stormy night, soft whispers and gentle reassurances lulling you to sleep.

"Take it easy," he soothed, his voice dipped in honey, smooth and low. Suguru’s hands adjusted, shifting just slightly but never letting go, steadying you in a way that felt like he would never let you fall. He was close now, too close, his body angled toward yours in a way that blocked out the rest of the room. Like nothing beyond this—beyond you—mattered.

Had it ever? Your eyes flickered up, searching his face, your gaze tracing over the deep bags beneath his eyes, the tight line of his jaw, the way his knuckles were white where he gripped the sheets.

How long had he been here?

"How are you feeling?" His voice— gentle, tender—but there was something in it, something that made your heart stumble. You swallowed thickly, forcing yourself to sort through your scattered thoughts, sluggish and slow-moving.

"Weird."

Suguru let out a soft exhale—something dangerously close to a laugh—but it was shaky, unsteady, as if the sound was unraveling at the edges. Like he was barely keeping himself together. His thumb brushed over the back of your hand, slow and rhythmic, back and forth, back and forth, as if memorizing the shape of it.

"That’s okay," he murmured, voice like silk, voice like love. His eyes, impossibly soft, and devoted, never once strayed from yours.

"You’re still waking up. Just take your time, angel. I’m right here."

His patience felt endless.

Hadn’t he always been like this?

Always patient, always yours?

Suguru's hand tightened around your wrist, his grip not bruising, but firm, like he needed the contact like he needed to feel you to believe you were still here. His voice was barely more than a whisper, trembling at the edges.

"I was so scared," he breathed.

You blinked up at him, caught in the sheer weight of his words.

"Scared?"

Suguru exhaled slowly, shakily. His fingers loosened just enough to lift your hand to his lips. The kiss he pressed there was soft, lingering, his breath ghosting over your skin like a prayer, like he was worshipping you like he was pleading.

"God, angel," he murmured, his eyes fluttering shut, "you don’t know how close I was to losing you."

Your heart stumbled.

"Losing me?" The words felt foreign on your tongue, heavy with confusion.

Suguru nodded, his grip tightening again as his violet eyes flickered open, searching yours, as if he was willing you to remember, to understand.

"You don’t remember, do you?"

Your breath caught in your throat. You did your best to remember - tried to grasp at the scattered pieces in your mind, but they slipped away, crumbling to dust before you could hold onto anything solid. There was something there, something lingering at the edges of your consciousness, but no matter how hard you reached, it refused to take shape.

Suguru saw it—the way you struggled, the way you faltered—and something in his face broke. His lips parted, his expression shattering into something raw and aching.

"You tried to leave me."

A chill slithered down your spine.

"W-what?"

Suguru swallowed hard. His hands trembled. "The pills," he whispered, voice thick, pained. Those thick large fingers of his curled around yours, holding tighter, like if he let go, you’d slip away again. "You, angel, you tried to overdose. We almost lost you."

Your body went still.

The words didn’t fit.

They didn’t belong.

Would you…?

Could you…?

Suguru let out another slow, shaky exhale, his forehead dipping forward until it rested against your temple. His arms wrapped around you, pulling you into him, his warmth engulfing you completely.

"Why didn’t you tell me you were hurting so much?" he whispered, voice cracking under the weight of it.

He sounded wrecked.

Like you had broken him.

His breath was warm against your skin, his arms unmovable, his body curled around yours as if he could shield you from something neither of you could name. Your lips parted, but no words came.

Nothing.

Just blank spaces where memories should be. You felt empty, a hollow shell carved out by something you didn’t remember.

"I—" You tried, but the words dissolved before they could form.

Suguru didn’t let go.

For what felt like an eternity, he just held you, his breath slow, measured, as if forcing himself to stay calm. As if keeping himself from falling apart completely. When he finally pulled back, his hands cradled your face, thumbs stroking over your cheekbones in slow, gentle motions. His violet eyes burned with something deep, something fierce, something terrifyingly devoted. "But it’s okay now," he whispered, "because I’m here. I’m always going to be here." His voice was steady, "You’re safe, angel. I won’t let anything happen to you ever again."

His gaze bore into you, worshipped you.

"You don’t have to be afraid anymore. I’ll take care of everything, just like I always have."

And hadn’t he?

Hadn’t Suguru always taken care of you?

Hadn’t he always put you first?

Hadn’t he always loved you more than anything?

an ache in your chest arose as your mind filled with a foggy, static mess, but Suguru’s hands were warm, his lips soft as he pressed another kiss to your forehead, lingering there, breathing you in.

"I love you so much," he whispered, the words breaking against your skin.

A few weeks passed before your release. There had been a lot of physical therapy, a lot of sessions where doctors asked you questions that felt like puzzles you couldn’t quite piece together. A lot of memories blurred at the edges, details slipping into the haze that seemed to return at odd moments, as if your mind was deliberately keeping things just out of reach.

But you weren’t worried.

Because you had Suguru.

And Suguru always took care of you.

It helped that the hospital belonged to him—or at least, that’s what you gathered. Suguru worked here, of course he did, and with Satoru’s family organization owning and operating the place, it meant you were given special treatment.

For being his favorite girl.

For being their favorite girl.

You spent most of your days with Satoru. He liked to keep you company in the common room, always finding ways to make you laugh, always draping himself over you as if the weight of his presence alone could keep you somewhat sane.

It was never crowded here.

In fact…

There weren’t any other patients. It was something you had noticed a while ago but had never questioned.

Maybe you should have.

But why would you?

Suguru said the quiet was good for your recovery - Suguru always knew best.

So, instead, you sat cross-legged at the small table in the sunlit common room, a coloring book open in front of you, half-finished pages of soft, delicate flowers filling the space. Satoru sat beside you, elbow resting on the table as he lazily twirled a crayon between his fingers, the light from the window casting a golden hue over his white hair. You looked up at him, a bright smile tugging at your lips. The words came out soft, still feeling a little foreign on your tongue.

"I drew purple flowers. What color did you do?"

Satoru’s grin faltered for a fraction of a second. It was quick, so quick you almost didn’t notice.  A small inhale, barely audible, his fingers tightening slightly around the half-yellow crayon in his hand.

"Mmm," he hummed after a pause, looking down at his page, "I was gonna make you daisies." His voice was light, casual, that boyish grin sliding back into place, but something about it felt off.

His eyes - that same sparkling blue that had always been so bright, so mischievous, looked just a little duller than before. And then, before you could dwell on it, Satoru shifted, draping an arm around your shoulders, pulling you close like he always did, like it was easy.

"I was thinking about making some stars or cranes for Suguru," you mused, flipping the crayon between your fingers. "He’s been asking for stuff! You know, when we were together, I used to handmake him things. Guess he misses it!"

You laughed, soft, cheerful, letting the warmth of nostalgia curl around your words like a fond memory.

Satoru didn’t laugh.

You caught the way his expression twitched. His bright eyes dimmed again, the usual teasing remark he would have had on his tongue never coming. Instead, his grip around you tightened just slightly, fingers curling where they rested on your arm.

That quiet thing inside you—the one that had been utterly still these past few weeks—shifted.

Like déjà vu.

Like something on the edge of remembrance.

Like something that wasn’t right.

Satoru was too quiet.

And deep inside you—somewhere distant, somewhere buried—the monster inside you howled.

At first, you had been confused.

You don’t remember falling asleep. One moment, you were coloring—soft petals filling the page, Satoru’s voice teasing at your ear. Then, darkness. Not sleep, not quite, but a gap, a missing frame between memories. And now - movement. The slow, rolling sensation beneath you. The low hum of tires against pavement. The world around you felt wrong, stretched and distorted at the edges, like waking

You weren’t sure if you were moving or if the world itself was folding around you.

No, think.

You had to think - you can’t lose your marbles yet. Something felt off, but your thoughts were molasses-thick, sluggish, slipping away before you could catch them. You forced your eyes open. The brightness stung. The world blurred and wavered, swimming between sharpness and distortion, colors smearing together like wet paint. Everything felt slow, too slow, like time itself was stretched thin. Shapes surrounded you, unfamiliar, shifting. Your mind reached for something familiar, something solid, but the haze wrapped around you like a noose, muffling every sensation. Choking out every sensation. 

Something pressed against your cheek—warmth. A body beside you.

It was familiar.

Reassuring, perhaps. A slow, curling unease rippled through you, too faint to grasp, too distant to matter. You blinked, the action feeling thick and heavy, like your eyelids had been weighted down. A figure hovered above you—dark hair, neatly tied. Lips moving, speaking, but the words were empty, soundless, lost in the static humming at the edges of your consciousness.

You could hear them.

But you couldn’t understand them.

The words dissolved before they could take shape, vanishing into the white noise fizzing along the surface of your thoughts.

Something was wrong.

The realization wasn’t sharp. It wasn’t a sudden spike of awareness, but a dull, sinking weight settling in your stomach, curling through your limbs. Like a shadow stretching across the floor, creeping slowly, methodically, until it swallowed everything. Your gaze drifted sideways, slow, disconnected. There was another presence beside you, a hand resting on your thigh. Your vision wavered, struggling to focus. White hair. A shape, a figure—Satoru?

That wasn’t right.

His touch felt off.

It didn’t belong there. It wasn’t familiar.

If it were Suguru’s, that would be familiar. Suguru is your—

Your what? The word was there, just for a second. Bright and fleeting, flickering at the edges of your mind, a puzzle piece slipping into place—and then it was gone. A void swallowed it whole. Your mind reached for it, frantic and desperate, but it was missing, ripped away, replaced with nothing but static.

The car rumbled on, steady, unwavering.

Right.

You were in a car.

Going… where?

You tried to part your lips, force the sound from your throat, but nothing came. Not silence—something worse—deep, dragging inability, like your voice had been stolen, like your body was no longer yours to command.

You felt wrong.

Heavy. Detached. Like your limbs weren’t really connected to you, as the space between thought and action had stretched too far. Every movement, even the simple act of breathing, felt slow, distant, and delayed. Something sharp flashed behind your eyes—white light, searing, electric. A crackling hum, a sharp sting like a wire had been pressed too deep beneath your skin. The darkness inside you curled inward, folding in on itself. It whimpered now, weak, small, drowning beneath the weight of something you didn’t understand.

Something was wrong.

You felt it pressing at the back of your skull, something deep and instinctive, something your body recognized even if your mind couldn’t. The fabric against your skin was soft. Loose. Suguru’s sweatpants. That much, at least, felt real. Your eyes dragged toward Satoru again. It took forever, like pushing through water, like forcing yourself to move through a world that didn’t want to stay still.

He was angled toward the window, head tilted white hair in his eyes, chin propped against his palm. The dim glow of passing streetlights flickered over his features, illuminating sharp edges, smooth planes. His mouth was pressed into a thin line. The slight downturn at the corners. The tension in his jaw.

A part of you recognized that expression.

Satoru didn’t look like that.

Satoru never looked like that.

You tried again—tried to speak, tried to force sound past the heavy, sluggish frog clogging your throat. But it was like pushing through a swamp, murky, like something thick and invisible was holding you down, keeping you tethered to this slow, sinking feeling.

A shallow breath. A shudder. Nothing else.

Satoru shifted beside you.

The warmth that had been resting on your thigh vanished, leaving behind a stark absence that made your skin prickle. Then, a new sensation—a whisper of contact against your wrist. Soft at first, an idle graze, barely there. Then firmer, more pressing, the measuring. Counting the beats beneath his fingertips.

Checking your pulse.

Your gaze dragged to his, sluggish but instinctual. Bright against the fog in your head, slicing through the murk with a clarity that made you recoil. Those eyes—striking, endless, impossibly blue—brought something with them, a pull deep in your brain, in your bones. Flashes of something disjointed. Overhead lighting, stark and sterile. A buzz—constant, droning, mechanical. His expression didn’t change, but something in his posture did. A flicker in his gaze, a fraction of a second where his mask slipped—searching, analyzing, calculating. A slow inhale. A barely-there pause.

The realization sank, you weren’t supposed to be awake. Satoru exhaled, his fingers tapped against your wrist, a rhythm so light, so absentminded, it felt like an old habit. The soft tap, tap, tap sent a ripple through your thoughts, a whisper of familiarity threading through the fog. Then—static. A flare, sharp and electric, ripping through the void inside you. White light. A hum, low and droning. Something pressing into your skull, sinking too deep.

Your breath hitched.

Satoru’s lips parted. A breath of sound escaped, “…Shit.”

Suguru heard it. “Oh, angel.” a voice that had wrapped around you like silk, warm and syrup-sweet, sinking into your skin. A hand, cupped your cheek, his thumb gliding over your skin in slow, coaxing strokes. Guiding. Directing. You barely registered the way he tilted your face up, drawing your gaze away from Satoru, steering you toward him with gentle reverence. Like something fragile. Something breakable. Something his or perhaps theirs. 

“You should be asleep,” he murmured, “We gave you some pain meds. You’ve been having a lot of nightmares lately.”

We. The word landed strangely in your mind. Heavy. Foreign. Wrong. Something about it didn’t fit. But your thoughts—sluggish, slippery—melted away before you could pin them down. Questions clawed at your throat, stacking one on top of the other, pressing against the hollowness where memories should be. But when you tried to speak, when you forced your lips to move—nothing.

No sound. No words.

Just a thin, reedy whisper of breath.

Your tongue felt thick, your mouth unfamiliar—like the very mechanics of speech had become foreign to you. You tried again—lips parting, searching for something solid, something tangible, something that made sense. You weren’t losing your mind. You weren’t insane.

You were just lost. It’s key to remind yourself of that. 

“…House?” A whisper. Soft and unfamiliar, a voice that slipped past your lips, fragile and meek, and yet—not yours. You weren’t this. No, you weren’t small, you weren’t delicate, you weren’t some flower that needed to be tended. 

So how dare this weak, trembling voice speak for you? That wasn’t right. That wasn’t you.

The abyss inside you shuddered—howled—and then, it shrunk.

You wished you understood it. Wished you could unravel the creature clawing inside you, tearing at your ribs, gnawing at your insides. What did it want? What did it fear?

And why—why did it shrink before the two most familiar men in your life? It curled in on itself, retreating like a wounded animal. Pulling away, pressing deep into the spaces between your ribs, folding into the fog thickening in your mind.

Suguru’s thumb swept over your cheek again. Pulling you away from the insanity that was unraveling in your mind, What happened to you? Yet his calloused thumb pulled you away from that question as it swept against your bottom lip, those adoring violet eyes of his gazed down on you with so much devotion.  The motion melted into your skin, seeping through the haze in your head, sinking deep, spreading warmth like honey through your veins.

You knew these hands.

You trusted them.

You had always trusted them.

Had always belonged to them.

“There’s nothing to worry about, angel,” Suguru murmured, his voice velvet-lined and laced with something deeper—something patient, something final. It settled over you like a lullaby, thick and saccharine, wrapping around your ribs, lulling the resistance in your chest to stillness.

He sounded like home.

“Just relax.”

A pause.

“You’re safe now.”

His fingers curled just slightly against your cheek, “We’re almost home.” There it was again. That word.

We. His voice curled around it so easily, so naturally, as if it had always belonged. But it hadn’t, had it? Your thoughts tripped over themselves, scattered, slipping before they could form something solid. You felt like you had forgotten something crucial. Your head swayed slightly under his touch, too heavy, too slow. The warmth of his palm pressed into your cheek, spreading down your neck, keeping you there, still, held in place by nothing but gentle weight.

Suguru’s presence filled the space beside you. Even in the dim lighting of the car, even with the blur distorting your vision, you could still make out his dark, wavy hair, loosely tied at the nape of his neck, some strands falling over his face. Sharp features softened in shadow. Long lashes, lowered as he looked at you, the faint crease between his brows, the slow parting of his lips, his violet eyes—not as sharp as Satoru’s, but deep, unreadable.

His gaze held you.

His touch kept you from drifting too far.

However your brain had other ideas, other ideas of unraveling your mind, from stopping the buzzing of nerves, a name filtered into your mind. 

Satoru.

Satoru had his own apartment.

Didn’t he?

Yes. He did. He had his own space. He didn’t live with you. So why did the word we feel so wrong? Your breath came uneven, something shallow curling at the edges of your ribs.

A flicker of something.

Pills.

A hand.

Scattered.

The haze thickened. Your stomach twisted. A cold knowing pried its way through the murk.

You tried to kill yourself. Suguru’s voice echoed through the thick fog of your thoughts, from before. His words, his tone, the steady warmth of his arms around you. That conversation happened. You spoke fine before.

Why couldn’t you now?

Why did your voice feel different—smaller, softer? Why did you find yourself leaning into Suguru’s touch, chasing the warmth, seeking comfort in something you didn’t understand?

Because he was familiar.

Because in this fog, in this shapeless world where everything felt wrong, Suguru felt right.

No. Back on track.

Would you?

Could you?

Would you really—kill yourself?

That didn’t feel right.

That wasn’t you.

Was it?

Is that why Satoru…

You tried to speak. It took effort. A deep pull, like dredging words from the bottom of a thick, dark sea. Your lips trembled as they formed something weak, breathless.

“S-toru…”

Your mind lagged, struggling to find the words, the question tangling itself up inside you.

“…why?”

Suguru stilled for a moment. You felt the hesitation in him—the smallest shift in the way his thumb stopped moving, the subtle inhale, the pause in the space between you. His expression flickered—something uncertain ghosting across his face, but it was gone just as quickly as it appeared. Suguru was never uncertain. His violet eyes softened, the storm behind them calming, gentling, then, a slow, patient smile. His thumb resumed its path, tracing slow circles over your cheek, then down, grazing your bottom lip. A touch so tender it felt practiced.

“You gave him a fright,” Suguru murmured, his voice deep, warm, careful. A deliberate gentleness, like he was tending to a delicate flower—cultivating it, shaping it, waiting for the perfect moment to pluck it. To prepare it for the right occasion. Somehow, you knew that flower was you.

Except—you weren’t something sweet.

That wasn’t who you were.

Your voice, soft and honeyed, might have painted that illusion, but inside—inside, you were full of thorns. Sharp, unruly, aching to tear free, to dig into flesh, to remind the world that you were not meant to be handled.

Every slow stroke of his thumb against your skin unraveled them. One by one, the thorns dulled, softened, melted into something pliant. “He hasn’t been able to sleep in his apartment since you tried to…” A pause. His voice dipped lower, quieter as if saying the words aloud might wound him. You barely heard him anymore. Your thoughts had grown too loud.

Screaming.

Clawing against the buzz of burnt nerves—burnt? Why were they burnt?

Would you?

Would you kill yourself?

No.

That wasn’t you.

…Was it?

Suguru’s hand cradled your face, the pad of his thumb brushing over your temple.. His warmth sank into your skin, deeper than it should have—branding itself into you. Pressing. Holding. Binding. Safe.

Safe, safe, safe.

That’s what his touch said— what it promised.

And you let yourself sink.

You weren’t sure when you fell asleep.

Was it the warmth of Suguru’s hands, the soothing rhythm of his thumb against your cheek? Or was it the slight prick in your arm, so small, so fleeting, you barely noticed?

A needle.

That was… strange. What a weird thing to feel in a car. The thought barely had time to take shape before it melted away, lost to the pull of sleep—no, not sleep, something deeper, something heavier. Just before the darkness swallowed you whole, your gaze caught on a faint glimmer—a vial. The name surfaced immediately — a sedative. How would someone who could barely think straight know that?

But the thought was fleeting, slipping between your fingers as the world around you dissolved, your body weightless, your mind drifting— another memory.

Or perhaps a fraction of one.

A pink room. Soft pastels, warm light filtering through gauzy curtains. A large white box against the wall, waiting—empty. Something should be inside it, however the poor lonely white box was empty. On the floor, Suguru. A flashlight between his teeth, hands assembling something small, something delicate. Cubes of softwood, pastel-painted pieces are arranged in careful, meticulous stacks. His smile was easy, boyish, the corners of his eyes crinkling as he looked up at you.

Love. Devotion. Excitement.

"You think she’ll like it?" his voice was muffled around the flashlight, words laced with tender amusement. You stood in the doorway, watching him. Something inside you felt full, heavy.

You glanced at the mirror beside you—rounder. Softer.

Heavier.

Ah… what’s the word?

The thought came slow, sluggish, dragging its way up from the depths of your mind, a word, you were ████████. The word couldn't come. It slipped just as the memory was. The warmth of the memory curled around you, a bittersweet thing, familiar but distant as if seen through the wrong end of a telescope.

The image shattered.

Pale blue tiles, slick beneath your feet. The air was cold, curling against your bare skin like a whisper, like breath on the back of your neck, haunting. The bathroom felt vast and empty, yet suffocating all at once, a space that stretched and closed in at the same time. The walls pulsed, the floor swayed. Something dripped.

Red flowers.

They bloomed in the cracks, unfurling across the tile, soaking into the grout, staining your fingers, smeared against your thighs. A deep ache coiled in your stomach, right where the flowers grew, sharp and pulling and wrong. You pressed your hand there, fingers slick, warm- your heartbeat pounded against your ribs, a frantic, uneven staccato as if your body was trying to tell you something your mind refused to grasp.

Oh.

Not flowers.

Your breath hitched, sharp and jagged, the sound barely registering over the heavy buzzing in your skull. Your chest ached, pulled tight like something was being wound inside you, twisting until it was about to snap. Your hands trembled, grasping at fabric—your dress, the sink, the air itself—nothing felt solid. Nothing felt real.

Light flickered. A glow in the corner of your eye.

Your phone - the screen pulsed, humming with an unfamiliar urgency, illuminating the dark edges of the room. A name. Suguru. It pulsed with every ring, like a heartbeat, like something alive, something waiting.

You needed to answer it.

You tried—your fingers barely moved, sluggish and detached, like they weren’t yours, like your body had forgotten how to listen. The world shifted. The tiles rippled. The walls breathed.

You didn’t like this.

You didn’t like this at all.

But the dream had other plans.

It dragged you deeper, a hand at your back, pushing you forward, forcing you to see, forcing you to remember. The bathroom dissolved, bled into something else, colors warping, space stretching, folding, cracking apart.

The red flowers—gone.

In their place, stacks of paper.

Crisp, white sheets, stretching endlessly before you, swallowing the room whole, consuming every surface. The ink bled through, black lines shifting, warping as you tried to read them, twisting into something unreadable, something suffocating.

Not just any paper.

Divorce papers.

Your name.

Suguru’s name.

Your signature, ink smudged, edges curling, the weight of the moment pressing down on you like a vice. A pen—shaking between your fingers, clutched so tightly it might snap in half. 

You wanted to—

Didn’t you?

You wanted to leave.

Didn’t you?

The ink ran. The pages blurred, the edges curling inward, folding like wilting petals, like burning paper, like something being erased. Water dripped down the sheets, or was it blood? A soft rustle—pages turning on their own, shifting, morphing, dissolving into something else entirely.

The crib.

The bathroom.

The blood.

The papers.

Everything tangled together, warped, spliced, replaying in fragments, flickering like an old film reel skipping frames. The images overlapped, twisting and unraveling before you could grab hold, slipping through your fingers like silk soaked in something dark.

Your body burned. Boiled. Feverish heat rolled through your veins, spreading, thick and searing, like something was crawling beneath your skin, like you were being rewritten from the inside out.

You tried to wake up.

You needed to wake up.

Your mind screamed against the weight pressing down on it, against the lie suffocating it, against the warmth wrapped around you, the warmth you didn’t trust, the warmth you had once loved.

You gasped.

The darkness shattered—splintering into a million aching shards as your body jolted, wrenching itself toward consciousness.

A voice.

Soft, distant, pulling at the edges of wakefulness.

It wasn’t unusual for Suguru to curl up beside you at night, his arms, his body warm and familiar. That was normal. That made sense. But Satoru? Satoru had never slept beside you before, had he? At least, you didn’t think so.

Then again, you didn’t trust your memories these days.

The first night he slipped beneath the covers with you and Suguru, you blinked up at him, confusion knitting your brows together. "Satoru?" His name had left your lips softly, almost hesitant. You remembered Suguru pulling you closer before Satoru could even answer, his grip tightening as if the question itself was something you shouldn’t be asking.

"Mmm?" Satoru’s grin had been lazy, his eyes tired, but there was something about the way he spoke, something forced, light. He ruffled your hair like he always did, fingers lingering against your scalp before he sighed. "Just keeping an eye on you, princess. You know I can’t let you out of my sight for too long—what if you run off on us again?"

Something in your chest twisted at his words, a faint unease curling around your ribs, but before you could ask what he meant, Suguru had hushed you with a slow, tender stroke of his fingers down your arm. His voice had been soft. "Shhh, angel. Just rest. You need sleep."

You hadn’t fought it, though you weren’t sure why. Maybe it was because Suguru’s voice had always been something that soothed you, something that made you feel safe even when you weren’t sure why you needed to feel safe. Or maybe it was because Satoru had sighed dramatically, pressed a lazy kiss to the top of your head, and settled himself on the other side of you, like it was all so casual.

"Guess I’ll have to hold you extra close, then," he had teased, slinging an arm over both you and Suguru, his grip loose. "Can’t have you slipping through my fingers again, huh?"

You had felt the slow, easy circles of his fingers tracing along your arm, the weight of Suguru’s breath against your hair, the warmth of their bodies on either side of you. Something had whispered in the back of your mind that this was wrong, that this wasn’t how things were supposed to be. But Suguru had kissed your temple, whispered a quiet "Sleep, angel," and Satoru had only chuckled, pressing his face into your shoulder with a sigh, and soon the heaviness had settled into your limbs, pulling you under before you could think too hard about it.

And that had been the routine, night after night, until it became something normal, something expected. Until it stopped feeling strange. Until you stopped questioning it altogether. Some nights however, when they had opposite shifts, when the nightmares of yours persisted, perhaps from all the medication you were taking much to your demise: 

Satoru’s voice.

Faint, familiar, a low murmur in your ears, wrapping around your disoriented mind like a lulling tide. Sheets. Soft beneath you, cradling you in their embrace. The scent of home.

Something was wrong.

You forced your eyelids open, sluggish and heavy, the weight of sleep, drugs, memories dragging you back down. Satoru’s body against yours, too solid, too warm. He was pressed into you, caging you against him, his bare chest rising and falling, his breath heavy as he buried his face into your hair.

Fevered kisses—

One. Two. Three.

Tears. Your tears. You hadn’t realized you were crying or perhaps weren’t sure that was something you could do anymore. A lot of things left you uneasy these days, especially as Satoru’s lips trailed across your damp skin, pressing against your temple, your cheek, your eyelids. Something frantic in the way he held you.

What a desperate man he was, those soft pink lips seemed to continue on their conquest for the salt of your tears, as his arms curled tighter, embrace crushing, as if he was ensuring you could never slip away from him, not like you had the strength to do such a thing. 

However you didn’t like the way his lips trailed to your pulse, causing a panic inside you to rise, to claw at your ribs, to force yourself to speak, to ask, to plead - nothing but a meek, broken whimper escaped. Your voice was gone, hidden away as Satoru’s hands traveled to your nightgown hitching the lace lining upwards. The only sound was the slow, shaky breath Satoru let out against your skin.

“Oh, princess,” he murmured, his voice rough, thick with something heavy, something raw. “You scared the hell out of me.”

You tried again, and again, and - 

Because something inside you was screaming, clawing at the back of your mind, a voice—not yours, yet somehow still yours—wailing in recognition, shrieking a warning, weaving a song of something terrible, something unspeakable.

Oh, what did they do to you? The abyss curled around your thoughts, purring, seething.

That’s a new thought.

Not one you liked.

Not one you asked for.

But you couldn’t choose your thoughts, could you?

Satoru’s breath was warm against your cheek, his lips brushing against your damp skin, murmuring something—a confession, an apology, a plea. “I’m sorry.”  The warmth of his bare chest pressed against you, the firm, steady weight of him sinking into you, grounding you, keeping you trapped.

Satoru wasn’t your husband.

So why was he acting like one?

“I’m so fucking sorry.” You heard a crack. The sound of something breaking. Not glass. Something inside him. Your thoughts moved sluggishly, bouncing like light trapped in mirrors, scattering, refracting, unable to land. Satoru wasn’t emotional. Satoru would laugh things off, he would tease, he would never cry.

Satoru would understand the word no.

Wouldn’t he?

Satoru—who teased you for being a crybaby, who ruffled your hair, who leaned too close just to watch you roll your eyes.

That Satoru.

But this one—

This one held you like you were something fragile, something broken, something that had already slipped through his fingers once before. Something beloved, something like a lover. This one pressed desperate kisses to your face, each one filled with words you couldn’t quite grasp.

"I love you."

A whisper.

"Suguru had to go back for his shift."

A ghost of sound against your skin. The sound of clothing being removed. 

"I love you."

Again. Over and over and over.

"I’m sorry." 

"I didn’t know—"

Didn’t know what?

Your body shuddered. Something coiled at the edges of your mind—the abyss, the thing inside you, the part of you that knew more than you did. It wrapped itself around your thoughts, dragging them down, down, down, pushing you beneath the water, forcing you to see—

A hospital.

The mental hospital.

Not white, not sterile, but painted in colors that didn’t belong.

Satoru.

He was there.

You could see him.

Why could you see him? Your vision flickered, disjointed, showing you glimpses of something you didn’t want to remember—

No, no, no—

A field of flowers.

Purple.

Vivid and endless, blooming in the quiet of your mind.

You focused on that.

You latched onto it. Ignoring the fingers that had trailed to your heat, the broke whimpers escaping your throat, the sound of I love yous being called out. 

Purple was better. Purple was better than the flowers from your dream. Better than the ones that filled the bathroom. Better than the ones that bloomed too red, too much, too violently.

No.

No, you had to focus. You had to free yourself from this danger, from this man who claimed he loved you, yet he was claiming your body as if it were already his. Your nerves buzzed, crackled, burned inside you, bouncing like photons, shooting in all directions, searching for something solid, something real.

But nothing would land.

Nothing would stick.

Not the words slipping from Satoru’s lips, not the weight of his body pressing into yours, not the dull ache threading through your bones. Not the pressure building up inside your core, not the sickening sounds of wet flesh bouncing in the room. Not the defilement of your marriage bed. 

Everything felt like it was happening somewhere else.

But Satoru was still holding you.

His voice wove into your skin, breath hot, shaky, frantic, lips moving over your cheeks, your forehead, your eyelids—kissing away your tears, swallowing them like they were his own.

He wasn’t supposed to be like this.

He was supposed to tease you, laugh things off, flick your forehead when you pouted, ruffle your hair like you were something small and irritating yet adored.

But this wasn’t playful. This wasn’t harmless.

"I’m sorry," Satoru mumbled into your skin, voice breaking at the edges, dragging you closer, pulling you deeper into the heat of his bare chest, caging you in his arms. His heartbeat was uneven, erratic, pounding too hard beneath his ribs, pressed up against you like he needed you to feel it, like he needed to prove it to you.

"I’m so fucking sorry."

There was something wrong.

Something breaking.

Not just inside you.

Inside him.

His grip was too tight, too possessive, fingers digging into your hips, holding you still, locked against him.

Satoru doesn’t get emotional.

Satoru is loud, carefree, reckless.

Satoru is supposed to understand boundaries.

Satoru is supposed to stop.

Then why wasn’t he stopping?

Why was his breath coming in fevered gasps, why were his lips tracing the trembling curve of your jaw, pressing kisses along the pulse point at your throat, why was his voice pleading, broken, desperate?

Why did he sound like he was losing you?

"You don’t get it," he whispered between each kiss, mumbling, unraveling, his voice trembling against your skin. "You don’t—you don’t get it, princess. You almost left us. I—I didn’t want to hold you down that night."

The realization slithered through your mind, slow and suffocating. The abyss stirred, uncoiling inside you, thrashing against the haze, against the warmth of Satoru’s hands, against the way his fingers trailed against your soft skin, leaving marks in their wake, gripping the soft flesh of your thighs like he had every right to touch you.

His lips trembled against yours—fevered, insatiable.

"I love you," he whispered, the words dissolving into the heat of his mouth against yours. "I love you. I love you. I love you."

The words felt frantic, possessive, more an oath than a confession.

Your wrists—pinned above your head, trapped in his grasp.

His fingers curled around them, pressing them into the mattress, his body flush against yours, holding you in place.

The weight of him was suffocating.

This was Satoru.

This was your best friend.

You weren’t supposed to react.

Your body betrayed you. The sharp, shallow rise and fall of your chest, the heat prickling beneath your skin, the helpless, breathless little sounds slipping past your lips—all of it responding to his touch.

Even though you knew this wasn’t right.

Even though you knew this wasn’t love.

Ache.

His hips rolled against yours, slow, drawing a gasp from your throat—not a protest, not a plea, just a sound. That was all the permission he needed. His hand slid up your thigh, pushing your nightgown higher, exposing more of you to him, letting his fingers map out your skin, burning the shape of you into his memory.

"You were gonna leave us," he murmured against your lips, breathless, aching, his voice raw with something you couldn’t name. "You don’t get to do that. Not when we love you so much."

We?

The word barely registered, barely even formed in your head before his lips claimed yours again, hungry, desperate, overwhelming.

Satoru devoured you like you belonged to him.

Like this was his right.

Like he could love you enough to erase everything that came before this.

Like he could rewrite everything.

Like he could keep you.

The abyss inside you howled.

But Satoru didn’t stop. His weight pressed into you, his touch fevered, his lips brushing against your skin between each ragged breath, between each mumbled I love you.

You found it easier to look up.

Easier to focus on the ceiling than on the way his body moved against yours.

Easier to count the little glowing stars above you, the ones you begged Suguru for one night, one, two, three…Easier to slip into numbers than acknowledge the heat sinking deep inside you, curling through your veins, stealing what little control you had left.

Your lashes fluttered. Tears pooled, slipped down your temples, soaked into the pillow.

Satoru felt them.

His lips followed them, kissed them away, his voice breaking between each trembling press of his mouth against your cheek, against your jaw. "You don’t know," he whispered, a soft, pleading murmur. "You don’t know how much we love you."

We.

The word stung, but you didn’t know why. You felt it, somewhere in the thick, dizzying fog of your mind, a wrongness, a fracture.

Not just Satoru. Suguru.

A memory curled at the edges of your mind—not one you wanted, but one that came anyway. Another horror in this dreadful night, you wished for those purple flowers not the red flowers that haunted you. Blooming against the pale blue tile, staining your palms, seeping between your fingers. Their warmth, how they stick to your skin in the unforgiving wake. That warmth inside you twisted and pulled, it wasn’t Satoru’s hands anymore, wasn’t the heat of his body, the stretch and ache of him deep inside you as he whispered I love you against your skin like worship.

Instead, it was Suguru’s hands, hands that had touched you thousands of times before. Gentle hands, hands that treated you like you were meant for devotion, for you were his purity.  A memory forced itself to the surface, unbidden. Suguru, standing behind you, his arms circling your waist, his lips brushing against the curve of your neck as you got ready for bed. A whisper, low, warm, laced with something soft, "You’re beautiful, angel." A gentle careful kiss but you had uttered the words, pushing him away once more, pushing away those red flowers that haunted you. 

"Not tonight, Suguru."

The way his breath caught.

The way his hands stilled for just a second — his lips lingered against your shoulder before he exhaled, slow, measured, pressing a kiss to your temple.

"Okay," he had murmured. Like any devoted husband. Like any man who respected the word no. 

But no devoted husband uses electric shock treatment to keep his wife.

The ceiling blurred. The glowing stars bled into one another, bright spots against the dark haze swallowing your thoughts. Satoru’s touch dragged you back to the present, his lips pressing against your cheek, his body molding into yours, his voice muffled against your skin.

You continued to count the stars, this would all be over soon, wouldn’t it? 

One.

Two.

Three.

And let them swallow you whole

Weeks bled into months. Months of learning to exist beneath them. Months of waking in tangled sheets, caged between their bodies, pressed into the heat of their skin, the weight of them a presence. Months of breathing them in, their scent embedding itself into your very cells, threading through your ribs, settling deep inside you like an infection.

Months of becoming—

Becoming the perfect little thing they wanted.

Because that’s what this was all for, wasn’t it?

A family.

One big, happy family. Satoru whispered it against your skin, his lips trailing slow, lazy paths down your throat, his breath warm, saccharine, curling into your bones. He murmured it between kisses, between soft chuckles, between hands that never strayed far, hands that claimed, that took, that demanded. Suguru was gentler, slower, patient in the way a sculptor was patient when chiseling something out of stone. His voice was warm, his touch deliberate as he pressed you into his chest, his arms curling around you like a cage that pretended to be soft. He spoke of love, of devotion, of how hard it was sometimes, of how you had lost your way, how they had simply helped you find it again.

They loved you.

They loved you so much.

You were theirs.

They were yours.

A perfect trinity.

The family you were always meant to have.

Satoru would hum against your skin, tracing the curve of your hip with absentminded fingers, pressing smug, drowsy kisses to your temple as he whispered about how long they had waited for this, how long they had fought for you, how long they had planned for you to be here, with them, forever. Suguru would sigh against your hair, pressing his lips to your forehead, fingers threading through yours, telling you that love is difficult, that sometimes you break apart, that sometimes you lose yourself, but that they had found you again, that they had brought you home.

You wished you could tell them they were wrong.

You wished you could scream it, shatter the illusion they had so carefully wrapped around you, rip it open at the seams and show them—show them that you had never been theirs, that they had stolen you, reshaped you, carved you into something pliable, breakable, compliant.

Instead, you smiled.

Instead, you nodded.

Instead, you whispered soft thanks, spoke gentle words, let yourself melt into them like a perfect little doll. Because that was the role they had given you.

And if you played it long enough.

Maybe.

Just maybe.

You could be free.

But freedom was slow.

Freedom had conditions.

Gold stickers meant you were good, meant you let Suguru kiss you deeply without hesitation. Meant you didn’t flinch when his calloused, thick fingers gripped your chin, tilting your face up, when his lips claimed yours with slow, deliberate intent, when his tongue pushed past your parted lips, sweeping into your mouth, taking. 

Because breathing was a freedom he granted you.

His kiss was slow, practiced, indulgent, meant to be savored, to be felt. His tongue tangled with yours, rolling, curling, teasing, until it became a battle you were never meant to win. Until all you could do was let him have it, let him claim the heat of your mouth, let him drown you in the wet, insistent slide of saliva and submission.

Gold stickers meant you pressed into Satoru’s touch when he pulled you into his lap, when he grabbed at you, hands too big, too possessive, sliding beneath your sweet frilly dresses like they belonged there. Meant you let his fingers explore, tease, stroke, meant you didn’t tense when they skimmed along your thighs, when they traced the soft curve of your waist, when they inched higher, higher, a slow ascent meant to make you tremble. Meant you didn’t fight when he leaned in, breath warm, voice sticky sweet, whispering how perfect you were.

How much he loved you.

How he wanted all of you, always.

Because Satoru loved you, didn’t he?

Suguru cherished you, didn’t he?

And good girls. Good girls got gold stickers. Gold stickers meant you let them have you.

Together.

Gold stickers meant you didn’t cry, didn’t tremble, didn’t fight when they showed you what it meant to be theirs.

They called it making love. When they claimed you, when they took turns molding you, reshaping you, guiding your body into what they wanted it to be. When Satoru would hum small tuts of don’t bite, don’t cry as you struggled to take him, as his grip tightened just enough to remind you that breath was a privilege he could take away, each time he shoved his length down your throat that refused to take the full length. When Suguru’s voice was patient, coaxing, as he filled you, his thick cock filling your entirety, as he waited for your body to surrender, to accept, to welcome. When they weren’t feeling so generous, when they both took you at once, you found comfort in counting the stars on the ceiling. 

One, two, three, four. 

A methodical ritual, a place to go when there was nowhere else to escape to, a set of bright constellations to disappear into until your body was no longer your own. Until the weight of them left you aching, until Suguru pressed a small, bitter pill to your lips. Not the soft, fuzzy ones. Not the ones that made everything feel distant, hazy, almost bearable.

No.

This one was different - ensured you would always be theirs.

Forever.

You didn’t call it making love. You refused to give it a name. Names have meaning because calling it something makes it real. 

And you had already learned that fighting back only earned red stickers.

Suguru would sigh, take your chin in his hand, tilt your face up, his thumb smoothing over your lips as he murmured, “You’re not trying hard enough, angel.” Sinking himself further into you as you wailed that this was too much, however, words still refused to leave your lips when they gave you the fuzzy pill.  Satoru would smile—too easy, too light—before pressing you down, before kissing you so deeply you couldn’t breathe, before whispering, “We love you, princess. Let us show you.”

Suguru’s hands would hold you still.

Satoru’s lips would silence your words.

And you would let them.

Because fighting meant nothing.

Because the times you fought were worse.

You had already learned that fighting back only earned red stickers.

And red stickers weren’t just reprimands.

They were punishments.

Punishments that stripped you down, peeled you apart layer by layer, until you no longer knew where the pain ended and where you began.

Because love is difficult, isn’t it?

That’s what Suguru always told you. Love took patience, love took sacrifice, love took understanding. You had lost yourself for a little while, but they found you again.

And love was about keeping what belonged to you.

Red stickers meant the dark.

Suguru never yelled. He never needed to. He didn’t believe in harsh words, didn’t believe in cruelty, only correction.

"You just need time to think, angel," he would say, voice so warm, so understanding, as he shut the door. And you would sit in the darkness, alone, the air around you thick, pressing, suffocating, your own heartbeat the only sound in the void. You would listen to it, the heavy thump, thump, thump of it against your ribs, a reminder that you were here, that time still moved, even if you couldn’t see it.

But hours could stretch into eternities in the dark.

Your mind would start playing tricks on you.

You would hear the floor creak even when no one was there.

You would see things—shadows shifting in the corners of your vision, shapes that moved just when you blinked. The wallsm breathing, growing, closing in. You would scratch at your arms just to feel something real, press your nails into your palms, try to hold onto yourself. But eventually, the dark would become your only companion. And when the door finally opened, spilling in the golden glow of the hallway, illuminating Suguru’s familiar, patient face, you would thank him. You would cry into his chest as he murmured soft reassurances, stroked your hair, shushed you like a parent soothing a child, whispering, “It’s okay, angel. You’re home now.”

Red stickers meant silence.

You were allowed to speak—until you weren’t, or at least the words you were able to speak despite all the speech therapy that Satoru engages in with you. Giving you a gold star for every time you mention the words I love you.

Suguru would take away your voice.

Satoru would take away your body.

And both of them, together, would take away your mind.

Suguru believed words had weight. And your words needed to be earned.

"You talk too much sometimes, angel," he would murmur, cupping your cheek, thumb smoothing over your lips in a way that almost felt loving. "I think it’s best if you take some time to listen instead."

And then, the silence would begin.

For hours.

For days.

No one would speak to you. Not when you greeted them in the morning, not when you reached for them in the kitchen, not when you curled into Satoru’s lap at night, searching for warmth, for comfort, for something. You would try to apologize, try to whisper, try to fix whatever you did wrong—but silence was the only thing that answered you.

The absence of their voices would drive you mad.

Because they were the only voices you had left.

And you wouldn’t even realize it until you were begging for them to speak to you. Until you were crying, pleading, promising you’d be better, that you’d be good, that you wouldn’t make the same mistake again.

Until Suguru finally sighed, finally smiled, finally opened his arms for you to crawl into.

"See? I knew you’d understand."

And you would nod.

And you would thank him.

Because you had learned.

Because love had to be felt.

Red stickers meant pain.

But not pain in the ways you expected. Not bruises or broken skin. No, that would be too easy. Suguru didn’t believe in hurting you. Satoru didn’t believe in making you suffer.

"We would never, ever hurt you, princess," Satoru would murmur, pressing feather-light kisses to your knuckles.

"We love you too much for that," Suguru would promise, smoothing your hair, lips against your temple.

Instead— they let you hurt yourself.

The isolation and silence. The punishments were made to be felt—so that you would be so grateful when they stopped.

So that when Suguru finally pulled you into his arms, when Satoru finally buried his fingers into your hair, when their voices finally filled the quiet, you would cling to them.

You would melt into them. You would thank them for loving you enough to teach you the right way to love them back.

Because red stickers weren’t punishments.

Not really. They were lessons. They were reconstruction.

They were breaking you down and putting you back together.

Until there was nothing left to fix. Until you weren’t just theirs. Until you were nothing else— nothing but the howling abyss that had consumed you, devoured you, and made a home inside your ribs where love was supposed to be. You had been reshaped, rewritten, reduced to something that fit neatly into their hands. A perfect little thing. A cherished possession. A beloved doll. And yet—beneath it all, beneath the softness, the compliance, the pretty, painted-over ruin.

Something inside you still whispered.

Something inside you still knew.

You were not whole. You were not safe. You were not theirs.

But maybe that was the cruelest part. Maybe you had never been yours, either. Maybe you had always belonged to something else. Something lurking in the shadows of your mind. Something clawing beneath your skin. Maybe it had always been waiting, for the right moment. Waiting for them to break you just enough that you no longer cared about surviving.

Because that’s how madness works, isn’t it? It doesn’t come all at once. It seeps in like a slow drip. It whispers before it howls. It curls around your ribs, waiting, waiting, waiting—until you went insane.

Or maybe you had always been insane.

Maybe it had never been a matter of breaking. Maybe it had only been a matter of time.

It was poetic, really.

The game had always been theirs, Suguru with his patience, Satoru with his affection. Two halves of the same vice, pressing, tightening, shaping you into something that belonged to them.

And yet—they never expected you to playback. Never expected that after all these months, all this time, after all the gold stickers and red stickers and quiet, compliant submission—you would take something from them.

They thought they had won.

They thought you had finally learned to love them.

Because you had let them in.

Because you had stopped fighting.

Because you had smiled.

And maybe that was the cruelest part.

You had smiled.

You had whispered, I love you too.

You had given them everything, just long enough to make them believe it. Because love was trust, wasn’t it? And they trusted you. They trusted you enough to leave you alone. To step out into the world believing you would wait for them, believing you would always be right where they left you, believing that you had finally accepted what they had been trying to give you all along.

That you had accepted them.

Accepted their love.

Their home.

Their family.

But love had never been a choice for you.

And now, it wasn’t a choice for them either.

When the door creaked open, when Suguru stepped inside first, smiling, slipping off his coat, Satoru trailing behind him, laughing at some joke that no longer mattered, It took only seconds for them to see it. The pill cabinet was half-open. The empty bottles were carelessly discarded. And then - you. Sitting there, waiting, smiling. Like you always did. Like a perfect little doll. But your skin was too pale, your eyes, too bright, too fevered, too glassy.

The first stumble. Your body swayed, the room tilting on an unseen axis, the distant, detached feeling of your limbs no longer being yours, your stomach turning inside out, nausea curling in waves.

Suguru’s smile faltered.

Satoru’s laughter died.

And when Suguru’s sharp eyes narrowed, when he took one step forward—you laughed. High. Light. Almost musical.

Suguru froze.

Satoru stilled.

Like a moment caught in time, stretched too thin, seconds passing that felt like centuries. Then, realization. The widening of Suguru’s pupils, the way his breath hitched, the way his hand shot out to steady you, to touch you, as if that could stop what was happening.

As if he could still save you.

As if he had ever saved you.

And Satoru—well. Satoru looked like he had been shot. His lips parted, no breath, no sound, body locked into place, unblinking, unbreathing, his hands twitching, fingers flexing like he didn’t know what to do with them. As if his mind was refusing to understand what his eyes were seeing, because this wasn’t supposed to happen.

You were theirs.

You were supposed to be safe.

"No," Suguru murmured, and for the first time in your life, his voice was something other than that calm vice.

And for the first time since you have been met with Suguru—you felt powerful. A tilt of your head, lips stretching wider into something not quite a smile, not quite anything at all.

"I hope in another timeline, I never meet either of you." The words tumbled out easy like they had been waiting to escape for months since they did this to you. Words you had to practice in a mirror. Words that shouldn't have taken so much effort but all the drugs and treatments they put you on...had ruined who you really are.

Suguru’s grip tightened around your arms, his nails digging in too hard as if he could keep you here, keep you alive, keep you his. Satoru still hadn’t moved. His breath was shallow, his eyes darting everywhere—the empty bottles, the pale of your skin, the sweat glistening along your forehead.

The first cough.

And with it, the first bloom of red, something your mind changed to flowers but you knew what this truly was. The way the petals splattered against your palm, hot and thick, dripping between your fingers, staining your lips. Satoru jerked forward, his hands shaking as he reached for you, so, so gently, like he was afraid to break you even more.

But you were already breaking.

You had already broken.

The second cough came harder.

Then the third.

And suddenly, the room was shaking, or maybe it was you that was shaking, or maybe it was them, or maybe it was everything falling apart all at once.

Suguru was begging now. "No, no, no, angel, look at me - don’t do this, don’t fucking do this." Those large warm hands you once loved were cradling your face, cupping your cheeks, trying to hold you together even as more red spilled from your lips, and dripped onto his fingers, onto his wrists.

And Satoru was fumbling through his phone for 911, an ambulance, two doctors who were beyond saving their beloved patient now. However, you had never seen him quite like this, never seen his chest rise and fall in uneven, erratic bursts, never seen his fingers tremble, never seen his lips shake around a choked, gasping “Princess, please.”

Please?

Like you owed him something.

Like you owed them anything.

"This isn’t love." The words gurgled up past the wet heat in your throat, burning, raw, torn from somewhere deep inside you that they had never been able to touch. "You never loved me."

Maybe that was what broke them.

Not the blood.

Not the pale blue of your skin.

Not the way your body sagged against Suguru’s chest as you slipped further, further away.

But that.

That you had never believed them.

That even in their twisted devotion, their patience, their desperate, all-consuming love—you had never truly been theirs.

Even after everything.

Even now.

Suguru let out a sound, something strangled, something inhuman, as he pressed his forehead against yours, as he rocked you, shook you, pleaded with you, his words breaking apart before they could even form.

Satoru just kept whispering your name as he waited for the ambulance to arrive. Over and over and over. Like if he said it enough, maybe you would answer him. Like if he said it enough, maybe you would stay.

Like if he said it enough, maybe this wouldn’t be real. It was though, this was a fact. The same fact that they did this to you, drove you this far into the abyss letting that monster finally be released to pay them the dues they so much deserved. And as the darkness finally took you, as your body finally gave in, as the last shreds of yourself finally slipped through their fingers—you smiled. For the first time in this life, you had finally broken through the haze.

You had won.

[aventurineswife]

Hihiii !!

may i request a Phainon x reader where as hes using his ult form whilst in battle, the reader gets injured (it can be anything !! like a broken ankle or they sprained their wrist handling their weapon) and Phainon insists on carrying them either still in battle even still in his ult form or after he finished obliterating the opponents that caused the injury in the first place? I dunno, but surprise me ! !(^o^)!

Feel free to ignore this if you don't want to write it, and take care of yourself!!! 🫶

A Sovereign’s Vow

Summary: During a fierce battle in the Okhema Wastes, you suffer a sudden injury that leaves you vulnerable on the battlefield. As chaos erupts around you, Phainon unleashes his ultimate form—Demiurge—becoming a celestial embodiment of light and shadow. After obliterating the enemies responsible, he finds you and insists on carrying you to safety, revealing the quiet, unwavering depth of his devotion beneath his godlike power. Between divinity and vulnerability, a bond between you shines through.

Tags: Phainon x Reader, Hurt/Comfort, Battle Scene, Injured Reader, Protective Phainon, Demiurge/Ult Form, Soft!Phainon, Carrying Scene, Divine Imagery, Mutual Care, Romantic Tension, Fluff Amidst Chaos.

Warnings: Battle violence (non-graphic but intense atmosphere), Injury (sprained/broken ankle, mild pain described), Supernatural combat themes, Mild language, Emotional intensity / power imbalance themes.

A/N: HE'S BARELY OUT Y'ALL!!! 😭🙏

The air cracked with celestial energy.

Swords clashed with shadow as Phainon's Demiurge form illuminated the battlefield. One half of him burned like the heart of a star—golden and searing—while the other whispered with the void, wings of shadow curling like smoke around his form. Every movement he made carved silence into the chaos, obliterating the Titanspawn that had broken through the city walls.

And then you screamed.

You hadn't meant to—gods, you never wanted to be a distraction—but the wrong pivot, the weight of your blade, and a cruelly placed fragment of rubble wrenched your ankle at a sickening angle. You hit the ground hard, dust clouding your vision, fingers scrabbling at the uneven stone. Pain radiated up your leg, white-hot and pulsing.

Your weapon skittered a few feet away. Useless.

But they were coming. The ones who had flanked you—the Strife-bound, writhing with corrupted energy—were closing in, their snarls a cruel melody above the thunder of war.

And then everything stopped.

A wave of divine pressure swept the field. The enemies froze—not from fear, but from raw, oppressive awe.

Phainon landed between you and them in a shock of light and shadow, the impact fracturing the ground in a radiant burst. He didn’t speak. He didn’t have to.

The next instant was a blur of annihilation.

Golden strikes that flared like sunfire tore through flesh and metal, while sweeping arcs of indigo carved silence where once stood fury. He moved like a deity who had forgotten mercy—a perfect storm of power and purpose.

And then, only the wind remained.

You winced, trying to rise.

“Don’t,” came his voice—ethereal and layered now, like it echoed from both heavens and abyss.

You blinked up through the dust. Phainon stood before you in his Demiurge form, radiant and terrifying. Yet when his eyes met yours, they softened. Still piercing, but grounding. Still divine, but real.

“I told you not to push yourself alone,” he murmured, kneeling.

“I—I didn’t mean to—” you stammered, guilt washing over you.

He silenced you with a look. “You’re hurt. That’s all that matters right now.”

You tried again to stand, but he reached out—carefully, reverently—and scooped you into his arms. Even in this form, his touch was gentle, warm where the golden armor brushed your skin, cool and comforting where the indigo embraced you like dusk.

“You’re still glowing,” you said softly, half-laughing through the pain. “You’re going to blind me.”

“And yet, you still manage to tease me.”

You rested your head against his shoulder as he rose into the sky, wings of shadow fanning out, the halo above him casting ripples across the clouds. His long coattails flowed like a royal banner, divine and defiant.

“You came for me,” you whispered, eyes fluttering shut.

“I always will,” he replied, voice a harmony of solemn vow and unspoken ache. “Even if I have to burn the stars and shadow the sun.”

As he carried you beyond the broken field, his power receded slowly—but he never let you go.

Not through the pain.

Not through the silence.

Not even when the battle ended.

[little-wicked10]

Hedonism

Summary: A vulnerable goddess prey to his godly appetites. She’s the prize of one man. He just has to catch her first.

Warnings: SMUT🔞, exhibitionism, voyeurism, cursing, dirty talk, daddy kink, subspace, teasing, mentions of edging, light-ish predator/prey kink, mention of safe wording, orgy stuff

Notes: This is a part 2 to buy me presents🎁! Ben is cashing in on his Christmas gift of fucking her at Herogasm.

All Italics - Past

//

Her sheer silk dress exposed everything. The muted pink barely blurred the details of her body as she stepped through the busy halls. In the sea of debauchery, she was an untouched goddess. A flower that hadn’t been scorched by the wildfire that was Herogasm. She pressed a golden goblet to her lips as she moved amongst the sex crazed and depraved. Some attempted to reach out and pull her into their pile of limbs, but the small silver chain around her ankle kept them at bay. A little symbol of her lover’s ownership over her.

The bathhouse had been reconstructed and renovated for the purposes of Herogasm that year. It was gorgeous. Every detail, from the mosaics in the large pool to the ornate goblets and serving pitchers, was immaculate. Herogasm had been turned into a monument to Roman hedonism.

Ben had a vision for his favorite “holiday” of the year. He wanted everything to be perfect, including her. She assured him that she’d bring her best, and she delivered tenfold. Her hair was curled and strung with pearls, makeup elegant and simple. She only wore her anklet for jewelry, her body wrapped in the sheer silk would be statement enough. To add something special, she dusted her body in a light shimmer to give the effect of an ethereal being.

Ben loved when her skin was soft and glowing. The specks of glitter coating his body the more he explored hers was a huge turn on. She discovered it when he picked her up from a photo shoot, and he kept staring at her shining skin. By the time they made it home, Ben looked like a stripper.

The main area of the bathhouse was occupied by a grand pool with a small marble island. A large altar with intricate carvings of gladiators in a brothel along its sides took center stage. Not one patron had dared to venture forth and break in the grand offering stone. It wasn’t for them. It was for the main event.

//

“You trust me?” Ben murmured into her ear, naked chest pressing into her back.

His limbs encompassed her, satin sheets pooling around them as they relaxed against the head board. She pulled the joint from her lips, “Of course, I do. Why do you ask?”

His lips pressed to her cheek, “Somethin’ I’ve been mullin’ around for a while.”

She giggled, “Uh oh.”

She didn’t have to see to know he rolled his eyes, teeth nipping her jawline, “I don’t wanna fuck the week before Herogasm.”

Her body went rigid against his before she scoffed, “How high are you?”

Ben plucked the joint from her fingers before placing it in his mouth. “I’m fuckin’ serious,” he murmured, “I want us to be super horny for this. Think that be alright, princess?”

She sighed happily and nodded, staring at the many kiss marks staining his exposed thighs. It wasn’t possible for her to leave any kind of hickey or scratch, so she found another way to physically claim him. Red lipstick.

Ben hummed, “That’s my girl.”

“Anything else?” she teased as she took the joint.

A chuckle rumbled against her back, “Now that ya mention it, there is.” She sat up out of his hold to look at him with a curious expression. The look in his eyes was dark, “I want to hunt you.”

Ben’s tone made her shiver, “H-hunt me? What does that mean?”

His fingers traced along her spine and over her shoulder blades, “It means, I chase you through the party and fuck you when I find you.” He heard her heart race, face heating up in a deep blush as she thought over the request. Running around Herogasm AWAY from him? What if someone tried to grab her? What if something happened? The thought was as intoxicating as it was nerve wracking.

“Ya know, you’re too pretty to worry? As long as ya got this lil’ beauty on,” he reached down to trace the anklet’s charm, “I’m the only one who gets to touch you, baby.”

She bit her bottom lip, “Just like we talked about?”

He smirked, “Just like we talked about.”

That was all the reassurance she needed. She reached down and intertwined their fingers, bringing his hand to her lips before kissing the back of it, “Tell me how to play, daddy.”

//

The rules were quite simple. Like a game of chase, but with a twist. A very, very naughty twist. She would wonder around the party as an ever evasive nymph, while he reigned over like a drunken god. Once he spotted her, the hunt would begin. The thrill sent a shiver through her.

It was heightened by the desperate ache between her legs. Being voluntarily abstinent was a challenge especially when Ben wouldn’t stop teasing her, edging her to the point of insanity. He never played fair, and it was his idea. There was also knowing dozens of people would be watching Ben fuck her like a wild beast. She surprised herself with how excited she was to play out this new fantasy.

On the far side of the room, a great laugh echoed with the many moans against the marble walls and columns. Her foot steps were slow and precise as she moved in for a closer look. Hiding behind a marble fountain, she gazed at her lover through the trickling water. Soldier Boy sat upon an ostentatious throne fit for a Roman emperor. Draped around his Adonis-like body was a deep purple toga with gold trimming and around his head a golden laurel wreath. He was stunning, a work of art. The picture of an immortal being on Mount Olympus.

Several women were laid out before his feet, pleasuring one another as he happily drank and smoked. Green eyes darted from the scene below to the room around him. The festivities had him in a jovial mood, but she could see him searching. She had done fairly well hiding from him, managing to sidle by every time he went looking. Adrenaline licked at her nerves every time she narrowly escaped. Why they hadn’t played this game before was beyond her.

A woman moaned in delight as Ben poured the rest of his wine along her back and ass. The woman arched into it, letting the liquid run down her spine towards her shoulder blades. A pang of jealousy struck her until she caught a glimpse of the pink smudge under his left ear. Her parting kiss before he stepped into the party, a possessive little stain.

She smirked as her fingers idly dangled in the water. Pride bubbled in her chest seeing how he made no attempt to remove or hide it. She rubbed her anklet against the back of her left calf as her gaze never ceased. The electricity built in the air with each passing second. His sharp eyes scanned over the orgy once more, and her body began to poise the closer he came. Shock froze her when finally his stare caught her.

“AH HA!” Ben bellowed as he jumped to his feet, “I’ve spotted her! The beautiful Venus!”

She stood up straight and gathered the skirt of her dress as she shuffled backwards. He tossed his goblet aside, the metal clank! disrupting the symphony of moans as it hit the marble floor. He stepped down the dais, over the many writhing women, towards her, “She is the only prize worthy enough for my cock.”

“Then come forth and give chase, mighty Mars,” her voice angelic as she called to him, playing into the fantasy.

A mad giggle left her lips when her bare feet turned and rushed from the room. The moment their host broke into a sprint, the spectators began to cheer and holler. Adrenaline rushed through her veins hearing him get closer. There was no way she could out run him, but she’d give him a hell of a chase. Her eyes darted about wildly looking for her next move. Blood roared in her ears and mind reeled, jeering and cackling faces a blur as she ran down hallway after hallway.

Just as she was about to dash out into a garden, an arm looped around her waist. She squealed loudly as she was swept off her feet and man handled over a shoulder. “WHO WANTS TO WATCH ME FUCK THE GODDESS OF BEAUTY?!?” Ben boomed. Her body burned as the crowd erupted in what could only be described as a horny cheer. She squeaked when his large hand swatted her ass. The crowd followed as he made his way back to the main room.

Ben laughed as he waded through the pool, sloshing water with each stride of his muscular legs. The bottom of her dress skimmed along the surface amongst the rose petals in the crystal blue waters. With a grunt, he stepped onto the platform and set her on the cold marble altar. The way the light bounced off the water made her skin look like gold, catching his attention. He felt himself drooling, “You’re fuckin’ gorgeous.”

Her teeth found purchase of her bottom lip nervously. Ben reached up and held her cheek, thumb brushing against her blushing skin, “Doin’ okay, princess?”

Her adoring eyes gazed up at him as if he was an immortal blessing her with his presence. She gently nodded her head, curls softly swaying. As she nuzzled into his palm, his thumb moved to pull her lip from her teeth, “I’m okay, daddy.”

“That’s my girl,” he pecked her lips softly, “Remember that safe word if it starts gettin’ hairy, okay?”

She leant forward, brushing her lips against his abdomen towards his chest, “Yes, my godly lover. We shouldn’t keep the mortals waiting any longer.”

His smile made her insides melt, “We shouldn’t, my lusty goddess.”

Their lips met in a fierce kiss, Ben’s fingers threading through the hair at the back of her head. The orgy crowd cheered encouragements. The kiss was all tongue and teeth, savagely driven by their sexual frustration. Her small hands pulled at his short toga as his free one began to travel her body, inching up the silk to her thighs. Ben gave her hair a single hard pull before releasing it to grab her hips and reposition her.

After moving her, she sat on his lap with her back to his chest. His strong hands placed her legs on either side of his to expose her to the entire room. A chorus of wolf whistles and hollers filled the air at her exposed cunt. “Take a good long look, boys. This’ll be the only time ya get to see such a beautiful pussy,” Ben shouted. She whimpered quietly as his calluses dug into the meat of her thighs. A deep flush spread across her body seeing all eyes at her center.

She held on to his forearms, breath shaky when a pit of anxiety formed in her chest. Her body relaxed into his more when she felt his lips brush against her ear, “Relax. Just gonna stretch ya out a lil’.” Goosebumps rippled across her flesh feeling his hands travel inward. His right hand traced over her folds, teasing her entrance, as the left began to circle her clit. The way his fingers began to caress her dewy petals morphed her anxieties back into excitement.

A gasp melted into a sigh when he slid one finger inside, teeth nibbling her earlobe as he began to thrust the digit against her soft walls. She whimpered as the fingers teasing her clit finally began to pick up pace. Ben chuckled in her ear sending shivers down her spine, “Keep your legs nice ‘n wide for everyone to see. Gotta teach these mortals how to please a goddess.”

She moaned, flexing her legs wider, “Yes sir.”

He rewarded her by shoving a second finger alongside the first. Both his hands picked up in pace and hardness, fucking into her with a purpose. Over the sound of moaning and cheering, she heard the squelching of his fingers driving her to orgasm. A week without his touch left her overly sensitive. It was embarrassing how quickly he had made a mess of her cunt.

“You’re fuckin’ gushin’ all over my hands. Bet there’s a lil’ puddle under us. Take a look,” Ben nudged his nose against the side of her face, urging her to look down between their spread legs.

She picked her head up off his shoulder, gaze meeting the crowd around the room that were witness to every move, expression, and sound she made. She could see so many men staring, drooling, pleasuring themselves to the sight of Ben’s thick fingers plunging into her wetness. A woman in the pool below them was held between two men who were fucking her to oblivion. Her eyes were glazed over, head leaned back on the other man’s shoulder, moaning to the heavens like a prayer as she never looked away from the show above. A strange heat rose knowing so many were getting pleasure just watching them.

Ben curled his fingers and chuckled when she let out a pathetic cry, “A week without me, and I already got ya squirtin’ on my fingers. Or, is it the fact that all these people wanna fuck you that’s got ya makin’ a mess?” Her body squirmed, coil tightening in her belly as she grabbed at his wrists. Her head fell back against his shoulder once again as let out more moans and whines. “D-Don’t stop! Don’t stop!” she pleaded loudly. When his teeth latched on to her earlobe, she finally exploded. Her thighs shook, nails bit into his skin, and hips rolled more erratically to chase the rest of that high.

Ben’s soft chuckle encouraged her to keep up her display, guiding her hips to rock against his fingers. She cried out when he pulled them from her fluttering walls, “Damn! That was a good one, wasn’t it, Venus?” His smirk grew when she whimpered in agreement. Before she could come out of her daze, he gently maneuvered her body to close her shaking legs and readjust their position once again. He peppered her face with soft kisses as he stood to set her on the altar and slip her dress off over her head. The orgy crowd let their approval be heard.

Delicate fingers began to undress him in earnest. Fuck, he loved her in this headspace. So submissive, so needy, so desperate for him. Just the way he liked her. “Even a goddess is powerless to some good dick,” Ben announced to the room. The room responded with laughs.

“Please, daddy,” she looked up at him with pleading eyes, cute pink hearts floating around in them again.

Ben bit his lip as he threw off his clothes, wrapped his hands around her thighs, and pulled her to the edge of the marble. Her legs hooked around his hips as she ran her hands along his body. A whine escaped her lips when she watched him line up his impressive girth. He tapped the angry red head against her soaked folds, basking in the way she writhed and whined for more. “Sssh, easy. Daddy’ll give you what you need. Just gotta tell everyone in this room how much of a whore you are for me,” he smiled.

He thought she’d be too shy or even hesitate at his command. What he didn’t expect was for her to throw her head back to the ceiling and, in a very clear and desperate voice, say, “Please fuck me, Soldier Boy! I need your cock inside me because I’m your fucking whore!”

Ben’s ego flew through the roof as their audience shouted for more.

“Fuck her, SB!”

“Desperate slut! Give it to her!”

“If you don’t, I will!”

Some of it had jealousy flaring in his chest, but that little anklet dangling off her leg doused it for the time being. He’d deal with those assholes later. Just when she was on the verge of tears, he bullied his thick cock inside her welcoming cunt. Her moan was nearly drowned out by the roar of approval. His hands moved to her hips to guide her over his length at a brutal pace, “That better, baby? Fuck, your pussy keeps sucking me in!” The orgy around them seemed to fade into the background as they fucked like savages. She couldn’t form words as she held on to the edge of the marble with one hand and his bicep in the other. She was fighting off the urge to cum, he could feel it in the way her walls kept fluttering. Probably waiting for his permission.

A feral feeling took over him, and he couldn’t stop. He refused to stop. She came with a scream, her essence gushing all over him. The first bled into a second as his hips pistoned into her. His fingers were leaving bruises in their wake as he held her tightly in place. Her third one wasn’t too far behind, but he could tell she needed a little push.

Ben spoke as the hand on her lower back slide around to strum her clit, “Want you to fuckin’ remember this. How I’m the only man that can get you like this. Only one that can fuck you till you’re brainless.”

“D-D-D-Daddy!” she whimpered, hips rolling on their own.

“Yeah. Just how I like ya. Fucked dumb and full of my cum,” he smiled.

Her walls suddenly contracted around him so tightly he could hardly pull back to drive into her. Her mouth fell open in a silent scream as she squirted like a fountain. That’s the go ahead he was looking for and the band snapped. He shoved his cock as far as he could, kissing her cervix, and painting her insides white. She trembled in the man’s hold as her body felt like she was floating. The crowd around her sounded almost muffled, her attention solely on the man that had her seeing heaven. She barely registered him picking her limp body up until he made her wrap her arms around his neck.

“You did good, baby,” he kissed her lips slowly, “Real good.”

“D-Daddy,” her mind was too far gone, body and sensation having taken over, “I…I…um.”

He shushed her as he made his way from the pool towards his throne, ignoring all the people staring in awe, “Don’t talk. We’re gonna watch the rest of the party while you stay perched on my dick so none of daddy’s cum leaks out. Okay?”

A violent shiver ran through her body before she nodded against his shoulder, “Y-Yes, d-daddy.”

He chuckled, “Good girl, Venus. That’s my good girl.”

[sagistrology]

𝐬𝐡𝐨𝐫𝐭 𝐭𝐚𝐤𝐞𝐬 𝐨𝐧 𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐫𝐨𝐥𝐨𝐠𝐲,

𝐩𝐭 𝐈𝐈𝐈

(the following observations are kept general)

♱ cardinals breaking free from obligation, w. firm boundaries operating from the objective. cross them and you’re out. less reliant on emotion, their virtue is gone (pluto in aquarius).

♱ lilith in pisces or twelfth house in composite; getting lost in a ‘trance’, deluded perception of time. devotion and surrender. it's about healing and grieving simultaneously. no rationality, blurred boundaries.

♱ neptune conjunct ascendant can attract obsession. wired differently, connected to the immaterial. can come with them being oblivious to their appearance and vastness because it feels 'innate', very elusive and ethereal (not being attached to an identity, which draws people in). cleansing and protection are essential, both physically and mentally.

♱ def. psychic affinities, being blind to 'obsessiveness', heightened intuition. will dream, hear, see, or feel deception while the material opposes it. can be paradoxical. they often play with variations of the 'ego'.

♱ eleventh house venus; they require adrenaline, intelligence, someone unpredictable, a conversationalist. they're cool and 'aloof' when they're bored. contrary to their demeanour, they crave connection when a) stimulated, and b) intrigued. focus on the mental, blunt, confrontational (reasonably so), very objective. def. will tease you, playful.

♱ they don't want to be restricted, but craved. yearn from a distance if deemed necessary. can separate intimacy from emotion. when there's a mental and emotional connection? best believe, they will tell you.

♱ angular houses function as one's identity, and are more 'accessible', since the energies are turned outward. can be perceived as heavier due to visibility. while this has its perks, the facetted consequences of being 'known' have to be considered too.

♱ w. visibility comes vibrancy, hence envy and projection. people wanting pieces of that power. personal planets and stelliums in these houses (first, fourth, seventh, tenth) call for protection and selectiveness. what does light attract?

𝜗𝜚 part II

[riddlesrizzler]

The Swan and The Fighter

summary: On her big night, a dancer’s performance shines brighter with the love and support of her boxer boyfriend characters: boxer! mattheo. ballet! reader warnings: mentions of bruising and scars. word count: 1.2k

The stage lights burned hot against your skin, casting an ethereal glow over your tutu as you stood in position, heart thrumming like the wings of a swan you were about to become. The air hummed with anticipation, the quiet murmur of the audience beyond the curtain almost drowned out by the pounding of your pulse.

This was it. Opening night.

You had spent months preparing for this moment, every plié, every fouetté, every aching muscle leading up to the role of a lifetime: Odette, the Swan Queen. It had been a dream since childhood, and now it was real. Your name was printed at the top of the program, your silhouette graced posters outside the theater. You had worked for this. You had earned this.

And yet, a flicker of nervous energy danced through you, setting through your fingers as they tremble, clutching the edge of your costume.

What if I fail?

"Breathe," you whisper to yourself, inhaling deeply, just as your ballet mistress had always told you. "You're ready for this."

The soft rustle of movement caught your attention, and when you turned, your breath hitched in your throat.

Mattheo.

He stood near the wings, barely inside the backstage area, looking completely out of place amid the sea of dancers and stagehands. He was all hard lines and rough edges, broad shoulders draped in a dark black hoodie that did little to conceal the sheer power beneath. His knuckles were bruised, wrapped in tape from his latest fight, and faint scars traced his jawline like stories of battles he never spoke about. His dark curls were tousled, like he'd run his hands through them a hundred times, and his stormy eyes looked onto yours the second you looked at him.

He held a bouquet of white roses.

Your heart clenched.

"You came," you breathed, stepping towards him.

He scoffed, rolling his eyes like it should have been obvious. "Of course I came. You think I'd miss this?"

Your lips parted, but before you could say anything, he reached for your hand, fingers rough but gentle as they closed around yours. His thumb brushed over your wrist, feeling the quickened pulse there.

"Nervous?" he murmured.

You nodded, exhaling shakily. "A little"

He studied you for a long moment, then, without warning, he lifted your joined hands and pressed a kiss to your knuckles. The sensation was featherlight, a stark contrast to the violence he carried in his fists.

"You're gonna be perfect," he said, his voice low and certain. "You always are."

Warmth spread through you, chasing away the last lingering traces of doubt. You smiled, giving his fingers a squeeze before the call for places rang through the backstage area.

"I have to go," you whispered.

He nodded, stepping back but letting go just yet. "I'll be right out there."

With one last lingering glance, you turned and slipped onto the stage, stepping into the light, into the role you were meant to play.

—

The performance was a blur of motion and music. You became Odette, lost in the grace and tragedy of the Swan Queen's story. The world outside the stage ceased to exist; there was only the dance, the swell of Tchaikovsky’s score, and the aching beauty of the tale you wove with every movement.

And yet- you felt him.

Even in the vast theater, even with the hundreds of eyes watching you, you knew exactly where Mattheo was.

He was in the front row, watching with an intensity that set your skin aflame. He had never been one for the arts, had never understood your world of pirouettes and pliés, but tonight- tonight, he saw you. Not just as a dancer, not just as his delicate girl who patched up his knuckles after every brutal match, but as something untouchable, something breathtaking.

You danced for him.

—

By the time the final notes rang through the theater and the stage faded to black, your chest heaved with exertion, sweat glistening on your skin. The silence hung for a single, suspended moment.

Then- applause.

Thundering, deafening applause erupted from the audience, washing over you like a wave. You blinked, chest tightening as the realization hit you.

You had done it.

The curtain call was a blur of people. Bouquets were handed to you, cheers filled the air, and then before you even had a chance to process it all, you were rushing off the stage, heart hammering against your ribs.

You barely made it past the wings before Mattheo was there, his arms wrapping around you.

You gasped as he lifted you clear off the ground, spinning you effortlessly, crushing you to his chest. His grip was strong, unyielding, he like never wanted to let go.

"You were unbelievable," he muttered against you temple.

You laughed breathlessly, hands fisting in the fabric of his hoodie as he set you back down. "You think so?"

He huffed. "I know so." Then, with a smirk, "Might've broken a guy's nose for talking during your solo."

You stared at him, wide-eyed. "Mattheo-"

"Kidding," he grinned, but you weren't entirely convinced.

Before you could protest, he shoved the bouquet of white roses into your arms, his usual scowl softening. "These are for you. Thought they fit."

Your fingers tightened around the stems as emotion welled in your throat. White roses. The symbol of new beginnings, of purity and admiration.

You met his gaze, seeing something raw and unspoken in the depths of his dark eyes.

"Thank you," you murmured, voice trembling.

He shrugged, looking almost shy, which was rare for him. Then, before you could think, before you could dwell on it- you kissed him.

It was quick, just a soft press of your lips against his, but it sent electricity racing through your veins. When you pulled back, you saw the way his eyes darkened, the way his fingers twitched to pull you closer.

"You're mine, Swan," he muttered, voice rough as his forehead rests on yours.

You smiled, warmth blooming in your chest. "And you're mine, Fighter."

Mattheo smirked, brushing a thumb over your cheek before tilting his head toward the exit. "Come on, I'm taking you to dinner. You deserve the world after that."

You laughed, allowing him to lace his fingers through yours as he led you away from the stage, away from the cheers and the lights. because no matter how much you loved the ballet, no matter how much you belonged in that world-

You would always find your way back to him.

[delilaheilish]

⊹ ࣪ ˖ 🍒 “SHE DANCES ON MY TONGUE . . . “ 𓂃 billie eilish

.ᐟ smut, oral, (fem!reader!receiving) fingering, dirty talk, use of pet names.

billie slowly approaches you, her intense gaze locked onto yours. her blue eyes shimmer under the dim lights of the room, an electric charge crackling in the air between you. she's dressed in her signature oversized attire, the fabric hanging loosely from her slender frame, emphasizing her ethereal beauty.

"you've been teasing me all night," she murmurs, her voice a sultry whisper that sends a thrill down your spine. her words are laced with desire, and you can tell she's been waiting for this moment just as much as you have.

she kneads your thighs with her small, calloused hands, the same hands that have mesmerized fans worldwide with their skill on the piano. her touch is light, but it ignites a fire that spreads rapidly through your body. you bite your lip, a desperate attempt to suppress the moans threatening to escape your lips.

"i'm gonna make you squirm," she promises, a mischievous glint in her eyes. without warning, she drops to her knees before you. her breath teases the inside of your thighs as she leans in closer. the anticipation is unbearable, your heart hammers in your chest, and every nerve in your body is humming with excitement.

and then, it happens. her tongue flicks against your clit, and the world around you blurs into insignificance. her fingers slide into you, curling expertly, hitting all the right spots. the sensation is overwhelming, you grip her hair tightly, a silent plea for more.

"tell me what you want," she growls against your wet heat, the vibrations sending shockwaves through you. you arch into her, your hips bucking wildly as she devours you. you're at the edge of oblivion, teetering precariously. "i want you," you gasp, the words torn from your lips. "i want your fingers deeper, your tongue everywhere—please.."

billie grins, a feral smile that promises she'll deliver exactly that. she picks up the pace, her fingers plunging deeper while her tongue swirls around your clit relentlessly. you're lost in a haze of pleasure, every sensation amplified, every touch magnified. you can’t help but buck your hips against her face

you cum with a loud cry, the orgasm ripping through you like a storm. you're left shaking, gasping for breath, as billie licks her lips with satisfaction.

"fuck," you manage to stutter, still reeling from the intensity of your climax. billie stands up, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand. she's still looking at you with that intense gaze, a smirk playing on her lips. "you taste so fuckin’ good baby," she says, her voice husky. "could taste you on my tongue for hours."

her words send another wave of heat through you. you pull her closer, wanting to taste yourself on her lips. the kiss is passionate, a mingling of sweat and lust and the remnants of your release.

© delilaheilish

[wroetolando]

𝚆𝚎𝚍𝚍𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝙱𝚎𝚕𝚕𝚜 | 𝙻𝙽𝟺

𝗽𝗮𝗶𝗿𝗶𝗻𝗴: lando norris x fem!reader

𝘀𝘂𝗺𝗺𝗮𝗿𝘆: the one where Lando’s biggest win isn’t on the track—it’s marrying you

𝗺𝘂𝘀𝗶𝗰: love of my life - harry styles

𝘄𝗮𝗿𝗻𝗶𝗻𝗴𝘀: none!

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。. .・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・

The morning of the wedding was a blur of nervous excitement, stolen glances in the mirror, and the soft hum of music filling the bridal suite. Outside, the world was buzzing—the chatter of guests arriving, the faint sound of waves crashing against the cliffs of the coastal venue, the rustle of flower arrangements being set in place. It was everything you had ever dreamed of, and yet, in this moment, your heart pounded with an overwhelming mixture of love, nerves, and anticipation.

Lando was waiting at the altar.

Your fingers toyed with the lace along the edge of your veil as your bridesmaids made their final adjustments. Your dress—timeless, elegant—hugged you in all the right places, its intricate beading shimmering under the soft glow of the setting sun. The air smelled of roses and salt, a perfect blend of nature’s embrace and the carefully curated details you had spent months planning.

A knock at the door.

Your father stepped in, eyes glassy with emotion as he took you in. “You look beautiful, sweetheart,” he said, voice thick.

You swallowed the lump in your throat, blinking rapidly. “I feel like I might pass out.”

He chuckled, offering his arm. “Then I suppose I’ll have to keep you upright until you make it to him.”

Him.

Lando.

The man who had turned your world upside down with his laughter, his unrelenting kindness, his ability to make you feel like the most important person in any room. The one who had held your hand through every fear, every challenge, every late-night worry.

And now, he was about to be your husband.

The music shifted, the gentle strum of strings signaling your entrance. A hush fell over the guests as the doors opened, revealing the path lined with delicate white petals, the golden glow of the evening sun casting an ethereal light over everything.

And there, at the end of the aisle, stood Lando.

His breath visibly hitched the moment he saw you. He looked devastatingly handsome in his tailored black tuxedo, a single white rose pinned to his lapel. But it was his expression that made your heart stutter—his usual mischievous grin replaced with something softer, deeper. His eyes, filled with so much love and reverence, shimmered with unshed tears.

As you walked toward him, each step lighter than the last, it was as if the entire world faded away.

Lando wiped at his eyes the moment you reached him, letting out a breathy laugh. “You’re unreal,” he whispered, squeezing your hands the moment your father placed them in his.

You smiled, blinking back your own tears. “So are you.”

The officiant began speaking, but you barely heard the words. All you could focus on was Lando—his thumb rubbing soothing circles over the back of your hand, the way his chest rose and fell in uneven breaths, how his eyes never once left yours.

Then, the vows.

Lando exhaled shakily, pulling a folded piece of paper from his pocket. “I wrote these down because I knew if I tried to say them from memory, I’d probably forget everything the moment I looked at you,” he admitted, chuckling as a few guests laughed softly.

Then, he looked up, his gaze locking onto yours.

“You are my greatest adventure,” he began, voice thick with emotion. “From the moment you walked into my life, you have been the calm to my chaos, the steady presence I never knew I needed. You have loved me through every win, every loss, every self-doubt. And somehow, through it all, you still look at me like I’m someone worth loving.”

A tear slipped down your cheek.

Lando swallowed hard, eyes glassy. “I vow to love you in the quiet moments, not just the big ones. I vow to remind you every single day how incredible you are, how lucky I am to stand beside you. I vow to hold your hand through every storm, to be your home no matter where we are in the world.”

His voice broke slightly on the last sentence, and you instinctively squeezed his hands, grounding him.

“You are my checkered flag,” he whispered. “No matter what, I will always come home to you.”

Sniffles echoed through the crowd, and even the groomsmen were subtly dabbing at their eyes.

You took a shaky breath, unfolding your own vows. “I spent so long trying to find the perfect words for this moment,” you admitted. “But the truth is, nothing I say could ever fully capture how much I love you.”

Lando’s lips pressed together, his grip on your hands tightening.

“You have given me a love so big, so undeniable, that it fills every corner of my heart. You make me laugh when I want to cry, you see me when I feel invisible, and you remind me every day that love isn’t just about the good moments—it’s about showing up, even when things aren’t perfect.”

You blinked back tears, voice steady. “I vow to always stand beside you, to be your safe place, your biggest fan. I vow to love you through every lap, every finish line, every road that life takes us down.”

A single tear rolled down Lando’s cheek, and you instinctively reached up, brushing it away.

“You are my favorite story,” you whispered. “And I can’t wait to spend forever writing it with you.”

The moment the officiant announced you as husband and wife, Lando didn’t hesitate. He surged forward, cupping your face as he captured your lips in a kiss so deep, so filled with love, that the entire world seemed to stand still. The crowd erupted into cheers, but all you could hear was the rapid beat of his heart against yours.

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。. .・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・

The Reception

The venue was breathtaking—a canopy of fairy lights twinkling overhead, the tables adorned with white roses and flickering candles. Lando kept you close, his arm constantly around your waist, his lips pressing against your temple every few minutes as if he still couldn’t believe you were real.

The laughter and hum of conversation filled the beautifully lit reception hall, the warm glow of fairy lights casting a golden hue over the elegantly decorated tables. As the night settled into a comfortable rhythm, the clinking of silverware against glass signaled the next part of the evening—the speeches.

Lando squeezed your hand under the table, his thumb tracing soft circles against your skin. He leaned over, whispering, “Ready for some mild embarrassment?”

You giggled, nudging him. “I’m more worried about you.”

The first to stand was Max, Lando’s best man, who smirked as he picked up the microphone.

Max took a deep breath, giving Lando a teasing look before turning to the crowd.

“Well, I never thought I’d be standing here, giving a wedding speech for this guy,” he started, chuckling as Lando groaned. “Not because I didn’t think he’d find love, but because, let’s be honest, Lando has always been married to racing first.”

Laughter rippled through the crowd, and Lando playfully threw his napkin at Max.

“But then she came along,” Max continued, turning toward you with a warm smile. “And suddenly, the Lando we knew—the one who spent more time sim racing than sleeping—started talking about something other than cars. Or should I say, someone.”

You felt your cheeks warm as Lando squeezed your hand tighter.

“You are patient, you put up with his terrible jokes, and you somehow manage to keep him in check—which, honestly, deserves a trophy of its own.”

The guests laughed, and Max took a quick sip of champagne before his expression turned sincere.

“Lando, mate, I’ve seen you at your highest and your lowest, but nothing compares to how you look at her. I’ve seen you win races, achieve milestones, but finding someone who loves you for you, beyond all of this…” He gestured to the lavish venue, the world of racing that had shaped them both. “That’s the real victory.”

Max lifted his glass. “To Lando and his amazing wife—may your love always be on pole position.”

A round of applause erupted as everyone raised their glasses, Lando laughing as he clinked his with Max’s before leaning over to kiss your temple.

Next, Lando’s mother, Cisca, stood, wiping at the corner of her eye as she picked up the microphone.

“First, I want to thank everyone for being here to celebrate such a beautiful day,” she began, smiling warmly at the crowd before turning toward the two of you. “As a mother, you always dream of seeing your child grow into someone kind, strong, and loving. Lando, from the moment you were born, you brought an energy into this world that was impossible to ignore.”

Lando grinned, his free hand rubbing the back of his neck.

“You’ve always been fearless—on the track, in life—but what I admire most is the way you love. You love with all your heart, without hesitation, without holding back. And when she came into your life, I knew immediately that she was someone special.”

Cisca turned to you, her eyes filled with nothing but warmth. “You bring out the best in my son. You’ve given him a sense of peace I’ve never seen before, and for that, I will always be grateful.”

Lando swallowed hard, clearly trying to keep it together.

“With that,” Cisca smiled, raising her glass, “I wish you both a lifetime of laughter, adventure, and love that only grows stronger with time.”

The applause was deafening, and Lando wasted no time standing up to pull his mother into a hug.

Lando’s father, Adam, was next, standing with the calm confidence that clearly ran in the family.

“Now, I promise I won’t make this too long because, let’s be honest, my son’s attention span isn’t the greatest.”

Lando laughed, shaking his head as the room erupted with amusement.

“But in all seriousness, seeing your child find their person—it’s a feeling I can’t quite put into words,” Adam continued. “Lando, you’ve always been determined, always pushing for greatness, and I have no doubt that same determination will make you an incredible husband.”

His gaze softened as he looked between the two of you.

“Marriage isn’t about perfection; it’s about showing up every day, choosing each other, even when it’s not easy. And if there’s one thing I know about both of you, it’s that you don’t back down from a challenge.”

He raised his glass. “To my son and my new daughter—may your love be the greatest victory of all.”

Lando’s brother, Oliver, and his sister, Cisca, stood together, sharing a knowing look before Oliver took the mic.

“So, growing up with Lando…” Oliver trailed off, shaking his head as the crowd chuckled. “Let’s just say, we’ve seen him in his prime. And by prime, I mean running around the house in his underwear, causing absolute chaos.”

Lando groaned, covering his face as everyone laughed.

“But through all of it, one thing has always been true—Lando has the biggest heart. He might be stubborn, he might be competitive, but when he loves, he loves.”

Cisca took over, smiling warmly at you. “And we see that love every time he looks at you.”

Oliver nodded. “We’ve never seen him happier, and that’s saying something because this guy literally lives for adrenaline. But you? You’re the real thrill.”

They raised their glasses together. “To Lando and his incredible wife—welcome to the family.”

Carlos stood, shaking his head with a smirk. “I feel like I should start this by saying—finally.”

Laughter filled the room, Lando groaning as Carlos winked at you.

“I’ve had the privilege of knowing Lando for years, and trust me, it’s been an experience.”

More laughter.

“But in all seriousness,” Carlos continued, his voice softening, “watching Lando grow, both on and off the track, has been incredible. And seeing him with you? It’s like he’s found his missing piece.”

Lando’s grip on your hand tightened.

“I wish you both a life filled with happiness, adventures, and maybe, just maybe, a little bit of patience for Lando’s bad habits.”

The room laughed as Carlos raised his glass. “To a lifetime of love and laughter.”

Oscar took the mic last, pausing for dramatic effect.

“I was going to prepare a long speech, but then I remembered that Lando can barely sit still for five minutes, so I’ll keep it short.”

Lando snorted, nodding. “Fair enough.”

Oscar smiled, glancing at you. “You make him better. Not just as a driver, not just as a person, but in ways that are impossible to put into words.”

A beat of silence.

“That’s how you know it’s real.”

The room let out a collective aww, and Lando shook his head, clearly caught off guard by the sincerity.

“To the happy couple,” Oscar said, raising his glass. “And to making sure Lando never forgets how lucky he is.”

Lando laughed, clinking his glass with Oscar’s before turning to you. “I definitely won’t.”

As the applause and cheers filled the air, Lando leaned in, his lips brushing against your ear.

“Still think marrying me was a good idea?”

You turned, pressing a lingering kiss to his lips. “The best decision of my life.”

And with that, the night continued—filled with laughter, dancing, and love that would last a lifetime.

Later in the night, after the cake had been cut and the dance floor was filled with swaying couples, Lando pulled you away from the crowd.

“Come with me,” he whispered, lacing his fingers through yours.

He led you down a small path lined with lanterns, away from the noise, until you reached a quiet balcony overlooking the ocean. The waves crashed softly below, the scent of salt and jasmine filling the air.

Lando turned to you, eyes shining. “You know how they say life moves fast?”

You nodded, heart still racing.

“Well,” he murmured, pressing his forehead against yours, “for once, I don’t want to rush. I just want to stay in this moment, with you, forever.”

You smiled, brushing your lips against his. “Then let’s make forever ours.”

And with the stars as your witnesses, you did.

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。. .・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・

masterlist

[doujindungeon]

summary: while you were upset at lewis after a recent argument, perhaps it wasn't the wisest idea to try and test your lover's endurance in bed. rating: nc-17 pairing: f!reader/lewis content warnings: established relationship, smut, marathon sex, missionary/doggy style/cowgirl, a bit of spanking and hair pulling, the loving wrath of 7-time world drivers champion lewis hamilton word count: 0.7k previous one-shot - toto w. | next one-shot - charles l.

“You know, I could die like this.”

A sigh of absolute satisfaction.

It was a serene sound compared to the abrasive noise of a water bottle being crunched and tossed aside after it was emptied of its contents from a quick chug just a moment before.

For Lewis, some hydration was needed after such a vigorous exhibition of his stamina.

Calm and relaxed as ever, his gorgeous muscled physique glistening with sweat, nude skin bathed by the low warm lighting from the ceiling, he carried himself as the textbook definition of ethereal.

Your current state told a completely different tale.

By contrast, you were sprawled on the bed, hair disheveled and make-up smeared as you gulped down the bottle of coconut water that your boyfriend fetched from the kitchen while you caught your breath earlier.

At this point in your relationship, you were well aware that Lewis was fierce in his discipline when it came to his craft of driving. Training, focus, determination–there was not a sliver of slack in any aspect.

And for as long as you’ve been together, you were well familiar with how passionate and doting he could be during intimacy. A couple hours being delightfully tangled together in bed at a luxurious tropical bungalow oceans away, a quick and needy fix on the couch in his driver’s room whenever you were able to make it out to a race.

This was what you were used to.

But to bear the merciless brunt of his stamina in bed–to put it simply, you were unprepared.

After all, upon Lewis bringing you back home after an argument that burst forth towards the end of your recent vacation together–a spat that bubbled and brewed from you feeling as though your place in his life was relegated to last place in the grand scope of his legacy–, when he casually declared that he would prove and demonstrate his resolve to devote his heart, soul and body to you within this night alone, he meant it.

From the moment the door closed behind as he herded you straight into the bedroom, time turned into a complete and utter blur, with the firm surface of his king sized bed serving as the only anchor that kept you grounded to reality as your lover kept you absolutely overwhelmed with dizzying euphoria.

At one point, he was pounding you straight into the mattress, his tattooed hands locked onto your thighs to keep them spread wide apart so he could drill his thick cock into your core over and over.

The next, he had you on all fours upon the bed, the lewd rhythm of his hips–and his palm here and there–striking against your ass making for an obscene symphony, your moans and squeals mingling in seamlessly with his grunts and curses while his fingers maintained a commanding grip on your hair.

When he then had you seated on his lap, his fingers squeezed your waist as he guided and coaxed you through the tempo under which you bounced upon his dick by, the two of you locked in a kiss as his tongue probed into your mouth right as he pumped another load of cum into your cunt.

True to his word, he had certainly made his case.

Still, while you were thoroughly delighted to receive his fierce display of his affection for you, seeing the beaming pride on his handsome features had you pouting in-between sips of your coconut water.

“Well take it easy, Sir Hamilton,” you huffed out at last in response, eyeing him warily. “You’re at the age where you shouldn’t be pushing yourself too much.”

His eyes sparked.

Fitting, since you may as well have set the entire house ablaze by your remark.

“Aha–I know fighting words when I hear them, lovely.”

While he let out a chuckle, the way he stalked back towards the bed, back towards you, was far from humorous.

Just by the way he looked at and approached you, deep in your bones you knew he wasn’t going to let up until you were absolutely devastated, especially as his voice dipped down to a deep purr as he continued, “I can keep this up, but can you?”

In response, you simply downed the rest of your drink, setting the empty bottle aside on the bedside table.

Defiance in your eyes, rebellion on your smile–you responded simply with,

“See for yourself.”

He was back on you in an instant.

But he wouldn’t be content with only seeing. Rather, he would be kissing, teasing, toying, licking, groping, possessing, and punishing you until the break of dawn and beyond.

-----------------------

🤸‍♀️ SIR LEWDIS HAMILTON EVERYBODY 🤸‍♀️

i'm cryin tho i originally had the reader rehydrate with gatorade but after i started thinking more about it, i found out that gatorade isn't vegan??????? LEWIS THE THINGS I RESEARCH AND ADJUST IN MY WRITING TO ACCOMODATE YOUR VEGAN LIFESTYLE 😭😭

but with this!!! we finally approach the end of this run of one-shots with charles tomorrow!!! thank you again for your support and i hope to see you all tomorrow for the finale!!! 🙇‍♀️❤️

[faebled-stories]

Home is Where I'm Enough

Poll winner: Praise Kink (Kinkvember Debut Fic)

IVE Jang Wonyoung x Male reader

6.5k words

The apartment was quiet, save for the rhythmic tapping of keys and the soft hum of Y/N’s computer. He sat hunched over his desk, the screen’s gentle glow casting an ethereal light across his face as he polished the final touches of his latest graphic design project. He’d been in the zone for hours, the kind of intense flow only a passionate creator knows, dreading any interruption. But as the night grew late, fatigue crept in like an unwelcome guest, blurring the vibrant colors and shapes on his screen and drawing him into a hazy exhaustion.

Just as he stretched back in his chair, letting his arms rise above his head to shake off the dull ache in his shoulders, the front door creaked open. Though faint, the sound pulled his attention immediately, stirring a gentle flutter in his chest. He knew who it was: Wonyoung.

She stepped inside, her silhouette soft against the dim hallway light. Her usual radiance had dimmed, replaced by a look of deep exhaustion. Strands of hair framed her face, loosely tousled, hinting at the long hours she’d endured. Dressed in her favorite oversized sweater, slipping off one shoulder, and paired with comfy shorts, her cozy ensemble contrasted starkly with the glitz of her public persona. Tonight, she looked as if the weight of the world had finally settled on her delicate frame.

Her gaze drifted across the room, her steps heavy as she gravitated toward him, perhaps unconsciously drawn by the promise of comfort. When their eyes met, she offered a small, tired smile—a gesture that seemed automatic, though the usual warmth was replaced by something softer, more vulnerable.

“Hey, baby,” he greeted in a warm, low voice, breaking the quiet of the apartment with gentle concern. “Long day?”

Wonyoung let out a soft, tired breath, her smile persisting but not quite reaching her eyes. “Yeah… you wouldn’t believe how exhausting today was. Promotions, photoshoots, fan meetings… I don’t even know how I’m still standing.” Her words, though calm, carried an unmistakable weight, each syllable laced with unspoken exhaustion.

He rose from his desk, the scrape of the chair against the floor seeming louder in the stillness, closing the distance between them. Wrapping his arms around her, he held her close, his embrace both protective and tender, inviting her to let go of whatever she’d been carrying. She melted against him, her body softening as she leaned fully into his warmth, the tension in her shoulders easing as if hoping to dissolve into him.

“You’ve been working so hard, princess. You deserve to rest,” he murmured, gliding a hand over her back in soothing circles, tracing gentle patterns over the soft fabric of her sweater. Each stroke was meant to ease her, to remind her that she didn’t need to be strong right now.

Wonyoung sighed, resting her head against his chest, letting the steady rhythm of his heartbeat become an anchor, grounding her. “I don’t even know if I can relax,” she whispered, her voice barely audible, carrying an edge of vulnerability she rarely allowed herself to show. “Everyone always asks me for things, but no one ever asks me what I need. I feel like I’m always giving, and no one’s there to just… take care of me.”

Her words tugged at his heart, and he tightened his embrace, listening fully, letting her be exactly who she was. Tonight, she wasn’t Wonyoung the idol; she was just his girlfriend, stripped of the weight of expectations.

Brushing a stray lock of hair from her face, he murmured, “Tonight, I’m here to take care of you. You don’t need to worry about anything. How about we keep it quiet? I could make some dinner—whatever you’d like?”

She smiled softly but shook her head. “No, thank you… I’m not really hungry. Just too tired to eat, I think.”

He nodded, adjusting his suggestion. “Maybe a massage? Help you relax and ease those tired muscles?”

Wonyoung considered it, then sighed, her gaze drifting. “That sounds nice, but I don’t think I can even sit still long enough. I’d probably fall asleep halfway through.”

He chuckled softly, brushing his thumb over her shoulder in a light caress. “Fair enough. How about a movie, then? We could just put something on, snuggle up on the couch, and you can zone out as much as you need?”

A flicker of warmth crossed her face at the thought, but she shook her head again. “That sounds nice too, but I don’t think I’d even be able to focus. My mind’s just… elsewhere.”

He paused, sensing that none of his suggestions had quite hit the mark. Sliding a gentle hand to her cheek, he met her gaze, his voice tender. “Then tell me, Wonyoung. Whatever you need, just say it. I’m here.”

The world around them seemed to hold its breath, caught in the tender pause that enveloped the pair. Wonyoung, usually so composed and commanding, now appeared as if she were standing on the edge of a precipice, her usual confidence momentarily abandoned. It was in this rare instance of uncertainty that she found the courage to voice her deepest desire.

"Oppa ," she began, her voice a whisper of its usual strength, carrying a hesitance that was seldom heard. "Can we just… be together? Just us."

His response was immediate and heartfelt. A gentle smile graced his lips, his heart warmed by the sincerity of her request. "Of course, Wony. We can just spend time together, no pressure, no work, just us."

The vulnerability in her eyes was palpable, yet it was accompanied by a spark of mischief that hinted at an unexpressed longing. As she stepped closer, her fingers traced an unsteady path along his arm, her touch betraying her nervousness. Oblivious to the full extent of her yearning, he leaned in to bestow a tender kiss upon her forehead, his words a soothing balm to her unspoken needs.

"Just us, no distractions, okay?" he affirmed, his voice a comforting promise.

Wonyoung's fingers anxiously toyed with the hem of his shirt, her courage wavering for but a moment before she mustered the resolve to voice the true nature of her request. With a shy smile that barely contained her anticipation, she looked up at him, her words laced with a boldness that belied her gentle demeanor.

"Oppaa... I-I meant... can we... have... sexy time?"

The surprise that registered on his face was genuine, his mind struggling to catch up with the sudden shift in the conversation. He had been prepared to offer her a sanctuary of relaxation and companionship, but this... this was an invitation to a different kind of connection, one that was both intimate and thrilling.

As the initial shock subsided, his gaze softened, and he saw her in an entirely new light. The playful glint in her eyes, the delicate blush that graced her cheeks—it all painted a picture of Wonyoung that was both endearing and alluring. She stood before him, her hands fidgeting with a mixture of nervousness and desire, her lips parted in quiet anticipation of his response.

Understanding dawned on him, and with it came a smile that reflected his deep affection for her. "Ah, Wony," he said with a gentle chuckle, his fingers brushing away a stray lock of her hair. "You want us to... I see, of course baby"

Her affirmation was shy but resolute, her voice barely above a whisper as she laid bare her innermost wishes. "I... I've been really stressed, and I just... I just want you. Just us."

A deep warmth rose within him as he gazed at the woman in his arms, a warmth that radiated through every fiber of his being. She was here with him, stripped of the expectations and perfection the world demanded of her, showing him the truest parts of herself. Her request, so simple yet so vulnerable, spoke volumes about the bond they shared, and he felt his heart swell with love and admiration. Without a moment's hesitation, he pulled her closer, his hands finding their place around her waist, fingers pressing into her softly but with purpose. He tilted his head to capture her lips in a kiss that promised everything she might need, murmuring against her mouth, "Whatever you want, just tell me."

With that, the world around them dissolved into a soft blur, distant and forgotten, as Wonyoung melted into his arms. The room was bathed in a warm, golden glow, the light spilling over their entwined bodies and casting shadows that highlighted her delicate curves. He traced his fingers slowly along her back, feeling the subtle tremors beneath her skin, the way her body softened by degrees, her tension easing under his touch. Each stroke coaxed a little more trust from her, even as she wrestled with the restraint that held her in check, a habit formed over years of needing to be perfectly in control.

As his hands began to unfasten the layers of her clothing with gentle care, he could feel her vulnerability like an unspoken word between them. To the world, she was grace personified, a vision of poise and elegance, an idol untouchable in her perfection. Yet, here and now, she was a woman grappling with the desire to shed the weight of that polished image, to surrender the mantle of perfection she wore so effortlessly in the public eye. His fingers moved with the gentleness of someone who understood her inner struggle, his touch a balm, offering her the quiet assurance she needed to let down her guard.

He sensed the battle playing out within her, an invisible tug-of-war between the person she had to be and the one she longed to become in this private space. His lips brushed over her neck, his voice low and soothing. "Wony, it’s okay if you don’t see it yet," he murmured, pressing soft kisses along her jawline, "but you’re perfect in all the ways that matter. You bring so much beauty and strength into my life."

A shuddered breath escaped her lips as his words settled over her, each one unraveling a bit more of her control. Her hands tightened in the bedsheets, twisting the fabric as she balanced on the razor-thin line between control and surrender. His hands traced over her sides, strong and steady, each movement slow and deliberate, designed to comfort and ignite. "Let go for me, baby, it's okay," he coaxed, his voice a deep, resonant sound that seemed to settle right at the core of her, calling to her in a way she couldn’t ignore.

The endearment lingered in the air, a plea and a promise wrapped into one, coaxing her closer to that edge. Her breath hitched, her eyes fluttering shut as she fought the rising urge to surrender completely, to release everything she held back. She opened her mouth to speak, but the words came out as a fragile whisper, the vulnerability in her voice breaking through. "I don’t… I don’t know if I can," she admitted, her voice quivering, her brows furrowed in a fleeting expression of frustration and fear, the tension of her resistance etched across her face.

His response was instant and tender. He pressed a soft kiss to her forehead, a gesture of unwavering support that steadied her. "You can, Wony," he assured her, his gaze holding hers, brimming with sincerity. "I see how much you keep it together out there, and that makes me appreciate even more the way you open up with me. It’s such a privilege to be the one who gets to see this side of you." His words were a gentle nudge, affirming his commitment not just to her pleasure but to her peace, his hands holding her as if promising to anchor her.

Trust shone in her eyes as she took a deep, steadying breath, his words filling her with a sense of security that was as powerful as it was freeing. Slowly, she let herself relax, allowing him to guide her, his hands continuing their slow, purposeful journey across her skin, each caress a reminder of his deep affection. The pleasure within her built steadily, a growing ache, a tantalizing invitation that beckoned her toward release. Yet, even as she teetered on that edge, the remnants of her control clung to her, a practiced restraint born of habit, a habit he was patiently helping her unravel, piece by piece.

His fingertips traced her skin with a deliberate gentleness, painting a path that left her body flushed, every inch hypersensitive to his touch. The way he moved over her was worshipful, reverent, each stroke of his hand along her curves as if he were discovering her for the first time. She twitched beneath him, her back arching to meet his touch, her breaths shallow and filled with anticipation. Every caress was a testament to how he saw her—not just an idol, but a masterpiece, a person to be cherished in all her vulnerability and strength.

His mouth moved down to lavish her jawline with tender, lingering kisses. He traveled along the column of her throat, the warmth of his breath igniting her senses and sending cascades of goosebumps across her skin. With her head tilted back, she exposed her neck, an unspoken surrender in the tilt of her head, a silent invitation for him to continue. The softness of his mouth, the slow, careful rhythm, filled her with a thrill of arousal she could barely contain, her hands gripping his shoulders as she pressed herself closer to him, wanting more yet barely able to voice it.

Their lips met then, a slow, searching kiss that unfolded with a blend of tenderness and raw emotion. His mouth moved against hers with a gentle ardor, savoring each moment, each connection, and her fingers tangled in his hair as she drew him closer, letting herself melt into the warmth of his embrace. The world outside faded entirely, leaving only the two of them suspended in a quiet dance, a sacred exchange of love and vulnerability that allowed her to shed every mask she wore. Here, wrapped in his affection, she found the courage to set down the armor she held so tightly, to accept the freedom he offered.

His mouth trailed lower, each kiss slower, more deliberate, as he left a line of warmth down her body, his fingers pressing gently into her hips to steady her. The closer he came to her core, the more intense her anticipation grew, her breath catching as he settled between her thighs. She felt the tension building inside her, excitement and vulnerability intertwining in equal measure. But as his lips neared her center, a flicker of hesitation stirred within her, a whisper of insecurity breaking through the haze of arousal.

She tensed slightly, her mind rushing to the imperfections she imagined, the things she couldn’t control. In front of him, she felt bare, unfiltered, not the polished, pristine version she presented to the world. Right now, she wasn’t perfect, wasn’t flawless, wasn’t prepared. The thought made her hesitate, and she tried to subtly shift away, her hand moving instinctively to shield herself. “It's not…I’m not—” she stammered, feeling her cheeks flush.

But he paused, sensing the change in her, his gaze lifting to meet hers with a gentleness that held her in place. He brushed a comforting hand over her thigh, the touch steady and reassuring, his voice low and soft. "Hey… don’t worry. Right here, you’re exactly as you should be. You don’t need to be anything but yourself with me." He placed a tender kiss on her inner thigh, his words imbued with an acceptance that quieted her worries, the unconditional affection in his gaze anchoring her.

With a breath, she nodded, the tension easing as she allowed herself to relax, feeling the weight of her expectations melt in his presence. His hands settled on her thighs, grounding her, as he placed a soft, reverent kiss at her center, his lips warm and gentle, easing her slowly back into the moment. As his tongue began to trace delicate, slow circles, she felt herself letting go, her hesitations fading beneath the steady rhythm of his movements.

He continued with a tenderness that felt like a vow, his mouth exploring her as though reminding her that she was already perfect to him. Each touch, each gentle press of his mouth, was a wordless reassurance, a reminder that she could be vulnerable here, could let herself be imperfect without fear. His fingers stroked over her skin, guiding her back to herself, and the pleasure started to overtake the remnants of her self-doubt.

Finally, her body began to respond instinctively, hips pressing forward as her breath grew shallower, soft sounds spilling from her lips as she surrendered to the sensation. His mouth continued its worshipful rhythm, bringing her closer and closer to the edge until she could no longer think of anything but the waves of pleasure that built within her, each one stronger than the last. Her hand found its way into his hair, gripping softly as her control slipped, her voice a soft, pleading whisper in the quiet.

In this sacred space, Wonyoung found the courage to relinquish her hold on perfection, to embrace the imperfect beauty of being truly seen and wholeheartedly loved. His unwavering presence and the sanctuary of his affection were the keys that unlocked the gate to her unbridled self. Here, in the sanctity of their bond, Wonyoung was not just an idol, but a woman fully immersed in the depths of love and the freedom it brings.

He paused and replaced his mouth with his fingers. Her warm, moist folds pulsing around his digits, slowly he leaned towards her. The voice that caressed Wonyoung's ears was a balm to her soul, a soft, soothing timbre filled with quiet strength. "It's okay, Wony. You don't have to try to be perfect. I love you just as you are, you’re perfect to me." The words, imbued with unconditional acceptance, were a gentle command that resonated deep within her core.

Wonyoung, the idol worshiped by millions for her flawless poise and ethereal beauty, found herself gasping as the first wave of pleasure crashed through her. Her fingers, once graceful and composed, now gripped the sheets with an urgency that betrayed her facade. The pleasure was a sudden heat, a surge of sensation that ignited her senses and sent ripples of ecstasy coursing through her body. Each pulsating surge overwhelmed her with a delicious thrill, her body instinctively arching towards the source of her bliss, yet her moans remained soft and restrained—a delicate symphony of need barely rising above a whisper.

The world outside ceased to exist. The contrast between the poised idol she presented to the world and the vulnerable girl who yearned to unravel in his arms was stark and dissonant. The weight of expectation, a constant pressure to maintain the image of perfection, loomed over her. Yet, in the sanctity of their embrace, a different desire flickered to life—a longing for the freedom to embrace her innermost yearnings without fear or restraint.

The pleasure surged once more, its potency wrapping around her like a tantalizing embrace. Wonyoung's heart raced, her breath hitching in her throat as she inhaled sharply. The waves of sensation enveloped her, swallowing her whole while her thoughts swirled chaotically, tinged with a subtle desperation. Would he understand the storm of emotions raging within her? Would he cherish both the idol and the girl beneath the surface?

With every pulse of pleasure, she teetered on the edge of release, a dizzying dance between her public persona and her private self. The fear of disappointment clawed at her, but his gentle fingers spoke a language of love that was both soothing and comforting, coaxing her closer to the precipice of surrender. As she hovered on the brink, her body taut as a bowstring, his lips found her ear, and he whispered words of devotion.

"You're so beautiful, so perfect. Let go, my love. Cum for me." The sensual cadence of his words wrapped around her, an undeniable invitation, and she felt the last of her walls tremble, cracking under the weight of his praise. Her body responded instinctively, arching into his touch as he coaxed her closer to the edge. She could feel it building, a molten tension winding tighter with each pulse of pleasure that surged through her, threatening to unmoor her entirely.

Then, with a choked cry, her resolve shattered. The pleasure that swept through her was intense, potent enough to make her gasp, her core clenching rhythmically around his fingers as ecstasy surged, each wave cresting and crashing through her. She trembled, her breaths coming in rapid bursts as she teetered in that blissful space. But even as the release overtook her, rippling outward with undeniable force, there was still a sliver of herself she held back, a trace of resistance lingering at her core, keeping her from fully dissolving into pleasure. It was as if her body had surrendered, yet her heart still lingered, guarded, hovering just beyond the reach of complete vulnerability.

Wave after wave of sensation left her body limp and shivering, her skin flushed, her breaths ragged. And yet, even as she lay in his embrace, reveling in the aftershocks of her release, something deep within her remained untouched, still holding on, as though daring her to surrender wholly next time. She felt the intensity of her release—a vivid, powerful testament to how much she wanted to let go, yet how much further she could fall if only she allowed herself.

Tenderly, he gathered her in his arms as she shuddered through the aftershocks. "That’s it, baby. You’re amazing. So responsive, so trusting. I couldn’t be prouder of you." He rained kisses over her face, her neck, his words a soothing salve to her soul. She clung to him, dizzy and disoriented from the maelstrom of emotions, yet cherished beyond measure. In this moment, she wasn't a fantasy or a fetish, but a woman truly seen and adored for all that she was—a duality of strength and vulnerability, perfectly entwined in the arms of love.

"You're doing so well," he whispered, his hands continuing their gentle caress. "You're amazing, Wony." His words, soft as a summer breeze, carried the weight of his admiration and tenderness.

She sighed, her breath still shaky as she came down from the first climax, a testament to the passion they shared. Yet, there was a lingering frustration in her, a shadow of doubt that marred the perfection of the moment. She looked up at him, her eyes clouded with uncertainty. "I don't know why I can't just fully… let go," she whispered, her voice thick with emotion. "I feel like I'm still holding on…"

He shook his head gently, his fingers deftly brushing a lock of hair behind her ear. "That's okay baby," he said softly, his voice full of understanding. "You don't have to do anything you're not ready for. You've done so much already, I know you trust me, baby, please show it to me." His words, a soothing balm to her troubled heart, seemed to ease the tension from her body.

Her eyes softened at his words, her chest rising and falling with deep, labored breaths. She gave a small nod, her lips curving into a hesitant smile, though there was still a flicker of uncertainty in her gaze. He didn’t let go. His hands moved over Wonyoung again, softer this time, each touch deliberate and careful, as though every stroke carried a promise. "Do you have one more for me, princess?" he whispered, his lips brushing the shell of her ear. The heat of his breath sent a shiver down her spine. "Just trust me, Wony. I'm going to help you let go. You don't have to hold anything back."

Wonyoung's breath caught in her throat as she nodded. The tension in her body, so tightly wound, began to loosen under his careful touch. His hands roamed with purpose and pure, unhurried affection. The way he touched her wasn't just intimate; it was reverent, as if he was worshiping every part of her. His whispered praises filled the air between them like a balm, soothing the parts of her that had felt raw for so long. His lips trailed slowly down her neck, then lower, placing gentle, lingering kisses on her chest. He paused, his mouth grazing her nipple, his warmth sending a shiver through her as he focused on the stiff nub.

"You are the best thing that's ever happened to me," he murmured, his lips returning to her neck. "The way you keep going, even when things get tough, it's amazing to watch."

With each word, Wonyoung felt her defenses begin to crumble, the walls she had built around herself slowly breaking apart, leaving her exposed. Her breath hitched as her body responded, but even as she surrendered, a small, aching hesitation remained, a part of her still clinging to control. She wanted to let go, to feel fully, to be vulnerable, yet something held her back—an invisible tether keeping her from completely surrendering.

"I don't know if I can, I don't know how to…" she whispered, her voice shaking, not from fear, but from the overwhelming vulnerability that swelled inside her. She had always been the strong one, the composed one—the one in control. But here, in his arms, she didn't have to be any of those things. He cupped her face in his hands, his thumbs brushing away a stray tear that had slipped from the corner of her eye.

His eyes, warm and filled with love, never left hers. "Honey, I know how hard you work to be strong every day, and I see how much you carry. But here, with me, you don’t have to keep it all together," he whispered, his voice so soft, "I love every side of you—your strength, yes, but also the parts that need tenderness and care. You’ve been strong for so long; it’s okay to let yourself rest and lean on me. I’m here to hold you, no matter what. You’re safe with me, completely, and I’ll always have your back. Let go, even if just for a moment. You’ve earned it, and I’ll be right here through it all."

Something deep within Wonyoung shifted, a missing piece falling into place in a puzzle she hadn’t even known existed. In that charged, breathless moment, her last defenses dissolved. The barriers she had clung to splintered into dust, leaving her bare and vulnerable, her emotions raw and beautiful. Her body softened under his touch, yielding, pressing close, every line of her molding to him as if they’d been designed to fit together. Her heart—her most precious, guarded part—opened entirely, like a flower surrendering to the kiss of the morning sun. Years of hidden hurt and buried longing spilled forth, leaving her exposed and breathless, every nerve alive with sensation.

Her breaths quickened, shallow and uneven, as he pulled her closer, his touch igniting something deep within her, something that had been waiting, yearning to be released. She let out a soft, needy sound, a whispered “Oh…” as his hand traced her spine, sending a delicious shiver down her back. The heat spread through her, coiling tightly, winding up like a spring. His hands roamed over her skin, each stroke a spark, each caress an invitation to let go. Her fingers tightened on his shoulders, and another soft moan escaped her, higher, pleading. “Mmm… please…” she breathed, the anticipation winding up within her until she could hardly bear it.

As the pleasure built, her voice trembled, rising with each sensation that took her closer to the edge. “Ah—” she gasped as he found that spot, her entire body arching into him. “Yes, I’m cumming” she whimpered, her moans spilling freely, no longer shy, each sound a testament to the rawness of her surrender, the depth of her need. When release finally claimed her, it crashed over her like a tidal wave, an all-consuming flood that left her gasping, body trembling as she clung to him. She let out a keening cry, her voice breaking into soft, shuddering moans, her fingers curling against him as wave after wave of ecstasy coursed through her, leaving her breathless and dazed.

The pleasure was pure, untainted by guilt or hesitation, a dizzying blend of bliss and vulnerability. She felt herself come undone, a thousand stars scattering behind her closed eyelids, each pulse of pleasure brighter than the last. She gasped, her voice a whisper as her senses dissolved, leaving her floating, utterly open and alive in his arms.

She clung to him, her fingers digging into his shoulders as she lost herself in the moment, in him. His hands never stopped their slow, sensual caress, letting her enjoy every last bit of her release. His lips never stopped their sweet murmurs of praise as he held her, supported her, guided her through the waves of bliss that crashed over her again and again.

When she finally stilled, panting and spent in his arms, Wonyoung felt something she hadn't in years—free. Free to be herself, free to feel, free to love. She looked up at him, her eyes shining with unshed tears, a smile spreading across her face.

"Thank you," she whispered, her voice hoarse from her cries of pleasure. "Thank you for helping me let go."

He just smiled, pulling her close and pressing a kiss to the top of her head. "You never have to thank me for that, baby," he murmured, his arms tightening around her. "I'm always here to help you, no matter what."

In the stillness of the night, two souls lay intertwined, wrapped in the embrace of intimacy and comfort. For a moment, the world outside faded away, leaving only the rhythmic cadence of their breaths, akin to a gentle melody that enveloped them in a cocoon of warmth. Wonyoung felt a profound sense of peace that had eluded her for far too long, nestled snugly against his chest.

He looked down at her, marveling at the sheer beauty of the moment as the golden rays of the setting sun streamed through the sheer curtains, casting a warm glow around them. The tender strokes of his fingers dancing along her back were like a soothing balm, a gentle reminder that she was cherished, easing the weight of her worries and insecurities that often clung to her like a second skin. Each caress felt deliberate, as if he were painting a masterpiece against her skin, and with every touch, she could feel the tension melt away, leaving her breathless and weightless.

Devoid of the pressure and expectations that characterized her public persona, Wonyoung felt free to be simply herself. The world outside faded into a distant murmur, and for once, the gleaming lights and flashing cameras were nothing more than faint memories. In his embrace, she was not the polished idol; she was simply a woman allowing herself to experience vulnerability.

The usual assertiveness of her personality melted into a soft bundle of intimacy. She took a deep breath, inhaling the comforting scent of him, a mix of her favorite cologne and something uniquely his that made her heart flutter. She turned her head slightly, resting her cheek against his shoulder, feeling the steady rhythm of his heartbeat sync with her own. It was a melody of trust, of safety, allowing her to lower the walls she’d so carefully constructed over the years.

As they sat there, wrapped in each other’s warmth, she shared a rare smile, a smile that spoke of the unguarded joy that danced in the depths of her eyes. In that quiet sanctuary of their shared space, Wonyoung finally understood that the pressures of the world, the expectations from fans and industry executives, had no claim over this moment. Here, with him, she was stripped of her titles and achievements. She was just Wony — beautifully flawed, wonderfully imperfect, and so deeply human. In the gentle confines of his arms, she felt liberated, ready to embrace every fragment of herself she had kept hidden away.

“I don't know what I did to be so lucky to have you in my life, Thank you so much,” she murmured softly, her words barely breaking the silence, yet carrying an ocean of emotion.

His heart swelled at her gratitude. “You don’t have to thank me, Wony,” he replied, his voice low and reassuring as he pressed a kiss to her forehead. “I’ll always be here for you. Always.”

With deliberate slowness, he shifted to tuck a blanket around them, ensuring that the warmth of their connection extended beyond just their bodies. Every gesture was measured, an unspoken promise to hold her carefully, to shield her from the chaos of the outside world. As he enveloped her further into the warmth, she exhaled a soft sigh, feeling the cares of the day slip away like grains of sand through her fingers.

The comforting weight of the blanket, combined with his unwavering presence, created an oasis of tranquility. Wonyoung nestled closer, her fingers curling around the fabric of his shirt, inhaling the familiar scent of him — a blend of warmth, safety, and love. It was a scent that anchored her, reminding her that here, with him, she could fully let go and simply be.

“Your happiness means everything to me,” he murmured softly, wrapping his arms around Wony. “I love taking care of you; it’s my greatest joy.”

In the quiet sanctuary of their shared space, Wonyoung surrendered to the day's final embrace. The weight of hours spent apart now gave way to the serene pull of sleep, a tide of weariness that beckoned her to its peaceful shores. Yet, as the siren call of rest tempted her consciousness, a single, sacred ritual anchored her to the waking world—a phrase that had blossomed into their own secret lexicon, a testament to a bond that defied the physical realm. "Oppaaa… can I have… tucky?" she whispered, her voice a tender plea in the dimly lit room.

The words hung in the air, a delicate invocation, and his heart responded with a symphony of flutters. It was a request that transcended mere comfort; it was the embodiment of a profound craving for closeness, a need that only their unique connection could satisfy. "Of course, baby," he replied, his voice a soothing balm, wrapped in the warmth of a smile that illuminated the shadows.

With meticulous care, he began to undress, each movement a silent vow to honor the sanctity of her comfort. His actions were a dance of devotion, a series of quiet gestures that spoke volumes of his desire to bridge the gap between their bodies while preserving the delicate fabric of her ease.

As Wonyoung positioned herself atop him, her lithe form a perfect complement to his, their bodies began a silent conversation. Her thighs, soft and supple, cradled his hips, while her arms encircled his neck, drawing him into an embrace that promised refuge. Slowly, she lowered herself onto his awaiting form, her slickness guiding him into the heart of her warmth. A gasp, soft and surrendering, escaped her lips as he filled her, stretching her to the brink of pleasure.

In the close warmth of their embrace, Wonyoung's breasts, soft and tender, pressed against the firm contours of his chest. Each breath they shared caused her hardened nipples to graze his skin, a delicate friction that stoked the flames of their desire. Her core, a molten haven, clenched around his length, a rhythmic pulse that echoed the beating of their hearts."

Their dance was unhurried, a languid exploration of the connection that bound them. It was a communion of souls, a testament to the depth of their understanding. With each undulation of Wonyoung's hips, their bodies found solace.

Lost in the comfort of his arms, Wonyoung's sighs mingled with the quiet of the room, a harmony of contentment. Her cheek, nestled in the crook of his neck, inhaled the familiar scent that clung to his skin—a scent that whispered of safety and belonging. Thoughts dissolved into the ether, replaced by the exquisite sensations that coursed through her. Her fingertips, light as a feather's touch, traced the contours of his back, each stroke deepening their connection.

The pleasure that built within her was a slow simmer, a crescendo that threatened to consume them both. Yet, Wonyoung reveled in the anticipation, drawing out the sweet agony of their union. She clung to the moment, unwilling to relinquish the closeness that enveloped them, a closeness that made the world beyond their embrace seem a distant memory.

"You're so perfect," he murmured into her hair, his words a tender confession. "I love you so much. Just like this. Just us." His voice, laden with emotion, was a testament to the depth of his affection. In the stillness of their shared space, their love was a living entity, a force that rendered them invincible in their vulnerability.

Wonyoung smiled at his words, a small, contented grin that reached her eyes as she nuzzled closer. She gently traced slow, lazy patterns across his skin with her fingertips, feeling the soothing rise and fall of his chest beneath her touch. Each caress brought a fresh wave of calm, a deeper sense of security, and a love that wrapped around her like a comforting blanket. She had never felt so cherished, so at peace.

“I love you,” she murmured softly, her voice a delicate whisper filled with gratitude, knowing he understood her heart without needing to say more.

“I love you too, baby, so much,” he replied, his voice tender as he pressed a kiss to her forehead. There was something deeper in his touch—a promise, a vow of unconditional love and support that she could always count on.

As Wonyoung’s body relaxed fully into his, her breathing slowing, he focused on the simple, quiet joy of having her close. The rhythm of her heartbeat matched the serenity of the room, each gentle beat echoing the contentment swelling in his chest. He realized this wasn’t just an intimate moment; it was their sanctuary, a home they had built within each other where love grew and thrived.

“You make me feel safe,” she whispered, her voice soft and vulnerable, as if confessing a secret.

He smiled, holding her even closer. “That’s all I’ve ever wanted,” he replied softly, his voice thick with emotion. “To be the place where you feel at home.”

Wonyoung’s eyelids grow heavy as exhaustion washed over her. She hummed in content, her voice sleepy but full of warmth as she faded into the quiet, but the love in her tone was unmistakable.

Time seemed to stand still. The world outside—with its chaos and noise—faded into a distant memory, leaving only the peaceful calm that wrapped around Wonyoung and him. In this moment, together, they were safe. Together, they were whole.

[rafecameronssl4t]

The Wedding + Honeymoon || Rafe Cameron x fem!reader

Summary: IM SO SORRY IM ONLY POSTING THIS NOW 😭😭

Warnings: angst, r smoking

Word count: 2,909

A/n: want to walk down the aisle to the instrumental of young and beautiful 🙏 ALSO I was kinda picturing Hailey Beiber's wedding dress for this but of course you don't have to imagine it like that if you don't like it :)

MASTERLIST (forced marriage au masterlist)

The golden sun dipped behind the verdant hills of Lake Como, casting a warm, golden glow over the shimmering water. Every detail of the wedding was pristine, carefully curated to exude opulence and elegance. Towering floral arrangements framed the ceremony site, their sweet aroma filling the cool breeze, while the gentle hum of a string quartet echoed across the villa’s courtyard.

Guests dressed in their finest murmured in hushed tones, their polite smiles hiding the intrigue and judgment bubbling beneath the surface. You stood at the edge of your suite’s balcony, your heart pounding in your chest. Your gown—an opulent creation fit for royalty—was a spectacle in itself.

The bodice was adorned with shimmering crystal embellishments that caught the light with every movement, cascading into intricate floral embroidery that wound its way down the fabric. Layers of silk and tulle fanned out into a dramatic, sweeping train that seemed endless, trailing behind you like a cloud of ivory and gold.

The weight of it wasn’t just physical—it was a burden, a reminder of the life you were stepping into. The veil, edged with delicate gold thread, framed your face like a halo, adding an ethereal quality to your reflection. The gown was breathtaking, designed to inspire awe, envy, and admiration from the guests below.

“You look stunning,” Astoria murmured, her voice soft but filled with practiced poise. She adjusted a stray piece of your veil, her eyes meeting yours in the mirror with a faint smile. “God, I feel like I’m going to be sick,” you muttered, your hand instinctively pressing against your stomach as a shaky exhale escaped your lips.“You’ll be fine,” Charlotte interjected gently, her cool hand resting on your bare shoulder.

Her tone was reassuring, but her eyes betrayed a flicker of worry. The room fell silent, the tension thick in the air. The distant hum of conversation and soft strains of music drifted in from outside, reminding you of the hundreds of eyes waiting below. You swallowed hard, your reflection blurring momentarily as tears threatened to spill, but you blinked them away.

This was your reality now, no matter how much you wished it wasn’t. “Miss de Loughrey,” Anita’s voice broke the silence, gentle but firm as always. Her tone was steady, but you could feel the hesitation behind it, as though she knew she was pulling you toward something inescapable. “It’s time.” You inhaled sharply, trying to summon the strength you didn’t have.

our hands trembled as they smoothed over the intricate beading on your bodice, a futile effort to steady yourself. “It’s really happening, isn’t it?” you whispered, barely audible over the pounding of your heart. Anita paused, her usual words of comfort failing her. For a moment, her resolve cracked, and the pity she tried to conceal flickered in her eyes.

"Yes,” she finally said, her nod small and measured. The weight of her confirmation settled over you as you turned toward the grand staircase. Each step closer to the aisle felt heavier than the last. The train of your dress, trailing behind you, seemed to anchor you to the ground, each inch of its intricate lace reminding you of the promise it bore: till death do us part.

The soft strains of a string quartet drifted up to meet you, their melodies as delicate as the tension that filled the villa. At the base of the staircase, your father waited, his face a mask of pride, but his approval was cold comfort. His beaming smile spoke of satisfaction, of accomplishment—but not of your happiness. This wasn’t about her happiness; it never had been.

It was about the de Loughrey legacy, the alliances your marriage would secure, and the image your family had cultivated for generations. The ceremony space was breathtaking, almost cruelly so. The glimmering waters of Lake Como served as the backdrop, framed by arches adorned with cascading flowers in soft whites and blush tones.

Standing at the end of the aisle was Rafe, the man who was now to be your husband. He was a vision of composure in his perfectly tailored tuxedo, his features sharp and unyielding as ever. His piercing blue eyes locked on yours, unreadable but unwavering. Was he as reluctant as you? Or was he simply enduring this as another obligation, another deal made in his father’s name?

The guests rose as the music began to play. Their eyes swept over every inch of you—the shimmer of your gown, the soft cascade of your veil, the careful control of your expression. Polite smiles were the only thing that masked their curiosity, the whispered judgments and speculations that hung in the air like an unspoken agreement. They were there to witness, not just the union, but the spectacle of it all.

Your father’s grip on your arm was unyielding, a silent command to maintain your composure. Each step you took felt like an eternity, each footfall louder in your mind than in reality. Your breaths were shallow, each step a countdown to a future you had no control over. As you neared the altar, you turned your head just slightly, your eyes scanning Rafe's family, their gazes fixed on you, expectant.

They were poised, their expressions unreadable but heavy with meaning. Then your gaze flicked to your own family. William stood tall, his presence solid and unwavering; Edward gave you a slight nod, his smile small but genuine—a flicker of something comforting in the sea of cold, calculating faces. Astoria’s gaze was sharp, her lips pressed into a thin line, but Charlotte’s eyes softened as she met yours, her silent support like a breath of fresh air in the suffocating tension.

Your mother stood at the end of the aisle, her eyes flickering with a complex blend of pride and something else—something less discernible but just as heavy. You felt their eyes on you, but it was Edward’s small, reassuring gesture that grounded you, even if only for a fleeting moment. When your father placed your hand in Rafe’s, the coolness of his touch sent a shiver through.

Rafe’s gaze locked on yours, his jaw tight. Was that regret flickering in his eyes? Or annoyance? You couldn’t tell, and it didn’t matter. You would never truly know what he felt because he never let anyone in, least of all you. The ceremony unfolded like a perfectly orchestrated performance. The officiant’s voice became a blur, the words washing over you like waves you couldn’t fight against.

Rafe’s vows were steady, precise, and detached—more like a contract than a promise. When it was your turn, your voice wavered, each word tasting bitter as it left your lips. You felt like a performer reciting lines in a play you’d never auditioned for. And then came the words you dreaded most: “You may now kiss the bride.” Rafe hesitated, a brief pause so subtle only you would notice.

He stepped closer, his hand brushing against your cheek in what should have been a tender gesture. But to you, it felt hollow, rehearsed. His lips met yours, soft but impersonal, a kiss meant to satisfy the onlookers rather than the two of you. A tear slipped down your cheek, unbidden, followed quickly by another. You tried to swallow the sob rising in your throat, but it escaped, fragile and raw.

Rafe pulled back slightly, his brows knitting together as he noticed your tears. For a moment, something flickered in his eyes—regret? Guilt? Confusion? He didn’t say anything, though. What could he say? This was the life they had both been forced into. The applause erupted, deafening and hollow, as you turned to face the guests. The petals they tossed felt like a cruel mockery, their smiles oblivious to the turmoil roiling inside you.

Rafe’s arm was linked with yours as you walked back down the aisle together, his grip steady but impersonal. When you reached the edge of the courtyard, away from the prying eyes and flashing cameras, Rafe finally spoke, his voice low and tentative. “Are you okay?” You turned to him, your eyes glassy with unshed tears. “Does it matter?” For a fleeting moment, his composure faltered.

He opened his mouth as if to respond, something unspoken lingering on his tongue. But then his jaw tightened, and he looked away. “No,” he muttered. “I suppose it doesn’t.” And with that, you both stepped into the waiting car, leaving behind the applause, the guests, and the illusion of a perfect day. But the tension between you remained, a reminder of the life you had been thrust into—a life neither of you had chosen.

~

The flight to Lake Como had been a quiet affair, its tension palpable in the stale air of the private jet, but the journey to your honeymoon destination on the Amalfi Coast felt even more stifling. The jet’s engines hummed softly, a sound that seemed to amplify the silence between you and Rafe. He sat across from you, his tie loosened, his gaze fixed on the landscape beyond the window.

His eyes, though seemingly focused, saw nothing—only the storm within him. He hadn’t spoken much since the wedding reception, and for you, it was impossible to tell whether that was a blessing or just another layer of silent condemnation. It felt like a judgment of your shared fate, this life that had been handed to you both, neither of you fully grasping how to navigate it.

When you arrived at the cliffside villa overlooking the Tyrrhenian Sea, it was exactly as you had imagined: stunning, otherworldly, a place that promised beauty but held no solace. The sprawling estate bathed in the soft golden light of the setting sun seemed almost unreal, its pristine white walls gleaming against the lush greenery

A private infinity pool sparkled in the courtyard, and the distant crash of waves against the cliffs below added to the ambiance of serenity—serenity that felt just out of reach. Your chest tightened at the sight, the beauty only intensifying the ache in your heart. “It’s beautiful,” you murmured, your voice barely a whisper, as much to yourself as to Rafe.

The words were hollow, a futile attempt to hold on to some semblance of normalcy. Rafe nodded curtly, his jaw clenched, as he handed his jacket to the waiting staff. “It’s what they wanted,” he replied flatly, his voice devoid of emotion. They. The families. The ones who had orchestrated every detail of this—this nightmare masquerading as a dream. You swallowed hard, forcing back the tears that threatened to spill.

You had cried enough at the wedding; you couldn’t let yourself break down here, not when the weight of this new reality pressed so heavily on your chest. Your luggage was swiftly taken away to the master suite, and your stomach twisted at the thought of sharing the room with Rafe. The villa was vast, yet you felt trapped in its grandeur.

It didn’t matter how many rooms it had; there was no escaping him, no escaping the suffocating awareness of his presence that clung to you like a second skin. It felt like a constant reminder of the life that had been chosen for you both, a life you had never asked for but were now forced to live. Dinner was served on the terrace as the sun dipped beneath the horizon, painting the sky with streaks of orange and pink.

The table was set for two, an intimate setting that only deepened the awkwardness between you. You sat with your back to the view, trying to ignore the uncomfortable tension in the air. As the waitstaff began to serve, you pulled out a cigarette and lit it, drawing in the smoke slowly. You let the warmth of the cigarette ease some of the tension in your chest, the familiar burn helping to steady your nerves, even as it made the air feel heavier between you and Rafe.

You watched the thin ribbon of smoke curl upwards, the sharp scent mixing with the salty breeze from the sea. The rich flavours of the meal were lost on you, your mind too distracted by the palpable silence and the feeling of suffocation that lingered in the villa. Every now and then, you stole a glance at Rafe, but he was focused on his plate, his jaw tight.

His eyes flicked briefly to your cigarette, but he said nothing. “You’re not eating?” he asked, his voice cutting through the silence, but his tone was neutral, almost indifferent. You took another drag, watching the smoke swirl in the fading light. “I’m not hungry,” you said softly, the words laced with an unspoken truth. It wasn’t the food you needed; it was the way the cigarette soothed the restless tightness in your chest.

Rafe leaned back in his chair, his gaze fixed on you now, though his expression remained unreadable. “You’ll need to eat eventually,” he said, his voice calm but insistent. “Skipping meals won’t change anything.” The words hit you harder than expected, and you looked up, a spark of frustration flaring inside. “I know that, Rafe. Believe it or not, I’m not trying to starve myself out of this situation.”

His frown deepened, and he ran a hand through his hair, clearly frustrated. “I didn’t mean it like that.” “Then how did you mean it?” Your voice was sharp, the anger you’d been holding back bubbling to the surface. “What, are you worried I’ll embarrass you by fainting in front of the staff?” “That’s not what I—” He cut himself off with a harsh exhale, frustration lacing his tone. “Forget it.”

You let out a bitter laugh, the sound hollow in the quiet of the terrace. “Of course. Forget it. Just like we’re supposed to forget the fact that neither of us wants to be here.” His eyes hardened, his jaw clenching. “Do you think I don’t know that? Do you think I asked for this?” “You certainly don’t seem to be fighting it,” you shot back, your words sharp. “You’re just as complicit as everyone else in this—this arrangement.”

“I didn’t have a choice!” Rafe’s voice rose, snapping in the quiet of the evening. “Just like you didn’t. So stop acting like I’m the villain here.” You pushed back your chair, the legs scraping against the stone floor as you stood up abruptly, cigarette dangling from your fingers. “You don’t get it, do you?” Your voice trembled with barely contained fury. “You’ll always have more freedom than I ever will. You’re Rafe Cameron, the golden boy. You’ll get to live your life the way you want, no matter what. But me?”

You shook your head, the words leaving your lips in a bitter rush. “I’m just a pawn. A vessel for heirs.” For a moment, Rafe froze, his gaze hardening into something unreadable. He clenched his fists, the muscles in his jaw tightening. “If that’s what you think, then maybe you don’t know me at all,” he said quietly, his voice sharp and laced with bitterness.

Without another word, you turned on your heel and walked away, the sound of your heels clicking against the stone as you retreated into the villa, your heart pounding in your chest. You didn’t know where you were going, only that you needed distance—from him, from this place, from the suffocating reality of your new life. The master suite was dim when you entered, the moonlight casting faint shadows across the room.

You sank onto the edge of the bed, staring out at the sea beyond the open balcony doors. The cool night breeze brushed against your skin, but it did little to quell the ache gnawing at your heart. Your mind was a whirlwind, thoughts spinning in every direction, none of them providing any clarity. Minutes passed before you heard the door creak open behind you. You didn’t need to look to know it was Rafe.

His footsteps were slow, hesitant, the sound of his approach almost a whisper. He stopped a few feet away, his presence filling the room without the need for words. “I’m sorry,” he said, his voice low and almost uncertain. You turned to look at him, surprised by the softness in his tone, by the lack of his usual bravado. “For what?”

“For... everything,” he admitted, running a hand through his hair, his eyes searching the room as if he couldn’t quite find the right words. “I know this isn’t fair. To either of us.” You blinked, startled by his candor. For a brief moment, you saw something human behind the walls he’d carefully constructed. Something fragile, something real. “It’s not,” you agreed quietly, your voice barely a whisper.

Rafe sighed, sitting down in the armchair near the balcony, his eyes distant as if he was searching for something in the dark expanse of the sea. “I don’t know how to fix this,” he confessed, the words heavy with uncertainty. “But I don’t want us to hate each other.” You studied him, noting the tense line of his shoulders, the way his eyes avoided yours.

For the first time, you wondered if he was just as lost as you felt. “I don’t want that either,” you whispered, your words fragile, as if they might break under the weight of everything you had left unsaid. You both sat in silence, the sound of the waves below filling the space between you. It wasn’t an answer, not really. But it was something—a fragile, tentative start.