#god is created and passes over and over again

[esstxys]

𝓗 𝓐 𝓝 𝓙 𝓘 𝓢 𝓤 𝓝 𝓖 - impatient.

warnings : sub!jisung, begging, whiny + needy jisung, masturbation, boners, caught in the act, slight perv!jisung.

summary : when your morning activities are interrupted by an emergency situation, your boyfriend can't help but pleasure himself at the thought of how delicious you looked while you innocently cooked him breakfast.

- ; 9:05 am

your eyes were still glued shut with sleep as you rolled over in bed, throwing your arm to the right which hit your boyfriend in the stomach, of course.

han shot awake, clutching his stomach instantaneously. after a few seconds of sputtering out soft swear words under his breath the said, "new way to wake me up, hm?"

you groaned in response, much too tired to give him a proper answer. the only thing on your mind was going back to sleep, but your boyfriend poking you in your side made that task pretty difficult.

"hannie, stop." you said curtly, grabbing his hand.

"you're the one who woke me up, shouldn't i be mad?" he turned you over so you were facing him. your eyes were closed yet he still took a moment to look at all of your delicate features.

"i can feel you staring at me." you spoke before opening your eyes. he was already staring into them. fuck. you wanted to be mad at him for not letting you sleep, but you couldn't.

he laughed before sliding his hand under your head, separating you and your soft pillow. you leaned closer to him and let out a hum at the plush feeling of your lips meeting his.

he pulled away for a moment and you smiled

"come here." you said grabbing his face and bringing it to yours, smashing your lips together once again, this time with more passion.

you bit his upper lip and he licked your lower, and soon after his tongue pried your lips apart. he sat you up against the headboard, not separating his lips from yours for a second. he unclasped your bra, taking a tit in his hand.

every second that passed just made the kiss more heated.

your hands slid up and down his body as his tongue explored your mouth. just as your hands made it to his waistband you received a call, to which you ignored.

and then another call came.

and finally a text.

he pulled away, recognizing whoever was trying to reach you probably really needed you, considering the number of times your phone had made that god forsaken ding! sound in the last thirty seconds.

han got off of you, letting you recollect and grab your phone.

"fuck." you mumbled

"what?" he looked up at you from the bed like a lost puppy, swearing to himself that he was going to come after whoever just created that cockblock of the century.

"its my best friend. her dog ran away. she wants me to come over and grieve with her. probably lay in her bed for three hours? i don't know.." you rambled on, shocked at the messages you had just received.

"oh shit. you gotta get going then?" he yawned. handing you the bra which he has just pried off moments before.

"i guess so." you slipped the bra over your head. "want breakfast before i leave?" you asked him, grabbing a pair of his pajama pants off of the floor and swiftly putting them on.

"i mean, why not?" he got out of the bed slowly before ruffling his hair and standing up.

you watched his muscles flex as he stretched. did your friends dog really have to run away today?

you walked over to him, giving him a peck on the lips before walking out of the room "meet you downstairs yeah?"

"yeah." he paused, "your not putting a shirt on?" he said loudly, knowing you were far down the hallway by now.

"i mean its just us at home, right?!" you called back.

hearing that he smiled to himself. rushing out of the room and following you down the steps.

- ; 9:32 am

"ji, im gonna burn the fuckin' eggs if you keep staring at me like that." you shuffled the eggs around in the pan once more before turning around to look at him, leaning your hands into the counter.

"what? am i distracting you?"

"just let me cook your eggs in peace." you smiled.

saying that, you turned around. you knew han wouldn't let you do that.

you felt his gaze burning into you as you walked over to the fridge to grab orange juice which you set on the counter next to you.

why not take advantage of this?

you opened the freezer and bent down to grab the mini pancakes you knew your han loved.

you arched your back as you stood up and turned around, "you want some of these, babe?" you held up the box of pancakes, waving them in the air.

your boyfriend traced your curves with his eyes. how his pants hung low on your hips, how your bra held your perfect tits.he was getting harder by the second.

who the fuck gave you permission to do these things to him?

and then, looked up from the floor where he was pretending to stare, blinking and shaking his head before speaking "oh shit- sorry babe what'd ya say?"

"hm." you crossed your arms and leaned against the counter once again, sighing this time. "what am I distracting you now?"

"i gotta use the bathroom, be right back." he said coldly.

you pursed your lips and then shook your head. "you want the pancakes or not?!"

"yeah!" his voice cracked as he ran to the bathroom.

you giggled and turned off the stove, and part of you wished you didn't know what he was about to do.

han bee-lined for the bed and threw himself on it, tossing most of the pillows to the floor and stuffing the remaining behind his back, before yanking his sweatpants down to his knees.

there was no need to drag this out.

he had enough foreplay just watching you downstairs, and not to mention the interrupted scene that morning that had been playing through his head for the rest of the time after that.

he grasped his cock firmly from the spot on his stomach where it had lay hard and wet-tipped.

he gasped at the contact and let his head fall back, his mouth parting slightly as he squeezed himself, before letting his cock fall with a slap against his heated skin.

with a flat hand, he pulled the moisture from his reddening tip, smearing it down his length, before curling his fingers over his balls, just grazing his fingertips below them.

han ran his tongue over his dry lips, picturing you in the kitchen, remembering how you'd looked with your pajama pants hanging so low that just the slightest tug would pull them off.

he groaned and brought his hand around his dick again, tugging jerkily, frantically, and bent his knees, planting his feet on the bed.

he could see you between his legs, one hand on his thigh, the other pleasuring yourself right along with him.

han screwed his eyes closed and clamped his other hand over his own thigh, breathing hard and fast and stroking even faster.

he imagined fucking you over the counter. both of you whimpering as he thrusted roughly into you.

one hand gripping your hips roughly, leaving small marks.

his other roped around to the front of your body, rubbing your clit.

the muscles in hans arms began to burn as he stroked himself, but that barely registered; the only thing he could think of, the only thing he could see, was you beneath him.

him plunging into you and hearing your pretty noises.

your face as it twisted with pleasure.

he stroked himself long and hard, inside and out, his breath ragged and heavy, and he knew it wouldn’t be long before his release.

he moaned loudly, picturing you against the counter once again. this tipped him right over the edge.

with a loud cry of your name, his knees hit his shoulders as his belly strained and his hips thrust up onto his plunging fingers, his body pulsing around them.

quick lines of milky liquid squirted over his hand and the quivering skin of his stomach.

you opened the bedroom door and hans head snapped at the creaking sound it had made.

"huh. well this sure isnt the bathroom." you teased, making your way towards the bed.

[becoming-with]

[tojisteddy]

Ruthless

or: Country!Simon catches you attempting to tag his property, of course he has to teach you a lesson.

cw: 3.6k words, 18+ mdni, Country!Simon, alt universe, no use of y/n, some plot with smut, dub-con, spanking, breeding kink, p in v, creampie, age gap (Simon 29, reader 23), primal play & reencounter (if you tilt your head), pet names (little girl, city broad, lucky), fingering, lite pussy pronouns, degradation, lucky!reader

a/n: a scrapped Drabble turned into a full story cause I love plot

part 2!!! <3

You were running like your life depended on it.

It was dumb for you to even attempt to tag the Riley barn to begin with.

You knew that, your friends knew that, anyone in town would’ve warned you otherwise.

It all started with a little end of college fun, wreck havoc like the good ole days. Nothing out the ordinary. Something that supposed to be a silly little prank, saying goodbye to college and hello to adulthood by spray paint and a little egging.

Was it a little too much for your liking? Yes.

Just plain rude and disgusting because at the end of the day, what exactly did Ghost do to deserve any of this? But peer pressure is a nasty, annoying, bitch. Regardless of age.

The Riley Ranch had been rumored as evil and haunted, the only people who really interacted with the land being other farmers. Even when Simon Riley, the last standing of the family, came to church (on the rarest occasions), people kept their distance. Afraid his families “bad” energy would spread over to them.

They called him Ghost.

There was a fire at the families home, started by Ghosts father who was always in a rage. Your father made sure your family stayed clear of him when you visited, he wasn’t too kind to quote, ‘big headed, posey, no good, city slickers.’ No one thought his rage would grow so large into trying to kill his whole family.

No one one besides Ghost made it out that night, there was rumored to be a large burn mark on his back to prove it.

You’d gotten found too fucking quick, “What the hell do you think you’re doin?” His voice booming on the highway road.

Simon Riley was blessed to have ears like an owl. Heard the car pull up and stop on his property, the rumbling of the engine— a beat passes— the car doors slamming shut and the far off hushed giggles. Nothing new, people had passed his property to spook whoever the hell they were with. Try to show how “evil spirits” ran rampant on his land, even if they were, he hadn’t ask for them to be there. But they’d never stop. They’d do it before.

They’d do it again.

But he heard that can of spray paint shake and his boots hit the floor before he even realized it.

Not the brown farmhouse gate he’d spent so long sanding down as a child with the help of his grandfather. Not the white ranch fence he’d spend so long getting together as soon as the land was properly handed to him and in his name, that’d he hand painted himself and fixed up the grass so people knew better than to drop any litter there.

No fucking way.

Your friends were already in the mustang you’d arrived in, those bastards, revving the engine and zooming off. You dropped the can, more spray getting on the grass fuck, fuck, fuck— your brown eyes slowly looked up, meeting a more than livid pair blue eyes.

You wanted to squeak out, ‘im sorry’ but where would there be room for that? Not in between the ranch fence that already had a squiggly line and crooked smiley face with black spray paint on it created by yours truly. There would absolutely be no room for an apology when his face was already screwed up, jaw clenching from underneath the bandana that hid his face, eyes narrowing into slits.

Well duh, babe. Move those feet!

And you did, turning at a 90 degree angle and sprinting like it was the end of the world. Ghost mumbled a ‘god damn it’, and ran right after you, his boot quickly meeting a carton of unopened eggs.

Oh you were definitely in for it now.

You ran through the Egyptian wheat, tall as the eye can see, green leaves scratching your arms and legs. You prayed to God there wasn’t any crazy animals hiding in there. You were panting, taking a quick glance behind you and you could only hear rustling of the large plants that surrounded you, feet hitting the floor.

Then you heard a distant yell in the field, “[+], you get back here!”

Well it wasn’t exactly the hardest to spot you out, you looked like your mother— who looked like her mother. You came from a family known for actually being good people, never hesitating to help or providing when need be. You’d met Mr. Riley a couple times in your 23 years of life. Quick instances that you vaguely remember. But you knew his face, and he knew yours.

Your mom had been one of the few good people making sure he was well taken care of when he was younger, she couldn’t raise him like she had wanted to with having to travel back and forth from the city for work as a children’s author. But she’d made sure he was taken care of in whatever home he was placed in, encouraged him to join the Boys and Girls club, something to ground him.

“Just needs someone to look after ‘em is all,” she’d ensisted while braiding your hair one night before heading to meet him at his group home, fingers weaving through your curls with purpose, you were around eight. “Some kids need a lil extra love, show ‘em someone’s there for ‘em. Simon’s one of those kids, so is your older brother, even though he’s a pain in my side at times. They’re all good in their core— their heart. It’s important to have someone nurture it. Gods called me to do that.”

Though, the relationship strained when the foster system let him go. “He’s just having boy troubles. Boys go through those weird hormones when they hit a certain age. Wants to prove ‘imself as a man. They get real hard headed [+]. He’ll get over it ‘nd pull through. He always does,” she’d say. So certain. Undoubting. Like a sixth sense.

And Simon did manage well enough, clearly, for him to have a proper farm for himself, one that was properly taken care of and thriving. You’d visited with your mom two years back. It was so clear to you now. Your mother practically smothering him in a hug when she got close enough. Simon was awkward at first, but accepted it. His eyes and whole body softing by her touch. She’d been family when no one else would be.

He looked towards you, you met a gorgeous shade of blue, long blonde lashes to match his short blonde hair, face with a few noticeable scars and half his face hidden under a black bandana. You were standing a ways off so you couldn’t hear what he or your mother was saying, but you saw him nod toward you. Your mother saying something and him nodding in response. She waved you over,

“[+] you know Simon— I mean, Mr. Riley since you’re a grown man now, ain’t that right.” She laughed.

“Whatever you want ma’am.” He looks down at you and extends his hand. You take it, butterflies fluttering in your stomach, and give it a firm shake.

“Good seein you.” It wasn’t just words, he was sincere, caring. Like seeing an old friend.

You nodded, “ ‘S good seeing you too.”

He showed you the farm after that in his truck. The big house that was farther toward the woods, properly fixed after the fire a decade ago, the Egyptian wheat field, the horses and chickens and the new blue barn he was building to accommodate them, the horse training area used to break in horses no one else would. It was a lot of land, a lot of work, but you could tell by the sound of his husk voice, he was proud of himself and the work he’d been able to accomplish. Even more happy when your mom praised him.

It finally clicked: that barn— and right on time, you’d caught sight of it. Not the one Mr. Riley had been fixing when you visited, the old one. Large and in charge that had old wood, and was definitely falling apart. But you made a bee line for it anyway.

What other option did you have?

Your heart was practically beating out of your chest, nerves on a high because you didn’t even notice how close Ghost was to you before you ducked so he couldn’t grab you. Kicking his shin and dashing towards the barn that was bones.

“You damn brat! fuck me!” He cursed, hopping to ease the new pain on his leg before running right after you.

You undid the large wooden latch, sliding the doors open and immediately trying to slide them close. But his hand shot through the opening, a shiver runs down your spin.

Up the steps you went, the only place you could go, and Ghost was right on your heels, quick, almost silent— didn’t call him Ghost for no reason. You tripped and fell on a pile of hay and wild chickens went fluttering and clucking down to the barn floor, clouding your vision. Next thing you knew, Ghost finally caught you. His hands grabbed hold of both of your arms as you rolled around and thrashed underneath him.

“You fuckin asshole! Let me go!” You grunted, trying to kick your legs where the sun didn’t shine but completely missing when the older man closed your legs, gripping them together under your knees in his hands. He had you like a pig about to be roasted.

“You ruin my property but I’m the asshole?” The fucking audacity of you. “Gonna teach you a fuckin lesson cause clearly they don’t teach you city folk manners.”

With ease, Ghost sat himself down on one of the old hay bails, bringing you over his lap. He grunts, keeping you as still as you can, and then like thunder— his large calloused hand comes down to your plump ass, echoing in the empty barn.

“Mr. Riley!” You gasp, your head shoots up, eyes widening— there’s no way- was he giving you a spanking? The next one yanks you out of your thoughts, brutal, harsh, that makes you scream his name again, “Mr. Riley, that’s enough!” But he’s completely ignoring you.

“Spray painting my fences,” SMACK!

“Tryin to egg my house,” SMACK!

“‘Nd Ruinin my fuckin crops?!” SMACK!

“You’ve lost,” SMACK! “you’re damn,” SMACK! “mind! little girl!” SMACK, SMACK, SMACK!

You’re crying and whimpering, as his hand continues forming ripples in your ass. You’d gotten one singular whopping your whole life, from your grandma for breaking her good vase when she told you no ball throwing in the house. Life altering from one incident that made you into the goodest girl there ever was.

And then there’s this predicament, one that ripped your soul in two. One half fueled with hatred for doing something so crude— so audacious. And then the other that’s struggling to keep itself contained. one more hit that meets your tender bottom, one that hits you in a place you didn’t realize was boiling over— a smack to the ass that forces an egregious moan out of your trembling plump lips.

Simon stills, his eyes flicking over the state of you. You’re shaking, head down and legs finally not kicking. But he sees the way you try to hide yourself further into his lap, because you and he both know you just moaned because of a little whooping.

Oh— you're crazy.

You’d unknowingly created a fire and Simon would add lighter fluid to it.

He lifts the bottom of your short flower patterned dress, just to peak, you jump but still, your heart pounding even louder than it had before. And it’s a sight for the man to behold— your underwear soaked like the damn ocean. You squeeze your thighs together, trying to bring the hands down to hide the slick that was ever growing.

“D-don’t look.” You sniffle. Too damn cute.

But there’s a snicker, something that makes you look back at him and his eyes are shining with mischief, “My god, you’re a filthy lil thang, aren’t’chu?” It’s almost rhetorical, he’s not asking you, he’s asking your cunt. “Didn’t know you city broads were like that, learn somethin new every day, don’t you?”

You yelp when he yanks your underwear down to your knees, thrashing around once again, but Simon keeps you still. Your pretty pussys glistening as bright as sun on water, slick all over your fat second pair of lips. He brushes his fingers against them, sending shivers up your spine, you cant help but arch further into his touch.

You whine, “Mr. Riley-“

“—Shhhhh, gotta hear her,” he murmured, slowly slipping a finger in your drenched hole. Your pussys practically sputtering out with every thrust of his finger, slipping another one and coating it perfectly. He takes them out, sucking up the juices on his tongue that you’ve left on them, spitting down on your hole before stuffing his fingers back into you. He hums in satisfaction as you lose your mind, “such a fuckin slut, you just get this wet for anyone, don’t you?”

Your eyes reach the back of your head, breath hitching, “Nooo, I don’t- I wouldn’t!— ooh- agh- Mr. Riley!” your interrupting yourself with your own moans. Whatever anger you had before, folding into nothing.

He finally let’s go of your hands and you grip on to his leg, nails clawing at his jean cover thighs. Your stomach tightens running away as your orgasm builds but Simon follows, thrusting his fingers into your gummy walls even more, curving them to find your sweet spot with determination.

“Eaaasy now, don’t want to hurt you. Be good ‘nd cum. Know you want to, make a mess all over me darlin’.”

And that’s all it takes, with a twitch and a squeal, your cumming all over his hand. Simon thrusts his fingers a couple times, watching the wave of euphoria wash over you before sucking one of fingers clean, then bringing the other to your mouth.

“Come on, don’t be fuckin uppity, taste it lil girl” he tsked, you take the middle finger in your mouth, tasting your own arousol, swirling your tongue around it. Slowly pulling your head back with a ‘pop.’ It all goes straight to the blondes aching dick.

You hear it, the unbuckling of his belt, your stomach touching the tint that had built because of you. your mind finally snaps out of the trance he’s got you in. You barley manage to get out of his lap, scrambling through the hay, tripping over your underwear, on your as knees. Giving Simon the perfect view of your tender ass and the slick that’s dripping down to your thigh before you turn when you meet a wall. Pushing yourself into it.

“We- shit- someone- someone’ll come!” You ramble out, panting, still feeling the after effects of your orgasm. Your eyes avert to anything in this barn besides the man infront of you. But he made his way over to you, slow, stalking. And once he’s on his knees and hovering above you, he springs his cock from from his boxers. The blonde is hung, large and girthy, his tip strawberry red and leaking pre cum.

He bends down, sliding his fat cock between your wet folds, and then smacking his tip on your clit creating a plap, plap, plap. You can’t help but whimper at the sensation.

“You want it don’t you?” he whispers in your ear, taunting you, goosebumps wave over your skin. “Don’t want me all the way,” he traces over your belly, and then pokes right where your uterus is, “up here, hm?”

“Don’t want me to make you feel good pretty girl? Don’t wanna feel it once?”

Maybe it’s the adrenaline that’s pulsing through you, the way he’s looking down on you like you’re pathetic, dick crazed maniac. And maybe that’s exactly what you are, just once— you just want feel him stir your guts just. this. once.

“I do.”

And your soft voice is just enough for the brute to yank your legs open, Simon throwing your legs over his forearms and spreading your pretty hole open with just the tip. The man starts bullying himself inside the tightness of your pink walls.

He’s big. He’s too big. You hiccup, shoving at his shoulder while he’s splitting you in half, “Mr.Riley, ‘s so much! hicc- can’t. I can’t.”

He croons, slowly thrust more and more of his veiny length into you. “Come oooon city broad, thought you could take it? Don’t go runnin. Been runnin from me alllll this time little girl.”

“Bet you won’t do no shit like that again, ruining my damn property,” Simon hissed, smacking down your clit a few times. “Gonna fuck that nonsense outta that lil brain ‘f yours.”

“I won’t! I promise! Mmmph- I’ll be good! S-so good just for you. Always for you.” You mewled, one hands clawing at the wall behind you and other hand at his shoulder. He finally feels it, his cock reaching the very hilt of you, balls smacking your ass crack. The damn obscene sounds your syrupy pussy is making to keep him inside you, and his tip giving your cervix the messiest and he’s sure, the first kiss it’s ever received.

A baby.

You’d look so fucking sexy, being all plump with his fucking baby. He pushes your thighs back to you head further, jackhammering into your heat rough and mean.

“Five,” he mumbles, groping at one of your tits in his hand. Squeezing and kneading it like a vice.

“Wha-“

“You’ll give me five ‘f ‘em, won’t’cha? Make me a daddy.”

He’s talking nonsense, partially. Simon wasn’t dead set on five, he’d wanted a baseball team but he’d settle for whatever you wanted. One would do if it caused you too much strain. He’d take care of you and the baby, buy you whatever you asked for, have you sat on that back porch, in a rocking chair. Your hand on your full belly, watching him as he worked all lovingly.

Simon breath hitches, rolling his hips into yours with a grunt, fucking drunk at the thought of it. The thought of you, all while your pussy was squeezing on him like you were reading his fucking mind.

“C-christ almighty, I got lucky with you huh? A snug lil cunt like this deserves to be up filled up with my cum.”

You still couldn’t believe it, thee Simon Ghost Riley, was with you in this old barn fucking your brains out like you were fucking Eve in that damn garden, on top of a pile of hay. Both of you letting out moans and groans like animals that you’re sure anyone who stepped foot on property would be able to hear. It’s hot, and sweat is forming on both of your foreheads, your skin is sticky. Simon’s big balls hitting your ass every punch of his tip into you G Spot. both of your eyes hazy, stupid off the other getting off.

“Feel so gooood M-Mr. Riley! So much!” You keen, reach for the bandana hiding his face. He always pushes your hand away but then he remembers what you’re about to be— his lover, his wife— the mother of hic children.

“Mamma’s gotta know the face of ‘er children’s daddy right? pull it off.” And you do, tugging it. And god, maybe this whole ordeal got you lucky.

So damn pretty. A scar on his nose, another one at the end of his pink lips, blonde strands swaying everytime he ruts into you, “Mr. Riley’s sooo pretty,” you slur, talking to him like it’s some secret. You’re lucid in his cock, eyes squeezing shut in pleasure while you stomach coils up.

“Uh-uh, eyes on me city broad, look at me!” He squeezes your cheeks together, planting a fat kiss on your smooshed lips. He snaps his hips forward, and your head would’ve hit the wall from how good you feel. But Simons still got your pretty face in his hands.

“Gonna have ya allll bare foot ‘nd pregnant, waddlin yer cute ass ‘round here with a ring on that finger.” He’s telling you, as if this is already happened and he’s seein it with his own eyes. All you can do is moan at his words. You can’t even form a sentence at this point. Just nodding your ditzy little head while he gives you his dick.

“Gonna be a pretty fuckin mamma too, fu- shit baby, your pretty tits all full with milk for our kin— damn, you love the sound ‘f that dontcha? You can deny it all ya wont, but she’s achin for it.”

God, you are. She is too. You didn’t even know how greedy your pussy was being as he pistoned in and out of you, “Gonna— gonna cum, fuck I’m gonna-“

“-Yeah, thaaat’s it lucky, come all over your husbands cock.”

All you can utter is a ‘s-shit’ when your orgasm smacks you, your toes curling in your converses, thighs shaking in Simons hold.

The blonde gets you in a headlock, smooshing you down into the floor further, brushing your curls with hay out of your gorgeous face. rutting into you as your walls clamp onto him, begging for his all milk he’s able to give you.

Simon growls, and the strings of cum fill your womb. Your clammy bodies are still stuck together as he rocks the last bit of cum into. Mumbling while kissing your neck, “take it lucky it’s all yours. Gotta keep you nice ‘nd full if you’re gonna get pregnant.”

It’s quiet finally. The barn itself is old and creaks but you can hear the chickens right down the steps clucking, the cicadas chirping, the breeze passing through the trees. The only think you hear are his and your pants,

Simon scoops you up in his arms, adjusting your dress to cover the mess he’s created thats dripping down on that barn floor with every steps he takes.

“Mr. Riley, where are we- where are we going?” You hiccup, gripping onto his shirt. All you can look at is him, a little in shock, a little blissed out. The only thing your able to focus on is the handsome man holding you against his chest. The way his heart pounds louder as he looks down at you.

“To the house. It just won’t take after one go.”

a/n: a draft that’s sitting since last month. Luv you bubs. Can’t wait to write more country!simon

most recent masterlist

[classyrbf]

you find it so funny how people think your husband, nanami, is the sweetest, most innocent and romantic man they’ve ever laid eyes on, such a gentleman. Which, they are correct in some ways. Gentleman. Check. Sweet. Check. Romantic. Check. He’s always buying you flowers, opening doors for you, kissing your hand, taking you out on spontaneous dates, calling you ‘sweetheart’, ‘honey’, ‘love’, and treating you like some porcelain doll. But innocent? Oh no, no. You almost laugh because it may seem like your husband is ‘innocent’ or ‘vanilla’ whichever term they may use, but he is anything but that. While he may treat you like a princess in public, he absolutely sluts you out behind closed doors.

You don’t blame people for thinking he may look and act soft because that was your first impression of him too. So, imagine the surprise when you first had sex and he was pounding you in a mating press, tears streaming down your face. Yeah, best night of your life. And now that you’re married? God, it makes the sex one hundreds times better than before. He’s go you on your side, one arm hooked under your leg, reaching so far that he’s able to wrap his hand around your throat. The other wrapped around your waist, rubbing your clit while he fucks his cum into you. He’s forcing you to look him in the eyes, faces inches away from each other, because he wants to watch your pretty face when you cum. So innocent, right?

“Oh my god! Fuck!” You cry out, your breathing labored. He’s so deep inside of you, the tip of his cock hitting your g-spot over and over again to the point it makes your head spin especially when he’s toying with your swollen clit. “I can’t! I can’t, Ken! You’re too fucking deep! Ah!” You grip onto the ruffled sheets below, bucking your hips as you attempt to make his cock not feel so good, but the bruising grip he has on your throat and waist puts you right back in your place.

“You can take it, sweetheart. I know you can. You know why?” He pulls you in closer, pressing his lips to your ear. “Cause you’re a fucking slut for this dick.” He thrusts his hips faster, skin slapping against skin and the mixture of your juices and his cum create a sticky mess between your thighs. “Awe, is that gonna make you cum? Being degraded? I can feel your pussy clenching me,” he darkly smiled, heavy breaths fanning against your damp skin. He rubbed your clit faster, carefully watching the way you threw your head back in pure bliss.

“Fuckkkk! You’re gonna make me cum again!” Your toes curled the closer you got to your orgasm, whimpering as you took in every feeling of pleasure coursing through you.

“Squirt all over this dick, baby. Be a good girl for me and show me how good I make you feel.” He felt your walls tightening with each passing second, sweat trailing down his forehead as he kept his pace. Your legs began to shake as you writhed under him, cursing and screaming as you squirted all over, soaking the blankets below you. “Messy fucking slut. Look at you, you’re still fucking going.”

“Oh my god! Yes, yes, yes!” Your brows furrowed as you watched him fuck you through your orgasm. “It’s too much, Ken!” You pulled his hand away from your clit, holding onto his wrist tightly while he slowed down his thrusts, now going deep and slow. You laid there in a dazed state, trying to catch your breath. His hand gently caressed your stomach slowly inching up towards your tits, cupping them in his hand while he placed sloppy kisses down your neck and to your collarbone.

So yes, while your husband may be such a gentleman, such a sweetheart, such an angel to others, in the back of your head, you think of those moments behind closed doors when he makes you cum your brains out, praising you and degrading you all within the same breath, choking you and treating you like some common whore. But after all that’s over, he’s back to treating you like the most delicate thing he’s ever touched. It’s truly the best of both worlds.

[lucidfairies]

take a hit [e.w]

pairing: inexperienced!reader x dealer!ellie

synopsis: for the first time, you're interested in sharing a joint with Ellie, and she doesn't let the moment get passed up

warnings: intox, cnc, weed/smoking, head [r!receiving], fingering [r!receiving], strap [r!receiving], pet names (mama, baby, good girl, slut, pretty), unrealistic squirting, ellie uses reader to get off, lots of use of the word force and lots of ellie's thoughts that include force

wc: 2.5k

a/n: short n sweet! long time no see 💘 (ps this is kind of shitty until the last thousand words where it actually gets good lmao 😭)

“ellie?” you yelled from the bedroom, plopping down on the bed with a huff. she entered the room, leaning against the door frame and smiling. “do you have any weed on you? I think I might want to try some.” ellie was taken aback by the question. you were never one for smoking or drinking, let alone somewhere outside of a party environment, or for leisure.

you guys had been together for a while, but smoking together was something that ellie never thought she’d see. you made it very clear from the beginning that you would not be partaking in ellie’s ‘business’, as you called it. she hardly considered it that; ten or so customers did not make a business, just a side hustle.

“yeah I have weed baby,” you watched as she walked over towards the closet and pulled out a shoe box, cleanly organized with wrap paper, weed, grinders, and other things that you didn’t know or couldn’t name. she sat down across from you on the bed, pulling out her supplies and setting it up. “do you want me to roll it or do you know how?” she asked, but the paper was already in her hands.

“you do it,” you changed positions so that you were straddling the bed, shirt falling between your legs to cover your underwear. she was looking.

“I’m gonna put in a little more than I normally do to make it feel good, okay mama?” you nodded eagerly, her plan unbeknownst to you. she made it seem like that; like she just did it to make you feel good, but in reality, she overfilled it so that halfway through the joint you wouldn’t be able to see straight.

she got up, turning the bedroom lights down low to create a pretty ambiance. you slipped the joint between your lips, waiting for her to come over and light it for you, which she did. she had you sit in her lap, pulling the joint from between your lips between every hit, just so that you would know you were a princess.

after a few hits, the room was already beginning to spin. “els why aren’t you hitting it?” you asked, pouting as you tried to push her hand towards her face with little luck. she took a short hit to make you happy and keep you relaxed before forcing it between your lips again. she made you hit it over and over again until you were sure you were in outer space.

that’s when her plan unfolded. suddenly, her hands were running up the sides of your thighs and her hot mouth found your neck. you whined lazily, her touch feeling so much better than it usually did. “ellie what are you doing?” you slurred, not coherent enough to fight back as she grabbed your hips and forced you down onto her lap. an immediate gush of wetness filled your panties when your clit brushed over her bulge. “ellie,” you slurred again, whining into her neck as your hips rolled down again.

“shhh, it’s okay baby. you wanna be a good girl and hit this again for me?” she held the joint up to your lips once again, and like the good girl you were, you took it between your lips and sucked. “that’s it, that’s my good princess, isn’t it?” she cooed. she took the joint from you and sat it in the ashtray, flipping you so that you were under her. “god, you’re just so pretty, aren’t you? can’t keep my hands off you. you did this to yourself, baby, such a slut without pants on, huh?” you whimpered as her hand came up under your shirt and harshly pulled your nipple.

something about this felt wrong, but it also felt so right. you loved the way she took over and decided what was going to happen, you loved the way your body felt and reacted to her in your cloudy headspace.

you whined as her fingers ran gently over your cunt through your shorts. you were so wet and your clit was pumping so hard, you had to have her in you. Your hips jolted and ground down on her thigh and fingers, making her chuckle. “now we want it, don’t we? that’s all it took, baby, you just needed a few hits to let me take control.” you nodded your head frantically as she pulled your shirt over your head.

her mouth danced down your neck with sweet bites until she made her way to your tits. she took one in her mouth and the other in her hand, hitting just the spot to make you writh under her. she gave both just the attention they needed, leaving marks along the way, before continuing down your stomach, stopping at your pubic bone.

“before I fuck you, you’re gonna take another hit of the joint. how’s that sound, pretty?” the joint was still burning a little, almost out, but it was enough to take a hit, a long hit, because ellie held it to your lips and kept it there until she saw fit. once she decided you were ready, she tossed it back in the ashtray and immediately attached her lips to your clit.

you were so spacey and sleepy but it felt so good. nothing like what you were used to. every perfect flick of her tongue was like touching heaven. she rotated between flicking her tongue up and down, side to side, going in circles, and sucking, and she practically had you coming in seconds.

she didn’t care that you lousily came once within the first minute, she continued and traced your entrance with the tip of her finger, sending electric shocks through your system. the pads of her fingers were rough from her guitar, and you could feel the callouses as she teased you.

finally, she pushed her first finger in, wasting no time in crooking it up to the perfect spot. when she had you stretched out enough, she added another, and even another. the weed was relaxing you so much that you hadn’t even noticed the slight burn from the third finger, because you had never taken it before now.

“oh ellie,” you moaned, hands gripping the sheets as your head spun. “ellie I’m gonna cum.” you slurred as the pressure in your pelvis grew and bolts of pleasure started shooting throughout your body. her free hand moved from your hip to your tit, pinching your nipple once again.

you came for the second time, back arching and desperate for her to never stop.

“ellie I’m tired,” you pouted as she came up from between your legs and kissed you. you tasted yourself from her lips as her tongue grazed yours, she sucked gently and you moaned.

she pulled away, cooing at you. "if only we were done," she said as she stood to walk away, venturing into the closet to get, what she called, her 'strap box'. she thought it was funny to call it that.

she clipped her harness onto her hips and attached her favorite strap; it was forest green in color, nearing eight inches in length. she knew you couldn't always take it all, that's what made it fun for her. especially having you this way, where your head was in the clouds and your body was much more lenient to the things she wanted to do to it.

"flip over, ass up," ellie said, and you complied as she climbed onto the bed behind you. she pressed down on your lower back, deepening your arch. it was slightly uncomfortable, but the way she was looking at your pussy like a hungry dog made you forget the uncomfortability.

ellie never cared much for cleaning you up in between rounds, so when she ran the tip of her strap through your folds and down to your clit, your cum smeared all over your pussy. she almost came in her boxers at the sight of it.

rather roughly, ellie jerked her hips forward, pushing the first three inches in you. it didn't hurt like you anticipated, your body and mind were too lax for anything to hurt much. "today," ellie groaned softly as you took another couple inches. "you're going to take the whole thing. how's that sound?"

you didn't get a chance to answer before she was forcing another inch in you, only one to go before her hips pressed against your ass. your hands gripped the sheets, pressure gathering from the length in your abdomen.

ellie knew it would hurt if she put the last inch in, but she craved it. she couldn't resist the idea of you stretched out wide for her thick, cum soaked strap. she needed it.

she reached over you, wrapping her slender fingers over your mouth and pulling you up as she forced the last inch in you. you whined in pain, protests coming from your covered mouth, but she was too lost to listen. your head rested on her shoulder now, and she used this to reach around and trace your clit while she fucked into you.

she was going fast, slamming her hips into you as hard as she could. the harder the slam, the better it felt against her clit. since you had came twice already, she was focused on herself; meaning that she went as hard and as fast as she needed to to get herself off.

with a final harsh jerk, she coated her boxers and soaked through the inside of the harness. she released your mouth and clit and roughly pushed you forward, unrelenting as you neared your third orgasm of the night.

she grabbed a fistful of your hair and pulled it with every thrust, and just like that, the pressure from your stomach and bladder were releasing, and you were coming and squirting all over her.

she pulled out and flipped you onto your back, harshly slapping your clit. "such a fucking mess," she said slowly, with a slap between every word. tears streaked your cheeks from her brutal overstimulation and pain, and ellie lived for her. she wondered how many more times she could slap your sensitive spot between your legs before you begged her to stop, but she figured she would save that for next time.

once you were cleaned up and cared for, she left to acquire more weed. there was no way in hell she wasn't doing this with you again.

tags: @bvnfetti @kl1q @kaykeryyy @katemartinis @r3wbeef

[zstartrixxx]

𝐏𝐔𝐍𝐈𝐒𝐇𝐌𝐄𝐍𝐓 𝐅𝐎𝐑 𝑨 𝑴𝑶𝑵𝑺𝑻𝑬𝑹. (𝒀𝑶𝑼'𝑽𝑬 𝑺𝑬𝑬𝑵 𝑻𝑯𝑬 𝑩𝑼𝑻𝑪𝑯𝑬𝑹)

²⁰⁰⁰ˢꜝʳᵉᵐᵐᶦᶜᵏ ˣ ᶠᵉᵐꜝʳᵉᵃᵈᵉʳ

𝐑𝐄𝐐𝐔𝐄𝐒𝐓: 𝐘𝐄𝐒 | 𝐍𝐎

𝐒𝐔𝐌𝐀𝐑𝐘: On a night of apparent peace, you answer the door of the rented house to a stranger who swears up and down that he also leased the very same property... It's not what you're imagining. 𝐀𝐔𝐓𝐇𝐎𝐑'𝐒 𝐍𝐎𝐓𝐄𝐒: TO CELEBRATE OUR 200 BILLION FOLLOWERS IN STYLE (kskskskskksks now seriously: tkysm for the 200 followers, it's been a little over a month since i created this blog with face, heart and courage to post my fanfics without any grand expectations, so everything that's happening is fucked up :)

i’m humbly offering this fic that i affectionately call a 'FUN-FANFICTION'—funnier, silly and way more chaotic than my usual smut-heavy or over-the-top dramatic plots. think of it as your post-chill pill after a long day!!! to everyone reading this: thank you for your time, your love, and for being here. i adore you as much as i adore jackie's chars. <3 𝐖𝐀𝐑𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐒: +18 ADULT CONTENT. vampirism & gore (bite and blood), smut: oral (m!receive) and unproteced penetration, a lil' bite of monsterfucker; weirdo!remmick (he's a really freaky here idk :) lmk if i forget smt ;) 𝐖𝐂: 3.5k for whoever is going to read it, a great read! <3 likes, reblogs and comments are greatly appreciated :)

𝖱𝖤𝖬𝖬𝖨𝖢𝖪 𝖯𝖫𝖠𝖸𝖫𝖨𝖲𝖳 | 𝖬𝖠𝖲𝖳𝖤𝖱𝖫𝖨𝖲𝖳

"i wanna to watch the way, you creep across the night sky. you slowly enter, because you know my room; and then you crawl your knees off and then you shake my tomb..." (you've seen the butcher, deftones).

"A monster cannot be loved...

I always believed this with the same fervor as my faith in the saints and gods that surrounded me since childhood, when my parents took me on morning walks to the cemetery to honor those who came before me - from whom all wisdom originated. My great-grandmother's imposing marble mausoleum, with a winged guardian angel crushing a serpent's head, was my favorite place to be. That was a long time ago. My life changed when—"

A noise snapped you out of your trance.

You were surprised—you weren't expecting anyone at that house. You looked at your laptop clock: it was past nine in the evening. You raised your eyes to the window in front of you, facing the neighbor's house, the glass speckled with raindrops. The noise continued—someone was frantically twisting the doorknob, almost desperately, then stopping for a few seconds, making you think you were finally alone again—only for the noises to return, now more intense: fists pounding against the door, a deep voice in the background shouting "Hey!", completely breaking your concentration. You rolled your eyes, slamming your laptop shut, walking the short distance between the kitchen and living room, grabbing your fluffy white robe thrown over the back of the couch, to peer suspiciously through the peephole, trying to see who could be there at this hour on an ordinary Wednesday night in the middle of the rain.

A shadow passed by, obstructing your view. With no light on the porch, the faint glow from the quiet street only revealed outlines and shadows. With your palms flat against the door, you were startled by another violent shake, the deep, affected voice invading through the door crack:

"Hey! Open up! Let me in... Shit!"

You frowned, one hand on the metal doorknob and the other on the key, wondering if it was wise to open it for whoever was outside. You couldn't take another loud knock, long and insistent, turning the key in the lock with a click, twisting the knob, opening the door to find a drenched man just inches away from you. Holding onto the security chain that limited your field of vision, the man's face lit up with relief, arms crossed, raindrops falling from his brown almost black hair as he peered into the house with those dark blue eyes:

"Miss, sorry for the hour, but there must have been a mistake..."

"What mistake?" you asked, genuinely curious, looking him up and down: casual clothes, a black hoodie with the hood down, navy blue jeans, scuffed sneakers, and beside him a military-green camping backpack with what looked like a string instrument case leaning against it. You stared at him again, even more intrigued by the strange visitor, who was rubbing his hands together:

"Look, I don't want to sound weird or anything, miss, but this must be a mix-up! I rented this place for a few days to stay for a couple weeks, but when I got here, I couldn't find the key anywhere and, well... Now seeing you here, I think we've got a problem."

"Are you sure it's this house?" you asked, raising an eyebrow. He widened his eyes, nodding - pulling a worn leather wallet from his pants pocket, fishing out a crumpled piece of paper from between a wad of crumpled bills, extending his slightly trembling hand to you, likely from the cold. Behind him, the rain intensified, splashing onto the poor guy and onto you; the stranger pulled up his hood, casting his striking features into noisy darkness. You shrugged, taking the paper between your fingers, stepping back to smooth it out and read its contents under the indoor light, aloud:

"Blah-blah-blah... Temporary tenant Remmick... Blah-blah-blah, Zero-Six Street... Hmm, authorized stay from today until... Granted permission to occupy hereby..." You looked up at him, startled. The stranger—or rather, Remmick—raised his eyebrows at you:

"Believe me now?"

"Okay, fine... But what do we do?"

"Look, I don't want to be pessimistic, but this town is one of those weird ones where taxis only run at certain times and specific places, and the cabbie who dropped me off said I either walk back or find somewhere to stay... And with this rain, it'd be pretty shitty to leave me out here."

"Are you really sure you want to come in?"; Your voice came out dark, a glint passing through your eyes. An enigmatic little smile appeared at the corner of the man's lips as he lowered his hood again, putting on a pleading expression with puppy-dog eyes:

"Just one night, miss. Just so I don't catch a cold. One night—" He raised an index finger, flashing a convincing little smile: "—one night, and I promise I'll be a ghost to you. You won't even notice I'm here."

Your eyes shifted from him to the unrelenting rain behind him.

You glanced over your shoulder, where that empty house seemed to invite you to take in this poor guy, who wasn't to blame for his bad luck. In the end, you'd both come out ahead, right?

Convinced, you nodded affirmatively, unlatching the chain with a click. Before Remmick could enter, you stopped him once more, a hand extended, fingertips lightly brushing his chest, your eyes piercing into his, which gleamed with a hot-blue intensity as they locked onto you:

"Are you absolutely sure you want to come in?"

"Absolutely, miss. Don't ask me twice..." He shrugged as he stepped past you, carrying his things inside. Before closing the door, you took one last look at that street of houses with only a few lights on, a desolate place almost lost in that small town.

The night would be long.

Remmick didn't shut up for a single second. But it didn't bother you at all—quite the opposite. You were genuinely interested in what he had to say, the stories about failed gigs—while refilling another mug of cheap wine you'd found in the fridge—he told you about the time the band's car broke down in the middle of the highway:

"...I swear to God! There I was with the guys when boom!, the tire blew. We got out, in the middle of absolute nowhere, on one of those dirt roads connecting Nevada to California, you know? And the worst part..." He started laughing at the memory, the two of you sitting on the three-seater couch in the living room, the tube TV tuned to MTV, where nu-metal videos played. Remmick had showered, radiating warmth that smelled like chamomile and mint shampoo. He wore a simple black t-shirt that revealed a tattoo on his right inner bicep, gray sweatpants, barefoot—completely at ease, as if you were old friends reuniting after time apart. 

He sipped his wine. You laughed:

"And the worst part was what?" Sitting beside him, you'd taken advantage of his shower time to change into your pajamas: an oversized band t-shirt, black cotton shorts, the robe still covering the more exposed areas. Even so, every now and then you caught a pair of ocean-blue eyes glancing at you, trying to catch a glimpse of skin through the robe's opening or your slightest movement. Remmick wiped a trickle of wine from his chin:

"The worst part was that we stopped right in front of one of those roadside motels. But not just any motel—one of those for couples, you know? And there must've been an orgy or something going on, because it was fucking awkward..."

You burst out laughing, trying to picture the scene.

Remmick joined in, his laugh open and booming, full-bodied. He was slightly drunk and an open book: in less than two music videos and two mugs of wine, he'd already told you why he was here, about trying to go on the road with his little band, but his day job got in the way—so he had to choose between the band or work. And there he was, about to play a series of shows that, according to him, would "change his whole career." He was excited, hopeful, his eyes gleaming as streaks of blood-yellow light reflected in his irises, his teeth glowing under the TV's anise-colored light during pauses, his black hair still shiny with dampness. He was too human to seem like a weirdo... Even if some of his stories sounded far-fetched.

Remmick finished shaking his shoulders, his laughter fading as he turned back to the TV, where the opening chords of Be Quiet and Drive (Far Away) began, Chino Moreno's face flashing on screen as the guitar riff exploded. Remmick started nodding his head slightly, humming along to the first lines. You smiled, half-admiring his spontaneity.

"Is this the kind of music you guys play?" you asked, drawing his attention back to you. Remmick grinned proudly, his eyes never losing their sparkle. He downed the rest of his wine in one gulp, setting the mug on the wooden coffee table cluttered with magazines and knickknacks:

"If I weren't so obvious and were more mysterious, it'd be cooler, huh...?"

"What do you mean?" You narrowed your eyes, mimicking his gesture, setting your own mug aside. Remmick glanced at it, commenting offhand:

"You haven't even touched your wine properly—scared of me?" He laughed, half-sarcastic, leaning back into the couch, his gaze heavy-lidded as you turned more toward him, knees pressed together, pointed in his direction. Your eyes traced the lines of his body—not muscular but defined, a subtle bulge between his legs making your throat go dry... Desire.

Remmick was fucking hot, and you were lucky this misfortune had happened with him.

His eyes were penetrating, and in that sepia light between pale yellow and steely blue, they were beautiful. His face was handsome, well-defined and masculine, his hair looked so soft—not to mention that prominent nose, large and slightly upturned, those full, kissable lips, and hands that, if they knew how to play an instrument, your mind concluded, would know how to touch anyone like no one else. And that desire burned through you—you were starved... for touch.

The man was still focused on the frenetic music, the singer's voice gently penetrating your ears. You answered him, your eyes never leaving his:

"It's not fear, it's just... thirst for something else."

"What... something?" he asked, his breath hitching slightly, watching you with curiosity. You pressed your lips together in a smile, stretching as you turned back to the TV, avoiding his gaze:

"A little something I'm not sure I should mention..." You played coy, wanting to provoke him. Remmick slowly adjusted himself on the couch, caught between curiosity and challenge, his lazy grin widening as he stared at you in that half-light from the kitchen lamp mixing with the TV's glow, replying in a teasing tone:

"You're a bold one, you know...? Don't even know me, don't know if I'm a potential serial killer." You laughed, disbelieving. Biting your lip, you shook your head:

"No, Remmick, I'm not afraid of you at all."

"Well, you should be!" he exclaimed, jumping up to stretch, yawning as he checked the digital clock in the kitchen: "Jesus, it's past midnight. Better hit the sack..." He shot you a look full of expectation: "...you too, 'I'm-Not-Afraid-Of-You-Remmick'!" He laughed mockingly, but with an air of suggestion: "Maybe I'll leave my door open... just in case I need something."

"Fine, Mr... 'You-Should-Be-Afraid-Of-Me'—" You made a face, matching his look, your smile widening further: "—maybe I'll come running under your covers, hide from the Boogeyman."

"Or from me..." He shrugged, already heading for the stairs leading to the bedrooms. You snorted a laugh, watching the next music video start. You threw a dangerous glance at the man already climbing the stairs, step by step, his eyes gleaming as his smile seemed to drip for you.

Calling you.

You looked away, keeping your eyes on the TV, pulsing and vibrating with the possibilities of this surprisingly eventful night. He flirted in a weird little way that got to you more than it should have.

Remmick did wait for you, awake in that narrow guest bed, between the closed window's sound of dripping rain and the noise of his own thoughts, hands resting on his chest as he lay in the dark room, thinking of you. Only a sliver of harsh yellow light came from the hallway through the slightly ajar door. Then he heard your footsteps, heavy, coming up the stairs—you'd taken about an hour to finally come up, whatever you'd been doing downstairs in complete silence—or maybe his thoughts were just too loud for him to notice.

Slowly, you stopped at his door, opening it with a soft creak that made him smirk, a small smile appearing on his lips as the warm light entered with you, leaving you both in that half-light where anything could be hidden. But he could still see your face, soft and relaxed, the way you wet your lips and shed your robe, revealing yourself completely naked to him. Remmick shuddered, his mouth watering with desire, already sitting up in bed as you slowly crawled toward him, across the sheets, the mattress springs squeaking, his heavy breathing louder than the rain outside. Then your voice came out, feline:

"You really waited for me, hmm? Really left your invitation open for me to come into your room..." You stopped in front of him, sitting on his knee, your hands beginning to trail up his shins to his knees. Remmick closed his eyes, lethargic, the wine's effect mixing with the arousal growing inside him. You laughed, climbing higher until you were face-to-face with him:

"Remmick, Remmick... What a pleasure to have you as my guest tonight!" you teased, wrapping your arms around his shoulders, his hands touching your skin, sending a shiver through him at the temperature contrast—maybe because you were naked in the cool air while he was in that furnace of a room—parting his lips and closing his eyes, asking for a kiss. But you didn't give him what he wanted. Instead, you licked him, laughing at the face he made, dragging yourself down his torso until you were between his legs:

"Will you let me suck you, Remmy?" The nickname came out casual, intimate, playful. The man didn't hesitate, nodding immediately. With a quick move, you were off the bed, pulling him toward you, kneeling, your sharp nails scratching at the waistband of his sweatpants, stripping him of both pants and white underwear, already wet with pre-cum, taking his soft, warm cock in your hands.

Never breaking eye contact, he eagerly pulled off his shirt in one motion, revealing a cross tattoo on the right side of his waist—a detail that made you even wetter—and you started low, sucking his balls with delight, watching him melt and moan, his hands gripping the mattress tightly as you licked from the base to the red, wet tip, begging for attention, thick and relatively large, stopping right at the head to ask:

"Is this how you like it, Remmy?" Then you took just the glans into your mouth, hearing him gasp heavily, your tongue swirling around it in circles. Remmick almost laughed from pleasure, nodding, one hand already buried in your hair guiding your movements, almost fucking your mouth with thrusts, which you opened and let him enjoy—because his pleasure was yours.

Laughing after he thrust deep, making you gag slightly, pulling back completely soaked and drooling over his cock, he said breathlessly:

"Fuck, woman, like this I'm gonna come too soon... What a magical little mouth!" He caressed your face with one hand as you stood up, pushing him back onto the bed:

"That's because you haven't seen anything yet, Remmy. Haven't seen anything."

He laughed, flirtatious, his hands already claiming your thighs as you, unhurried, positioned yourself over him, never breaking eye contact—Remmick was being very well served, groaning roughly:

"So fucking wet for me, holy shit," his face twisting in pleasure, eyebrows knitting together, lips parting in a broken smile, prominent canines showing. You laughed, grinding aggressively on top of him, grabbing his hands and pinning him down. He groaned beneath you: "So tight, shit, if you keep riding my cock like this I'm gonna come—"

"Then come, Remmy—" Desire was blinding you, your dominant hand going to his throat, watching his Adam's apple rise and fall, his eyes closed, breathing fast, a trail of saliva escaping the corner of his lips.

"Fuck..." Roughly, he thrust up into your pussy. You bent over him, loosening your grip slightly, licking his neck, whispering suggestively:

"Can I suck you here, Remmy?"

"Shit, yes, do whatever you want to me... Just let me come..." he begged, his hands now free from your grip holding your waist, his mouth latching onto the exposed side of your neck, yours doing the same where the arteries pulsed. Remmick felt all his lust spill into harsh thrusts into your pussy, long spurts, while his teeth bit into you.

And yours did the same.

You moaned, strangled by pain and pleasure, blood welling from the bite, flooding your mouth; Remmick let out a guttural cry, eyes closed, feeling that burning frenzy of orgasm, his mouth slack, tasting something... metallic, rancid-sweet, then back to the pungent tang of copper. When he opened his eyes, you were above him, your hands pinning his shoulders to the mattress, your mouth full of blood. Horror crossed his face as the burning intensified, throbbing.

It felt like blades plunging into his skin, deep, lacerating, metallic. Blood, the nauseating smell of it, sticky, and panic filling him as he thrashed beneath you—still inside you—as you laughed, mouth dripping with his blood, staining him further.

"What the fuck!? What kind of monster are you!?" he managed to choke out, trying to break free from your grip, which was stronger than his. When he looked at you again, in that yellow-blue light, the plastic warmth from the hallway mixing with the night's darkness, the rain outside growing heavier, seeming to drown out his screams:

"Well, I did ask you twice if you wanted to come in—" you whispered, putting on an innocent face, bending over his chewed jugular, which gushed bright red blood onto the white sheets and his pale skin, licking up that delicious liquor, spiced with his fear and pleasure: "—and twice you said you did. And you let me suck you, Remmy... Suck you! Oh, poor little thing..." You straightened up again as his eyes lost focus, dull at the edges, lips darkening, his convulsions becoming more random and spaced out.

You knew exactly what you were doing.

Remmick was dying as beautifully as he came, that much was certain. His flavor was rich and exquisite on your palate, sharpened by the fear that had shocked him, diluted in intense orgasm. Simply divine.

Monster.

Could a monster be worthy of love?

"Can a monster be loved?" The question was almost rhetorical.

The unhappy little laugh came from deep in your throat, hoarse and almost dry. In the background, a song played on the convertible's radio, wind whipping across your cold faces, sunglasses on despite the night, sharp smiles, your claw-like nails tapping the car door as Remmick drove, humming along to the lyrics:

"Pleased to meet you... Hope you guess my name, oh, yeah! But what's puzzling you... Is the nature of my game, oh, yeah!" He glanced at you over his sunglasses, his blue eyes glinting in that scarlet light just for you. He wore a leather jacket, corpse-pale hands on the wheel, a sly smile, while you admired the creature you'd created that night full of surprises. Remmick began to speak, his voice calm, his expression contemplative:

"Once, I was seduced by a monster, who punished me severely with the pain of death... But after taking what she craved—my blood and my pleasure—she offered me the greatest gift anyone could accept in this miserable life. Even if the hatred for death poorly announced catches up with us, darling, yes, I believe we can love... In our own way. We're punished by our desires, but whatever... In the end, it was worth giving you what you wanted."

"Blood?" you guessed, throwing a look past him, across that huge bridge full of cars, your suitcases and his guitar case in the backseat. Remmick gave a sly, self-satisfied smile, carefully adjusting his leather jacket sleeves, his hair blowing in the wind, exuding sex and bloody fury on this night that, for the two of you, was only beginning:

"No."

He stated, giving you a look, finally removing his sunglasses, revealing himself to you once more, fangs inviting:

"Eternity with a companion."

In the background, the radio's volume gradually rose...

"Tell me, baby, what's my name? Tell me, honey, can you guess my name?"

𝐅𝐎𝐎𝐓𝐄𝐑 𝐂𝐎𝐌𝐄𝐍𝐓𝐒: as you've probably noticed, i got drunk on references to the ultimate classics—interview with the vampire—which is why this fic plays fast and loose with the movie's canon. that said: I LOVED writing this because there's something delicious about imagining a human, fragile remmick who—poor bastard—gets wrecked by his own desires.

[mssishipi]

kiss me — pjs

SYNOPSIS: You hate the Purge. You hate the monster they create, the cruelty, and the way it's broken you down year after year. You hate the rich most of all—the people who don't have to fight to survive. People like Park Jongseong. And now, somehow, he's sitting next to you. The boy who's always smiling, always comfortable, as if the world hasn't burned down around him. The boy who lives in safety, behind barricades his father's company builds, while you've spent years starving, hiding, and praying. Jongseong keeps smiling at you, oblivious to the weight of your hatred. He doesn't care about you, not really. To him, life is simple. And maybe that's why you can't stand him. Because while he laughs, you're trying to figure out how to make sure people like him never smile again.

warning: the purge au! contains dark sensitive topics, mentions of murder, sexual assault, violence, and ptsd behavior, different perspectives of the purge, one sided hatred, reader is kinda difficult to handle but it's a trauma response, messy ending, jay is a supportive boyfie (in a good and bad ways), reader is unhinged,

explicit content (smut): multiple sex scenes, fingering, nipple play, pussy eating, unprotected sex, purge fucking, MDNI, reader discretion is advised. WC: 21.8K.

music to listen while purging: murder in my mind

You hate March 21. God, how you loathe it—the day that strips away any pretense of humanity.

It always starts the same way: the wailing sirens, cold and mechanical, ripping through the air.

Not even sixty seconds pass after the announcement before the streets erupt. Gunshots. Screams. The unmistakable, animalistic sounds of survival. The world falls apart faster than you can blink, faster than you can even take a breath. And every year, you sit in that darkness, trembling, hating.

You hate how they made this—how society carved out one single night to let its ugliest urges spill over.

You hate the twisted smiles on people's faces, the gleeful violence, the merciless slaughter. You hate everything about it.

You hate how weak you are. How poor you are. How your "barricade" is nothing but a creaky door and a pile of junk you've pushed in front of it. Heavy chairs, the couch, a dresser you could barely move—what is that supposed to do against the monsters outside?

They'll break through it in minutes, seconds even, if they choose you this year.

And there's nowhere to run. Nowhere to hide.

So you crawl inside the closet, knees tucked into your chest, hands pressing hard over your ears as the chaos outside creeps closer and closer. You rock back and forth, whispering to yourself, "Just twelve hours. You just have to survive twelve hours."

You hate how your morals hold you hostage.

You're too much of a coward, aren't you? Or maybe you're too human, too stupidly tied to the idea of right and wrong.

Either way, you've sentenced yourself to this endless nightmare.

You hate how they have no mercy. How people don't even hesitate.

The second those sirens stop, the masks go on, the knives come out, and the laughter—the laughter—starts echoing down the streets like some kind of hellish symphony.

You hate the way your mind races, picturing your own end over and over again. Would it be quick? A bullet to the head? Or would it be slow? Something worse?

You hate how poor you are. How people like you—people who can't afford high-tech barricades, bulletproof shelters, or private security.

You're the bottom rung of society, the lambs to the slaughter. And that's exactly how they see you. Nothing more than sport for the rich.

You've been their prey before—dragged into one of their "games." Their sick, twisted hunting expeditions where they wear masks and hunt you down like animals, laughing all the while.

Somehow, you survived that night. Somehow, you ran fast enough, hid well enough. But you didn't leave unscathed.

No, you left something behind that night: your sanity.

You can still feel their eyes on you, their jeers echoing in your ears, their mocking laughter as they cornered you over and over, just to let you escape so the game could continue.

You see their faces—those masks—every time you close your eyes.

And no matter where you go, it's always the same.

You transfer to a new town, a new neighborhood, hoping to disappear, but you always end up right back here.

They smile too wide, your neighbors. They're too friendly. Too eager to see you. And every time they stare at you, every time their grins linger a little too long, you feel the bile rise in your throat.

You hate everything about the Purge.

You hate the people who participate in it, the government that allows it, the sick, twisted minds that relish in it.

You hate the monsters you've seen outside, but you hate the monster you're becoming even more.

Because every year, it gets harder. Harder to keep your sanity intact. Harder to resist. Harder to keep your morals from shattering under the weight of it all. And every year, the hatred inside you grows like a poison, rotting you from the inside out.

You hate how you're always waiting. Waiting for another March 21.

Waiting for the next time you'll have to endure this torment. Waiting for the day you finally snap, when you stop running, when you stop hiding, and when you start fighting back.

You hate the waiting more than anything because you know that day is coming. You know it's only a matter of time before something inside you finally breaks.

And when it does, you'll hunt them down. Every last one of them. The rich who preyed on you. The neighbors who smiled too wide while undressing you. The government officials who allowed this nightmare to persist.

You hate March 21.

But more than that, you hate how much you're starting to look forward to it.

"I see you survived the Purge," you muttered, your eyes narrowing as they landed on the group of seven boys in the hallway.

They were laughing softly, their voices laced with relief as they exchanged hugs and pats on the back.

"Thank God," one of them said, gripping the others in a tight embrace, his shoulders sagging like he'd been holding his breath for the last twelve hours.

"I already told you guys," another voice chimed in—smooth, Park Jongseong. Of course.

"Next year, you should all come to our house. Our lockdown is solid. Our barricades are strong enough to keep anyone out. You'll be safe there, trust me."

You scoffed, the sound low and bitter, but loud enough to be heard if anyone was paying attention. Of course, they weren't. They never noticed you. Not people like them.

Park Jongseong— the golden boy. His father owned one of the biggest barricade companies in the country, making a fortune off other people's desperation and fear.

He didn't just survive the Purge; he thrived in it. His family's state-of-the-art lockdown system probably made their house into a fortress.

And now here he was, standing in the middle of the school hallway, flashing that perfect smile and talking about how his family had been "safe and sound" while people like you hid under a bed, praying not to die.

You bit the inside of your cheek, tasting blood, and turned away. Of course Jongseong had survived. People like him always did.

You were miserable. Miserable every single day for the past seven years since the Purge began.

Seven years since the night your parents were taken from you on that first Purge.

Seven years of surviving on your own, scrabbling through life like a rat in a never-ending maze.

An irregular college student balancing four jobs just to afford rent, tuition, and scraps of food that barely kept you standing.

And some nights, when you're too tired to even close your eyes, the same thought creeps in, like a whisper you can't shut out.

Why can't you just die already?

Was this what God wanted for you? Was your suffering some part of His great plan? If it was, you hated Him for it. You hated everything—for putting you here, for making you live like this, for keeping you alive while everyone else you cared about was gone.

Then came August. Seven months before the next Purge, You took your entire month's pay—every single cent you'd earned and bought a handgun from a retired Russian police man who didn't ask questions.

You didn't eat for weeks after that, barely managing to survive on water and scraps you could steal from work.

Hunger clawed at your stomach, but you didn't care. Every second of discomfort was worth it as you cradled the gun in your hands at night, running your fingers over the cold steel.

At college, exhaustion weighed on you like a heavy coat. Your mind was foggy, your body barely cooperating as you tried to focus in class. You were too tired to care about anything anymore. That's why, when you heard the voice, you didn't even look up at first.

"Hey, are you Y/N?"

You blinked, sluggishly dragging your tired eyes up to meet the man.

Park Jongseong. He was standing there, his usual easy smile on his face, holding a lab manual in one hand.

Your brows furrowed as he sat down next to you like it was the most natural thing in the world. You raised an eyebrow at him, watching in silent disbelief as he got comfortable.

"We're partners in laboratory," he announced with that same friendly grin, his tone light and conversational.

You stared at him, your eyebrow twitching slightly. Of course, we are. Just my fucking luck.

You hated him. You hated everything about him.

You hated how he could walk into a room and light it up, how he always smiled like life was some perfect little gift wrapped up in a bow.

You hated how easy everything seemed for him, how he floated through life without ever seeming to care about the world around him.

Jongseong keeps smiling at you, oblivious to the weight of your hatred. He doesn't care about you, not really. To him, life is simple. And maybe that's why you can't stand him.

Because while he laughs, you're trying to figure out how to make sure people like him never smile again.

"I'm Park Jongseong," he says brightly, "You can call me Jay, if you don't know me."

You stare at him with your tired eyes, barely masking your irritation. His enthusiasm is exhausting, like a candle burning too brightly, too close to your already frayed nerves.

But he doesn't seem to notice. Of course, he doesn't. He keeps talking.

"I'm planning to start our experimental research maybe in like three days? I don't really like cramming," Jay continues, flashing you another one of his easy smiles.

"Are you available on Saturday?" he asks, finally looking at you. "Do you want to do it at my place or yours?"

His smile falters for the first time when you just stare at him, bored and uninterested, like he's wasting your time—which he is.

He must be so used to people hanging on his every word, eating up his charm. You, on the other hand, are trying to figure out how long you have to tolerate him before he leaves.

"I have a morning shift at the ice cream shop. Probably the afternoon, but I'll leave at 7 PM," you reply flatly, spinning your pen lazily between your fingers. You're not trying to be rude.

You're just tired—tired of him, tired of everything. "Then I have another shift at the restaurant."

Jay nods, and for a moment, you think he's about to say something stupid, like you work too hard or you should take it easy. But he doesn't. Instead, he watches you for a second too long before his smile returns, a little dimmer than before.

"And your place," you add, cutting off whatever he was going to say. The idea of being in his house, surrounded by whatever rich-boy luxuries he has, makes your stomach churn.

Jay blinks, then nods again. "Alright, my place it is," he says, his tone softer, as if he's trying to figure you out.

You hate it—hate the way his gaze lingers on you.

You turn your attention back to your notebook, letting the silence hang between you until he finally shifts in his seat and looks away. At least he knows when to stop talking. For now.

You observe people every shift. At the ice cream shop, kids cry and tug at their parents, pointing at a flavor they desperately want. At the fast food chain, students laugh, stuffing fries into each other's mouths, their joy spilling out into the air.

You watch them. You clean up after them. And when no one's looking, you pick at their scraps—half-eaten burgers, fries left behind—anything to stave off the hunger that gnaws at you day and night.

When you sneak into the back to wash your hands, you catch your reflection in the grimy bathroom mirror. It almost shocks you, the hollow-cheeked girl staring back.

Your dark eye bags seem to sink into your face like bruises, your cheekbones sharp enough to look dangerous. Your lips are pale, chapped from thirst, and your hoodie swallows what little remains of you.

Even when you do sleep, it's never peaceful.

The nightmares always find you, pulling you back to that night—hands grabbing, voices laughing, the cold press of a mask against your skin.

Not even the sleeping pills you've wasted money on help anymore. You've tried. God knows you've tried. But the fear is something you can't escape.

And then Saturday comes.

Jay welcomes you at his house with his usual easy smile.

You stand awkwardly at the entrance, your eyes immediately drawn to the luxurious details surrounding you.

Expensive vases line the walls. A cabinet full of fine liquor gleams under the lights. Everything in the house feels deliberate, pristine, and just looking at it makes you feel like you don't belong.

"This way," Jay says cheerfully, leading you to his room.

The moment you step inside, you're greeted with more of the same—displays of wealth that feel almost obscene to you. A collection of guitars lined up like trophies. A cabinet stuffed with fancy perfumes. Everything here screams a life of comfort, of privilege, of a world you'll never touch.

"Are you always cold? Want me to lower the aircon?" Jay asks suddenly, his gaze flicking to your oversized hoodie.

You almost punch him for the question. The audacity of it. 

Are rich people really this clueless?

The irritation bubbles up. You almost imagine your hands around his neck, squeezing some sense into him.

"No, thanks," you say curtly, not bothering to hide your annoyance. You drop to the floor, pulling out your notebook and pen, ignoring the uncomfortable tension forming between you.

"You can sit on my bed," Jay offers, reaching out to touch your arm like it's no big deal.

But the moment his hand brushes your sleeve, your mind snaps. You're not in his room anymore. You're back there—on that night—being grabbed, pulled, restrained. Masked faces loom in your vision, their laughter ringing in your ears like a sick melody.

Before you even realize it, you've slapped his hand away, standing so fast you almost knock your notebook over.

"I—I'm sorry," you stammer, your voice shaky as you rub your arm. Jay just stands there, his hand hovering in the air, confusion written all over his face.

"It's fine," he says quickly. His smile is gone now, replaced by something softer.

You swallow hard, forcing yourself to sit down again—this time on the bed, even though you'd rather be anywhere else. You pull your notebook back into your lap, flipping it open as if nothing happened, your hands trembling slightly.

The two of you work in near silence, researching for your lab project. Jay tries to engage you now and then, asking for your thoughts, but you keep your answers brief. You don't want to talk. You don't want to share. You just want to get through this.

After a while, Jay breaks the silence again. "How many jobs do you have?" he asks, his voice almost hesitant. "How do you manage school and work?"

You huff, irritated by his questions. What does he know about working to survive? What does he know about balancing your life on a thread?

"I don't manage," you reply bluntly. "I'm already planning to stop after this semester."

Jay straightens in his seat, frowning slightly. "Why?"

"Because I can't afford it anymore," you snap, your patience wearing thin. Your voice is sharper than you intend, but you don't care. You glare at him, daring him to argue, to say something stupid like, You should keep trying.

But Jay just looks down, his gaze softening. "I'm sorry," he whispers, almost too quiet to hear.

Before you can respond, a knock interrupts the moment. A head peeks into the room—a woman with wavy hair and a face so similar to Jay's that it's clear she's his mother.

"Heard you had a classmate over," she says warmly. "Come down and eat."

Jay stands immediately, glancing at you as if waiting to see if you'll follow. You nod stiffly, clutching your notebook to your chest as you trail behind him, feeling awkward in a house like this.

When you reach the dining room, your stomach grumbles embarrassingly loud at the sight of the food. A table full of steaming dishes spreads out before you, prepared by maids who move around effortlessly. You've never seen this much food at once before, not even during the holidays.

"Come, sit, sweetheart," Jay's mom says, pulling a chair out for you. Her voice is so kind, so gentle, that it makes your chest ache.

You sit down slowly, staring at the food like it's a mirage. Jay's mom piles your plate high with food, her warm smile reminding you so much of your own mother that your throat tightens.

"Eat, don't be shy," she says, her voice light and encouraging.

Your hands shake as you pick up the spoon, the first bite warming your tongue. 

The taste is overwhelming, rich and filling, and it's so good that tears prick at the corners of your eyes. 

You quickly take another bite, and another, ignoring the lump in your throat.

Jay watches you quietly, his gaze flicking to your small, trembling hands. His eyes catch on the scars peeking out from your sleeves as your sweater rides up.

"So, where are you from? It's my first time seeing you here! Jay's always bringing friends over—so many faces!" His mother's voice was cheerful, her smile warm and inviting.

"I'm from Las Vegas," you replied, keeping your eyes on your empty plate. You didn't want to talk, but her energy made it hard to ignore her.

Your gaze shifted to Jay as he leaned over, silently placing more food onto your plate.

"Oh, Las Vegas!" His mom exclaimed, her eyes lighting up. "What made you settle here in Seattle? Life is so exciting over there! So bright and lively!"

"Not really," you said, inhaling sharply as you tried to keep your tone even. The last thing you wanted was to go deeper into that conversation.

She didn't seem to notice your discomfort. "Oh, I see. Well, what do your parents do for a living?"

You froze. The fork in your hand stilled as memories rushed back like a tidal wave.

The screams. The blood. The way your parents looked at you, their faces twisted in pain as you hid, trembling in the cabinet.

"They're dead," you said bluntly, gripping your fork so tightly your knuckles turned white.

The room seemed to grow quieter. His mother's cheerful expression faltered. "Pardon?"

"They're de—" you started, but the words caught in your throat. Your pulse quickened, your chest tightening, and before you could finish, Jay cut in.

"It's already almost 7:00," he said quickly, "Didn't you say you have a shift?"

You looked at him, startled. His gaze met yours, and for the first time, his ever-present smile was gone. Instead, his eyes were steady, watching you carefully, like he knew you were unraveling and didn't want to make it worse.

You took the excuse without hesitation. "Yeah," you muttered, shoving your chair back as you stood. "I should go."

His mom looked like she wanted to say something, but Jay rose from his seat, cutting her off with a gentle hand on her shoulder. "I'll walk her out," he said softly.

"Thank you for the food, Mrs. Park," you smiled, trying to look natural, bowing at her. You grabbed your bag and slung it over your shoulder, refusing to look back at the table, at the food, at his mother's concerned face. Your throat burned as you fought the tears threatening to spill over.

Jay followed you silently as you stepped into the hallway. Once you were out of earshot, he finally spoke.

"You didn't have to answer her," he said gently.

You stopped in your tracks, gripping the strap of your bag tightly. "I didn't want to," you said flatly, your voice trembling just a little. "But people always ask. Like they have the right to know."

Jay didn't respond immediately. When you glanced at him, he looked... softer, his usual brightness dimmed with something quieter. "I'm sorry," he said, his voice low and careful. "She didn't mean anything by it. My mom's just... the type to ask questions. She doesn't think it'll hurt anyone."

"Yeah, well, it does," you snapped, the words slipping out before you could stop yourself. Your voice was sharp, cutting through the quiet hallway. But Jay didn't flinch. He just nodded, that same calm expression on his face, like he understood.

And for some reason, that made you angrier.

Your bag strap digging into your shoulder as you stared at him. The silence stretched, heavy and awkward. Your chest burned with frustration, your hands curling into fists at your sides. You weren't sure what you were mad at—his mom's question, his calm demeanor, or the fact that he kept pretending to get you when he didn't.

The words tumbled out. "What are your thoughts about the Purge, Jay?"

Jay's eyes widened, caught off guard by the sudden question. He hesitated for a moment, his mouth opening and closing like he was carefully picking his words.

"I—I don't agree with it," he said finally, his voice quiet..

You laughed bitterly, shaking your head. "You don't agree with it?" you repeated, mocking his tone.

"That's rich. The Purge is the reason why you're making money, Jay. It's why your family's living in that giant house with your shiny vases and fancy barricades."

Jay blinked, visibly taken aback. "That's not fair," he said, his voice soft but firm.

"Isn't it?" you shot back, your voice rising.

"Your dad's company makes barricades, doesn't it? Every year, people like you get richer while people like me..." You trailed off, shaking your head as your throat tightened. "You don't get to sit there and say you don't agree with it. Not when your family profits from it."

Jay's jaw tightened, but he didn't interrupt. He just looked at you, his expression unreadable.

"And you know what's funny?" you continued, the bitterness spilling out of you now. "You probably spend Purge night in your fortress of a house, watching movies or playing board games with your family while the rest of us are out there dying. You don't even have to think about it, do you?"

"That's not true," Jay said quietly, his hands clenching at his sides. "I do think about it."

"Oh, do you?" you snapped, glaring at him. "What, do you spend a whole five minutes feeling bad for people like me before you go back to your perfect little life?"

"That's not what I—" Jay started, but you cut him off.

"You don't get it, Jay," you said, your voice trembling now, anger and exhaustion mixing into a volatile cocktail. "You'll never get it. You don't know what it's like to be hunted like an animal while people laugh. So don't stand there and tell me you 'don't agree with it,' because that doesn't mean anything coming from you."

Jay looked like he wanted to say something—his mouth opened, but no words came out. His shoulders slumped slightly, and for a moment, you thought you saw guilt flash across his face.

"I'm sorry," Jay said softly, his voice barely above a whisper.

You froze, your anger faltering for a moment as his words sunk in. Your chest tightened, and your eyes softened just slightly, guilt prickling at the edges of your mind. What were you even doing?

But the shame and bitterness were too much to face. You turned away quickly, your voice small and strained. "I'm sorry... I should go," you murmured, gripping the strap of your bag as you hurried to leave.

Jay didn't stop you. He just watched your retreating figure, his expression a mix of concern and frustration. As the door clicked shut behind you, he sat down heavily, running a hand through his hair. He wanted to help, but he didn't know how. And the way you looked at him, like he was the problem, made it feel impossible.

The weeks passed in a blur of survival and self-destruction. Bullets were fucking expensive. Even knives cost more than you expected, and every penny you earned disappeared the moment it hit your hands. Life was getting harder.

The monster inside you—was growing louder, feeding off your exhaustion and anger.

At night, when you weren't working, you trained yourself obsessively. Watching documentaries on how to kill someone. Studying anatomy. Practicing with your weapons until your hands were blistered and shaking. 

You didn't care if your body couldn't take it anymore. Pain didn't matter. Hunger didn't matter. Nothing mattered except being ready.

But as the weeks dragged on, it became harder to keep going.

Your hoodie, the one you wore every day like a second skin, was filthy and smelled of sweat and exhaustion. Your body was sore in every possible way.

Your reflection in the mirror was worse than before—hollow eyes, sallow skin, dark circles so deep. And every time you saw yourself, you thought the same thing.

You just want to die already.

One night, your phone buzzed. It was a message from Jay.

"Y/N, I'm sorry to bother you, but you haven't been coming to class. I can handle most of the project on my own, but for this reporting, I really need your presence."

You stared at the message for a long time, debating whether to ignore it. But something in you caved. Maybe it was guilt. You replied: "Okay. I'll come."

Jay welcomed you into his house again, you ended up on his bed, laptop in your lap as you both worked on the PowerPoint for your report. The room was quiet except for the sound of typing, but every movement felt like a struggle. Your body ached. Your head throbbed. You could barely focus, and every second felt like a fight to stay upright.

It wasn't long before your body gave up.

The laptop slipped from your lap, crashing to the floor as your vision blurred. The last thing you heard before everything went dark was Jay's panicked voice calling your name.

When you opened your eyes, the first thing you saw was a white ceiling. 

The faint smell of alcohol and disinfectant filled the air, and the sharp tug of a needle in your arm made you realize you were hooked up to an IV. An oxygen tube rested under your nose, and your body felt impossibly heavy, as if all the exhaustion you'd been ignoring had finally caught up with you.

Your gaze drifted down to your body—and then you saw it.

You were wearing a hospital gown.

Panic gripped you instantly. Your chest tightened, your breathing quickening as your hands clawed at the fabric.

"No, no, no," you whispered, your voice trembling as your heart pounded in your ears.

Memories of hands grabbing at you, tearing at your clothes, flashed through your mind like lightning. You gasped for air, a faint scream slipping from your lips.

Jay jolted awake from the chair beside you, his eyes wide with alarm.

"W-what's wrong?" he asked, his voice soft but laced with panic. He moved closer, his hands hovering uncertainly like he wasn't sure if he should touch you.

"H-hoodie," you stammered, gripping his arm with weak, trembling hands. Your nails dug into his skin. "Need to cover. Ugly. Ugly."

Jay winced at the pain but didn't pull away. "Hey, hey, it's okay," he said gently, his voice calm and soothing. "You're okay. You're safe. No one's going to hurt you."

"No," you whimpered, shaking your head as tears streamed down your face. "I'm ugly. Don't look." Your hands fumbled to pull the gown tighter around you, but it didn't help. You could feel the scars beneath it—the raised lines.

Jay hesitated for a moment before slowly reaching out to cover your hands with his. His touch was warm, steady, and he squeezed your fingers just enough to ground you.

"You're not ugly," he said softly, his tone so sincere it made your chest ache.

You shook your head again, your voice breaking as panic surged through you. "You don't understand. You don't know what they did to me. What I look like—"

"Calm down," Jay interrupted, his voice steady but still gentle, as if he were trying to anchor you to the moment.

He closed his eyes and turned his head slightly to the side, a gesture meant to reassure you. "I'm not looking, okay? I'm not looking."

His words made you pause, your breathing still uneven but slowing just a little as you clung to his arm. The panic was still there, buzzing under your skin, but his calmness was starting to chip away at it, little by little.

"You're safe now," Jay said, his tone softer this time, "and you're not alone, okay? I'm here. I'm not going anywhere. Just calm down, breathe in, breathe out. You can do this."

You tried to follow his instructions, inhaling shakily and letting the air out in uneven bursts. It wasn't perfect, but it was enough to keep you grounded, enough to stop the tears blurring your vision completely.

Jay's hand was warm against yours, his fingers gentle but firm as he held on. "What do you want me to get?" he asked softly, his voice careful, his head still turned slightly away so you wouldn't feel watched.

"My hoodie," you whispered, your voice weak and pleading. "I need it. Please."

Jay glanced at the IV in your arm, his lips pressing into a thin line. "You have an IV in your skin," he said quietly. "It's still not okay for you to wear your hoodie yet. If you pull at it, you could hurt yourself."

You looked away, shame and frustration boiling under your skin, your fingers gripping the hospital blanket tightly. "I don't care," you mumbled, your voice trembling.

Jay sighed softly, squeezing your hand again to ground you. "I know you don't feel comfortable," he said, his tone gentle but firm, "but if it's too hot or heavy right now, I don't want you to hurt yourself trying to put it on."

You clenched your jaw, swallowing back another wave of tears. "I just—I need to cover up," you said, your voice breaking again.

Jay hesitated for a moment, then nodded. "Okay," he said carefully, "if you're not comfortable in the gown, I can get you a long-sleeve nightgown instead. Something softer. Something that'll cover your arms. Is that what you want?"

You glanced at him, your lip trembling, and nodded weakly. "Yeah," you whispered, barely audible.

Jay gave your hand one last gentle squeeze before slowly standing up. "I'll go ask the nurses," he said softly.

Days had passed, and Jay had stayed by your side, refusing to leave, despite how much of a burden you felt like.

He wasn't overbearing or hovering—just quietly there, helping you in any way he could.

He brought you meals, water, even helped you comb through your disheveled hair when your strength failed you. He didn't ask questions about what happened, didn't demand explanations.

His mother visited often, sweeping into the room with an energy that made your chest ache. She came with baskets of fruit, flowers, and small gifts, her arms overflowing like she was trying to smother you with kindness.

On one visit, she hugged you tightly, tears in her eyes, and said, "You need to take better care of yourself, sweetheart. Your life is precious."

Her words pierced through you, bringing a lump to your throat. You didn't have the heart to respond, just nodded, even though deep down you still didn't believe her.

Jay's friends, Sunoo and Ni-ki, had even come to visit. Despite the fact that they didn't know you at all, they acted like you were an old friend.

They brought a snake and ladder board game, and before you knew it, they were sitting cross-legged on your hospital bed, loudly cheering, groaning, and playfully arguing over the dice rolls. Their laughter filled the room, echoing against the sterile walls and spilling over the edges of your heart.

At first, you just watched them silently, your hands resting in your lap, unsure of how to react. But as the game went on, you found yourself drawn in—your dead eyes softening as you watched them bicker like kids, a faint half-smile tugging at your lips.

For the first time in what felt like years, you felt something other than pain. Just a flicker, but it was there. A tiny seed of happiness.

"What do you want to eat today?" Jay asked, smiling as he sat at the edge of your bed, peeling an apple with practiced ease.

"I want rice cakes!" Ni-ki chimed in, raising his hand like an excited child.

Sunoo rolled his eyes dramatically, crossing his arms. "Yuck! We had rice cakes yesterday!"

Their back-and-forth made you chuckle softly, a sound you hadn't heard from yourself in a long time.

But later, when the room grew quiet again, and it was just you and Jay, that flicker of happiness gave way to something heavier. Guilt.

You glanced at Jay as he sat by the window, scrolling through his phone absentmindedly. His face was relaxed, the sunlight catching the soft angles of his features. He had done so much for you—things he didn't have to do. And all this time, you had hated him. Misunderstood him.

You had assumed the worst of him, just because he was rich.

You had lumped him in with the monsters who had ruined your life, convinced yourself that he was just another spoiled, privileged kid who wouldn't understand what suffering felt like. But the truth was... he wasn't.

He wasn't the people who had hunted you, mocked you, stripped you of your humanity. He wasn't the people who laughed behind masks, thriving on fear and violence.

Jay had done nothing but help you, even when you were rude to him, even when you pushed him away.

And yet, the guilt didn't erase your pain. It didn't undo your trauma or silence the nightmares that still haunted you.

You still hated the world that allowed the Purge to exist. You still hated the memories that burned like fire in your veins. You still hated yourself for being weak, for surviving when your parents hadn't.

But you didn't hate Jay anymore.

"I'm sorry," you said quietly, breaking the silence.

Jay looked up, tilting his head in confusion. "For what?"

"For... for how I treated you," you admitted, your voice trembling slightly. "For assuming things about you just because of where you come from. I thought you wouldn't care. That you couldn't understand. But... you're not like them."

Jay's expression softened, a small, almost sad smile tugging at his lips. "You don't have to apologize for that," he said gently. "You've been through hell. I get why you'd feel that way."

You shook your head, gripping the blanket tightly in your hands. "No, you don't get it. I was cruel to you. I blamed you for things that weren't your fault."

Jay was quiet for a moment, then reached out, resting a hand over yours.

His touch was warm, steady, grounding. "I'm not perfect," he said softly, his tone sincere. "I won't pretend to know what you've been through. But I want to help."

Your throat tightened, tears threatening to spill over again. You didn't know how to respond, so you just nodded, gripping his hand. And for the first time, you allowed yourself to trust someone. Even if it was just a little.

"The doctor said you have anemia and osteoporosis," Jay's mother said gently, setting her bag down on the small table beside your hospital bed.

"That's why your bones are weak! You'll need to eat more foods with calcium and iron to build your strength and get your blood count higher. We'll make sure you have everything you need."

You stared at her, unsure how to respond. Guilt curled in your stomach, gnawing at you. You weren't her child. You weren't even close to being part of her world. And yet, here she was, treating you so good.

"The hospital bill is covered," she continued, her voice casual, like it wasn't a big deal. But to you, it was.

It was a huge deal. The cost of staying in a place like this was something you couldn't even fathom. You'd spent years scraping by, eating leftovers just to save a few bucks, and here she was, brushing off what could've been months—maybe years—of your income.

"You don't need to worry about it," she added, her smile soft and reassuring. "Just focus on getting better. Jay's friend is also my priority."

Jay's friend.

The words hit you harder than you expected. You weren't his friend. You didn't deserve to be called that, not after the way you'd treated him.

"Thank you," you murmured finally, your voice barely audible. It was all you could manage without breaking down entirely.

Jay's mom smiled wider, her eyes crinkling at the corners.

"You're welcome, sweetheart," she said, reaching out to gently pat your hand. "Now, tell me—what's your favorite food? I'll have the kitchen prepare something special for you."

You blinked, caught off guard by her kindness. "I... I don't really have one," you admitted quietly, your fingers fidgeting with the edge of the blanket.

It wasn't a lie. You hadn't thought about things like "favorite food" in years. Food, for you, had been about survival, not enjoyment.

"Well, then we'll just have to find one for you," she said, her tone cheerful and determined. "I'll have the staff make a variety of dishes for you to try. And don't worry—if there's anything you don't like, we'll keep trying until we find something you love."

Her words left you speechless. All you could do was nod, the weight of her generosity pressing down on you. It felt so foreign, so undeserved, and yet, for the first time in what felt like forever, you felt... cared for.

Jay, who had been quietly peeling an orange in the corner, finally spoke up. "Mom, don't overwhelm her," he said softly, his eyes flicking to yours. "She's still recovering."

You glanced at him, your gaze lingering for a moment longer than you intended.

His mother waved him off with a laugh. "Oh, hush, Jay. I'm just trying to help." She turned back to you, her smile never faltering. "You're part of our family now, okay? At least while you're here. So don't be shy about asking for anything."

Her words made something in your chest tighten. You nodded again, unable to trust your voice.

Jay's mother spent hours at your bedside, chatting away. She told you stories about Jay's childhood—how he once tried to "fix" a birdhouse with peanut butter, or how he dressed up as a firefighter for three Halloweens in a row because he was so obsessed with the uniform.

Jay groaned beside her, his face flushed as he waved her off. "Mom, stop! She doesn't need to know all of that!" he whined, his voice high with embarrassment.

But his mother only laughed, brushing him off with a playful wave. "Oh, hush, Jay. She needs to know how adorable you used to be!"

You couldn't help but chuckle softly, your lips curving into a small, almost shy smile.

Eventually, Jay's mother had to leave, something about a business emergency pulling her away. She hugged you gently before she left, squeezing your hands and promising to visit again soon.

"Take care of yourself, sweetheart," she said with a warm smile. "And if Jay gives you any trouble, let me know."

"I'm right here," Jay muttered, rolling his eyes but grinning all the same.

As the door clicked shut behind her, the room fell quiet again. You and Jay were alone, the silence settling between you like a soft blanket.

"Have you showered?" Jay asked suddenly, breaking the stillness.

You shook your head, feeling a little self-conscious. It had been days since you'd had the energy to even think about something like that.

"Do you want to?" he asked, his voice gentle.

You nodded hesitantly.

Jay smiled, standing up to grab a towel from his bag. He returned a moment later, his hand extended to you. "Come on," he said softly, his voice warm and encouraging.

You placed your hand in his, and he guided you carefully out of the bed. But as soon as your feet touched the ground, your knees buckled beneath you, the strength in your legs giving out entirely.

"Whoa!" Jay exclaimed, catching you before you could fall. Without hesitation, he slipped your arm around his neck, his other arm sliding under your legs.

"I've got you," he murmured as he lifted you effortlessly.

Your cheeks flushed, but you didn't protest as he carried you to the bathroom. His touch was steady, his arms warm and reassuring as he placed you gently into the tub.

"Do you want me to call a nurse to help you?" Jay asked, crouching in front of you. His voice was careful, like he was trying not to overstep.

You shook your head quickly. The idea of a stranger cleaning you—seeing you—made your stomach churn with discomfort. "I'm not comfortable," you said quietly, looking away.

Jay nodded, his brows furrowed slightly in thought. He didn't push or suggest anything else. He just waited, watching you carefully.

And then, before you could stop yourself, you looked up and met his gaze. "Can you?" you asked, your voice barely above a whisper.

Jay's eyes widened in surprise, his ears turning red as your words sunk in. "Are you sure?" he asked, his tone soft but serious. "Are you comfortable with me?"

You nodded, swallowing hard. You didn't know why you asked him. Maybe it was because he was the only one who had seen your broken pieces and didn't turn away. Maybe it was because, despite everything, you trusted him.

Jay hesitated for a moment, then nodded. "Okay," he said quietly, his voice steady despite the redness creeping up his neck.

Your hands trembled slightly as you began to strip off the hospital gown, letting it fall away from your shoulders.

You couldn't bring yourself to look at him, your chest tightening as the scars on your body were laid bare—scars from knives, from bullets, from cigarette burns that had long since healed but never truly faded.

For a moment, there was nothing but silence.

You finally glanced up at Jay, only to see his face frozen in a mixture of sadness and anger. His jaw clenched, his throat bobbing as he swallowed hard. His eyes weren't looking at you with disgust or pity—just pain. Pain that you couldn't quite understand.

"I'm sorry," you said, your voice cracking. You quickly crossed your arms over your chest, trying to cover yourself, to hide the ugly truth of what had been done to you.

"Don't apologize," Jay said softly, his voice strained but firm. He crouched lower, his gaze meeting yours. "You don't have to apologize for this. None of this is your fault."

You bit your lip, tears welling in your eyes as you looked away. "It's ugly," you whispered, your voice barely audible. "I'm ugly."

"No, you're not," Jay said immediately. "Don't ever say that. Don't ever think that."

Jay begins to open the faucet, filling the tub. You felt his hand gently rest on your shoulder, his touch so light it was almost like a question. "These scars," he continued, his voice softening, "they're not ugly. They're proof that you survived."

You turned back to him, tears spilling over as his words sank in. His gaze didn't waver, didn't falter. There was no judgment in his eyes, only sincerity.

His hands were gentle as he worked, brushing over your skin with careful precision, the towel soaking up water from your arms, your back, every part of you. Each movement was measured, respectful, almost as though he was afraid of breaking you.

The silence was heavy but not uncomfortable. Still, the question burned on your tongue, and before you could stop yourself, you asked, "Why are you helping me?"

Jay froze for the briefest of moments, his hands stilling as he rinsed the washcloth. Then he gently reached for your hair, lathering shampoo between his fingers before carefully massaging it into your scalp.

"Why wouldn't I?" he asked softly, his tone calm, but you could hear the edge of emotion beneath it.

You tilted your head slightly, his fingers never missing a beat as they worked through your tangled hair. 

"Because... people don't just help without a reason," you muttered, your voice barely audible. "Are you pitying me?"

Jay's hands stilled again, his fingers pausing in your hair. For a moment, you regretted asking, but then he sighed softly, his hands resuming their slow, soothing motions.

"No," he said firmly. "I'm not helping you because I pity you."

"Then why?" you pressed, your voice cracking as the question spilled out of you. "Why are you doing all this? Why do you care?"

Jay rinsed the shampoo from your hair, his hands tilting your head back slightly so the water wouldn't get in your eyes. He stayed silent for a moment, as if he was choosing his words carefully.

"Because you deserve to be cared for," he said finally, his voice almost a whisper.

His words hit you like a punch to the chest. You stared at the tiled wall, unable to respond as your throat tightened and your eyes began to sting.

"I'm not doing this out of pity," Jay continued, his voice soft but insistent. "I'm doing this because I want to."

You swallowed hard, blinking rapidly to keep the tears from falling. His words felt foreign, like they didn't belong to you. Like they were meant for someone else, someone who deserved kindness.

"But I'm broken," you whispered, the words trembling as they left your lips. "You don't understand. I'm not... I'm not normal."

Jay's hands paused again, and for a moment, you thought he might agree with you. But instead, he leaned forward slightly, his voice so soft it almost didn't reach you.

"Who cares about 'normal'?" he asked gently, smiling at you.

His words made your chest ache, a strange, unfamiliar warmth blooming beneath the pain. You didn't know what to say, so you didn't say anything. Instead, you let him finish rinsing your hair, his touch as careful as ever.

Jay stayed quiet for a moment, his hand gripping the soap, before his soft voice broke the silence. "Let me brush your body, hmm? Are you okay with that?"

You looked up at him, your eyes still glossy from earlier tears. He was smiling, It was softer, almost hesitant, like he was giving you all the space in the world to say no.

For a second, your chest tightened again. But then you wiped at your tears, nodding, a small, watery laugh slipping from your lips. "Yeah, okay."

Jay let out a breath, the tension in his shoulders easing slightly as he dipped the soap into the water, creating a soft lather. "You don't need to apologize," he said after a moment.

But you shook your head, tears spilling over again as the words tumbled out. "I'm sorry," you whispered. "For being a burden. For being weak."

But Jay stopped what he was doing, his hand resting lightly on your shoulder. "Showing vulnerability isn't weakness," he said softly, his voice steady but warm. "Don't say you're a burden when you're not."

You finally looked at him, your breath hitching at the sincerity in his gaze.

You spent almost a month in the hospital, longer than you ever thought you'd stay. There were stretches of time when you were alone, the quiet pressing against you like a heavy blanket.

Jay still had to attend his classes during the day, and you hated how much that relieved you. Being around him, around his patience and kindness, was almost too much to bear. It made the guilt twist deeper into your chest.

But every night, without fail, Jay came back. He'd shuffle in, his backpack slung over one shoulder, his shirt slightly wrinkled, and his face drawn with exhaustion.

No matter how tired he was, he'd sit beside you for a while, asking how your day had been, what you'd eaten, or if you needed anything.

Then, when he couldn't fight the fatigue anymore, he'd curl up on the couch, a thin blanket thrown over him, and fall asleep with his phone still clutched in his hand.

You'd watch him sometimes, your chest tightening at the sight of him.

Jay's mother visited often, breezing into the room with her warm smile and bags full of food. "You need to eat this," she'd say, setting down a steaming dish in front of you. "It'll help your bones."

The next day, it was something new: "This will boost your blood count!" she'd exclaim, watching eagerly as you took hesitant bites.

At first, you forced yourself to eat out of politeness, but slowly, you began to notice things.

You realized you liked gimbap—the way the rice was soft and slightly sweet, the seaweed wrapping it all together. You discovered new juices and found yourself craving strawberry milkshake more than anything else.

Jay's mom always noticed. "Strawberry milkshake, hmm?" she teased one afternoon, her smile playful. "I'll make sure to bring more tomorrow."

The warmth of her attention and care settled uncomfortably in your chest. You didn't know how to handle it, didn't know what to do with the kindness she gave so freely. It was foreign, and it made the guilt inside you grow.

After weeks of lying in bed, your body weak and fragile, the day finally came when you managed to stand on your own two feet. It wasn't easy. Your legs shook, your grip on the metal IV stand so tight your knuckles turned white, but you did it. For a brief moment, you felt a flicker of pride.

But then you looked down at yourself. Your pale, almost sickly skin stretched over your bony frame. Faint bruises marred your knees and legs.

You hated looking at yourself like this—so helpless, so exposed.

Your fingers trembled as you tightened your grip on the IV stand, leaning against it for support. Every movement felt slow and deliberate, like your body was relearning how to move after months of stillness. You shuffled to the calendar pinned on the wall, each step sending a dull ache through your legs, but you pushed through it.

December 13.

You stared at the date, your chest tightening as the weight of it settled on you. Three months. Three months until the Purge.

Your hand instinctively went to your stomach, as if trying to steady the rising wave of anxiety building inside you. You swallowed hard, your throat dry and tight. The memories began creeping in, uninvited, flashing behind your eyes like fragments of a nightmare you could never escape.

You shook your head, closing your eyes to block it out, but it didn't help. The thought was already there, rooting itself firmly in your mind.

You couldn't go back to the same cycle of fear, of waiting for someone to find you, to break you all over again.

Your chest rose and fell rapidly as you tried to steady your breathing, gripping the IV stand as it was the only thing keeping you upright. You felt caught in between two versions of yourself—the girl who cowered in fear, and the one who had spent months preparing to become something worse.

"You're standing."

The voice startled you, and you turned your head sharply, your grip tightening on the IV stand.

Jay was standing at the doorway, his hand on the handle, staring at you with that familiar wide smile that somehow made the heaviness in the room feel a little lighter.

"My mother said you like strawberry milkshake, so I brought you one," he said, stepping inside and walking toward you, his eyes soft with pride as he glanced at your trembling legs. "Here, let me help."

Before you could say anything, Jay gently took your hand and guided you back to the bed,

"I think I should discharge," you said quietly, the words barely escaping your lips.

Jay blinked, his smile fading slightly. "Why? You're not well yet. Are you thinking about the bills? You shouldn't. I told you, that's already taken care of."

You shook your head, staring at the strawberry milkshake in his hand as he popped the straw into the cup. He handed it to you, the smell of sweet strawberries wafting up and tempting your senses, but you couldn't focus on it.

"The Purge," you said finally, your voice trembling as you gripped the cup tightly, your knuckles turning white. "It's coming again."

Jay froze for a moment, his expression softening as he crouched down in front of you, his eyes level with yours. You could feel his gaze searching your face, waiting for you to continue.

"They... they're coming," you mumbled, your voice breaking. Your chest started to rise and fall rapidly, your breath coming in short, uneven gasps. "I don't know what they'll do this time."

Jay reached out instinctively, his hand resting gently on top of yours, steadying the trembling that had begun to spread through your fingers.

"They always find me. No matter where I go. They... they enjoy it. It's a game to them." Jay's jaw tightened, his eyes darkening as he listened.

"They won't find you this time," he said firmly, his voice filled with a quiet determination. "I won't let them."

You stared at him, your chest tightening as you tried to find the words to respond. Instead, you looked down at the strawberry milkshake in your hand, the straw still untouched. Slowly, you brought it to your lips, taking a small sip. The sweet, familiar taste spread across your tongue, and for just a moment.

Jay stayed crouched in front of you, his hand still resting lightly on yours as he watched your expression soften just slightly after taking a sip of the strawberry milkshake.

"Y/N," Jay said after a pause, his voice careful.

You glanced at him, your grip tightening slightly around the cup in your hands. "What is it?"

Jay shifted, sitting back on his heels but keeping his gaze level with yours. "Have you ever thought about talking to someone? You know, a therapist? Someone who might be able to help with... everything you've been through."

Your breath hitched, and you stiffened slightly, your shoulders tensing as the words sank in. "I don't need that," you muttered quickly, looking away from him. "I'm fine."

Jay tilted his head slightly, his expression soft but unconvinced. "I don't think you're fine," he said gently, his tone lacking any hint of judgment. "And that's okay. You don't have to be fine. After what you've been through... no one would expect you to be."

Your chest tightened, your fingers digging into the cup as you tried to swallow the lump forming in your throat. "I don't want to talk about it," you said, your voice trembling slightly. "Talking won't change anything. It won't make the memories go away."

"I know," Jay said softly. "It won't erase what happened. But maybe it could help you carry it. You've been carrying all of this alone for so long, Y/N. Maybe it's time to let someone else help."

"I can't," you whispered, shaking your head. "I don't know how to... to say it out loud. I don't even know where I'd start."

Jay's hand tightened slightly on yours, grounding you as he leaned closer. "You don't have to start anywhere specific," he said quietly.

"You just have to take it one step at a time. They won't push you to talk about anything you're not ready for. It's not about fixing everything all at once—it's about helping you find a way to live with it."

You looked at him, your vision blurred by unshed tears, and for a moment, you hated how much his words made sense. You hated how right he was, how kind he was being, how much he cared when you weren't sure you deserved it.

"I don't know," you said finally, your voice barely above a whisper. "I don't know if I can do it."

Jay nodded, his eyes warm and understanding. "That's okay," he said softly, his voice steady and reassuring.

"You don't have to decide right now," he continued, his hand lightly squeezing yours. "I just want you to know it's an option. And if you ever want to try, I'll be there with you. I'll help you find someone. You don't have to do it alone."

You stared at him, his words settling in your heart like a soft weight. Slowly, you nodded, a small, shy smile tugging at your lips. "Thank you," you whispered,

January came, and you were finally discharged from the hospital. It felt strange being back in the world after so much time spent in bed, but Jay made it easier.

In the weeks after your release, you returned to your small apartment, but more often than not, you found yourself spending your nights at Jay's home.

His mother insisted, always greeting you with a warm smile and asking how you were feeling. "It's better to keep an eye on you," she'd say, ushering you to the dinner table, where she'd pile your plate with food.

You had stopped studying, deciding to focus on working full-time instead. Jay had suggested a restaurant he knew, and before long, you found yourself settling into a routine. The work was tiring, but it kept your mind busy, and slowly, the spark in your eyes began to return.

Your nightmares didn't disappear, but they became easier to bear with Jay by your side. Whenever you woke up crying, shaking from the images that haunted you, he was always there.

"Shhh, it's okay," he'd whisper, pulling you into his arms and holding you close. His chest was warm and steady against your cheek, and his hand would rub soothing circles on your back as he whispered, "I'm here, love. I've got you."

You didn't know where he got his patience. No matter how many times you woke him in the middle of the night, trembling and crying, he never got frustrated. He never made you feel like a burden.

And maybe that's why, before you even realized it, you fell in love with him.

It wasn't a dramatic realization—no grand moment or spark. It was slow and steady, like the warmth he gave you every day. It was in the way he smiled at you, in the way he stayed even when he didn't have to.

You wanted to be better for him. You wanted to be strong—not just for yourself, but for him, too. That's when you decided to take his advice. You were going to try and talk to a therapist.

One evening, you were lying on his chest, his heartbeat a steady rhythm beneath your ear. His hand played idly with your hair, his fingers brushing through the strands like it was second nature. The room was quiet, the only sound coming from the soft hum of the heater, and you felt so at ease it was almost strange.

You tilted your head slightly, looking up at him. His eyes were closed, his lips relaxed in a small, peaceful smile. Something about the moment felt so natural, so intimate, that it made your heart swell.

Without really thinking, you leaned closer, nuzzling into the crook of his neck. You felt him shift slightly beneath you, but he didn't stop you. The warmth of his skin was comforting, and before you could second-guess yourself, you pressed a soft kiss to his neck.

You felt his body tense under you, his breath hitching ever so slightly. His fingers froze in your hair, and for a moment, you thought you'd made a mistake.

"Y/N," he murmured, his voice low and shaky, like he wasn't sure what to say.

You lifted your head slightly, meeting his wide eyes, your cheeks burning. "I—" you started, but the words caught in your throat.

Jay's lips parted, his gaze flicking between your eyes and your lips.

You bit your lip, "I'm sorry," you whispered, your voice barely audible.

His expression softened immediately, his fingers brushing your cheek. "Don't be," he said gently. "Just... tell me. Is this what you want?"

You hesitated for only a moment before nodding again. "Yes," you breathed, your voice trembling.

Jay's hand slid to the back of your neck, pulling you closer until your lips were just a breath apart. "Me too," he whispered, and then he kissed you.

It was soft, tentative at first, like he was afraid of breaking the moment, but when you kissed him back, his grip on you tightened slightly, his lips pressing more firmly against yours.

When you finally pulled away, both of you breathless, he rested his forehead against yours, his hand still cradling the back of your head.

Your tongue traced a slow, deliberate line down to his neck, and when you sucked gently at the sensitive skin there, he groaned, low and deep, the sound sending a rush of heat through you.

"Y/N," he murmured, his voice shaky as his hands found their way to your waist. You grabbed them, guiding them more firmly against your body as you shifted, straddling his lap.

Jay's eyes widened for a fraction of a second before his gaze darkened, his lips parting slightly as you leaned down to kiss him again. This time, the kiss wasn't soft —it was full of need, your lips moving hungrily against his as your hips rolled against him.

You gasped into his mouth, the heat pooling low in your stomach as you felt the tension building between you. Your breath came in heavy pants as you pulled back just enough to whisper, "I love you."

Jay's hands slid under your clothes, his fingers brushing against the bare skin of your waist. His touch was warm.

"I love you," he said back, his voice low and full of something raw, his head tilting back slightly as your movements sent a shiver through him.

You didn't stop. Your hips pressed into him again, a slow, deliberate grind that made him bite back a groan, his head falling back further as his grip on your waist tightened. His eyes fluttered closed for a moment, his breath coming out in a shaky exhale.

His hands moved to the hem of your shirt, pausing as his eyes met yours again. "Can I?" he asked softly, his voice laced with tenderness.

You nodded, your heart racing as he carefully lifted the shirt over your head. His eyes roamed over you, taking in every inch of exposed skin, and you felt a familiar pang of self-consciousness.

You instinctively moved to cover yourself, your arms wrapping around your torso, but Jay stopped you gently, his hands warm and steady as they held yours.

"Don't hide," he whispered, his voice so soft it made your chest ache. "Please don't hide from me."

Your breath hitched as his hands released yours, moving slowly to trace the lines of one of the scars on your shoulder. He leaned down and pressed his lips to the scar on your shoulder, the gesture so tender it sent a jolt through your entire body.

 He kissed it again, slower this time, before moving to another scar on your arm, his lips lingering as if to erase the pain it carried.

You couldn't stop the tears that spilled over, your hands trembling as they clutched at his shoulders. "Jay..." you whispered, your voice cracking.

"I see you," he murmured against your skin, his hands steady as they held your waist. "I see all of you, and I love every part of you."

His lips brushed against the scar on your collarbone, then another on your ribs, each kiss more deliberate than the last.

Jay's eyes softened as he whispered, "You're so beautiful, I love you."

The sincerity in his words made your heart race, your breath catching in your throat. You didn't know how to respond, your chest tightening with emotions too overwhelming to name. Instead, you leaned forward, capturing his lips in a kiss that spoke all the words you couldn't say.

His hands slid up your back, his touch firm yet tender as he pulled you closer, your bodies pressing together. The kiss deepened, slow and consuming, his lips moving against yours with a passion that sent heat coursing through your veins.

Then, with a flick of his fingers, you felt the clasp of your bra come undone. The cool air brushed against your skin.

A soft moan escaped your lips as his hand cupped your breast, his thumb brushing over your nipple, teasing and flicking it in a way that made your back arch involuntarily. Jay groaned against your mouth, the sound low and deep, sending a wave of desire pooling low in your stomach.

He gently guided you to lay down, his lips never leaving yours until he moved to your jawline, then your neck, leaving a trail of heated kisses in his wake. 

He stopped at your left breast, his warm breath ghosting over your skin before he wrapped his lips around your nipple, sucking gently.

The sensation made you gasp, your fingers tangling in his hair as you arched into him. His tongue flicked over the sensitive peak, sending jolts of pleasure through your body, while his right hand gripped your other breast, kneading it with just the right amount of pressure.

You let your head fall back, lost in the feeling, soft moans spilling from your lips as your body responded to his every touch. His name escaped your lips like a prayer, and he hummed against your skin, the vibrations adding to the heat building within you.

Just when you thought you couldn't take any more, his right hand began to travel lower. His fingers slipped beneath the waistband of your panties, and you felt his touch move in slow, deliberate circles.

A gasp tore from your throat as his fingers teased you, his touch light but enough to make your hips lift in desperation. "Jay," you breathed, your voice trembling with need, your body aching for more.

"You're so perfect," he murmured, his voice rough and heavy with desire. His lips returned to yours, as his fingers continued their slow, torturous motion, building a fire within you that you couldn't extinguish.

When his finger slowly slid inside you, your breath hitched, your chest pressing into his as you wrapped your arms tightly around his neck. The sensation was overwhelming, every nerve in your body alive with heat as he moved inside you, testing your limits.

Jay's forehead rested against yours, his breath heavy and warm against your lips. "I'm going to add another one, baby," he said, his voice low and filled with lust. "Can you take it?"

You nodded quickly, your hands clutching at him, your voice trembling as you whispered, "I can take it for you."

He groaned at your words, his jaw tightening as he stared at you with darkened eyes. "Fuck, don't say stuff like that," he muttered, his voice almost a growl.

Without wasting another second, he slid a second finger inside you, stretching you in a way that made your back arch. The pace of his movements quickened, the slick sound of his fingers filling the room as your walls clenched around him. The pleasure built fast, sharp and electric, making your breath come out in broken gasps.

Jay leaned down, his lips trailing along your collarbone, then down to your chest again. His mouth latched onto your breast, his tongue flicking over your nipple, adding another layer of sensation that made your head spin.

"Jay," you whimpered, your hips moving on their own, grinding into his hand as his fingers curled inside you, hitting a spot that made stars explode behind your eyes.

"You're so good," he murmured against your skin, his free hand gripping your waist to keep you steady as his mouth moved between your breasts, leaving heated kisses in his wake.

"I'm gonna cum," you whined, your voice high and desperate as the pressure in your stomach coiled tighter and tighter.

Jay didn't let up. His tongue teased your nipple, licking it in slow, deliberate strokes that made you shudder, while his thumb suddenly found your clit, pressing and rubbing it in perfect rhythm with his fingers.

The combination was too much. Your body shaking uncontrollably as the pleasure crashed over you in waves. "Jay!" you sobbed, your hips lifting off the bed as your orgasm hit, leaving you trembling and breathless beneath him.

He didn't stop right away, his fingers and thumb slowing just enough to help you ride out the high, his lips never leaving your skin. "That's it," he whispered, his voice full of pride and adoration. "You're so beautiful like this."

Your hands clutched at his shoulders, your chest rising and falling rapidly as you tried to catch your breath. When his fingers finally slipped out of you, you whimpered softly, feeling the loss of his touch.

Jay kissed your forehead gently, his hands soothing over your sides as he pulled you into his arms, holding you close against his chest. "I've got you," he murmured, his voice soft again, filled with affection. "I've got you."

"I was preparing for the Purge this year," you said quietly, staring at your hands instead of your therapist, Ms. Jisoo.

"A self-defense plan, or something more?" she asked gently. There was no judgment in her voice, just calm curiosity.

"Something more," you admitted, biting your lip as your fingers fidgeted in your lap.

Ms. Jisoo nodded softly, giving you space to speak. "Do you still think about it now, after falling in love?"

You paused, her question lingering in your mind. "I don't know," you said after a moment. "I've been so focused on him... on how he makes me feel. The only thing I know for sure is I want to be a better person for him. Not... this."

You hesitated, your voice trembling. "Not some mentally unstable girl who can't even sleep through the night without waking up screaming."

Your chest tightened as the words left you, the guilt clawing at your throat.

Ms. Jisoo leaned forward slightly, her voice gentle and steady. "Wanting to heal for someone you love is a wonderful thing, Y/N. But it's okay to want to heal for yourself too. That doesn't make you weak, and it doesn't mean there's something wrong with you."

Her words softened something in your chest, but the guilt was still there, heavy and sharp. You bit your lip harder, tears welling in your eyes.

"D-Do you think I'm a monster?" you asked suddenly, your voice breaking. "For thinking about purging this year? For even wanting it?" You finally looked up at her, tears spilling as you waited for the answer you feared most.

Ms. Jisoo's expression stayed calm, warm, and understanding. "You're not a monster," she said gently, her voice soft as she stares at you.

"You're someone who's been hurt. Someone who's been through things no one should ever have to experience. It's okay to feel angry. It's okay to feel hate. Those feelings don't make you a monster. They make you human."

"But they feel so wrong," you whispered, tears streaming down your face. "Wanting it feels wrong."

"They're not wrong or right," she said softly. "They're just feelings."

You sniffled, wiping at your face with trembling hands, but her words didn't fully settle the storm inside you. After a moment, you looked back at her, hesitating before asking the question that had been on your mind for so long.

"Do you... agree with the Purge?"

Ms. Jisoo blinked, caught off guard by the question. She leaned back slightly, her hands folding in her lap as she thought about her answer.

"No," she said after a moment, "I don't. I don't think violence solves anything. And I don't think people should have the right to hurt others, no matter what the law says. The Purge... it brings out the worst in people. It allows fear and hate to fester. And I've seen how much it hurts people—people like you."

Her gaze softened, and she leaned forward slightly, her tone quiet. "But I also understand why you feel the way you do. The Purge forces people to live in fear, to carry anger and pain that they shouldn't have to carry. It's normal to feel conflicted. It's normal to feel angry."

You swallowed hard, her words sinking into you like drops of water on dry ground. "So... I'm not wrong for feeling like this?" you asked, your voice barely above a whisper.

"No," she said firmly. "You're not wrong. You're human, Y/N. And humans feel messy, complicated things. There's no shame in that."

You nodded slowly, your voice barely above a whisper. "I don't know what to do with myself. I keep thinking and thinking about what I should do to live freely... but nothing feels right."

Ms. Jisoo smiled gently, her expression steady and reassuring. "It's okay to feel lost, Y/N. Healing doesn't come with a map or a timeline. But you're taking steps forward, even if they're small. Just keep going. You'll find your way."

By the middle of February, your days had settled into a rhythm. You managed your job at the restaurant, worked through your therapy sessions every week, and spent most of your free time with Jay and his mother.

Their home felt warm, almost like a haven, and you found yourself doing small things to show your gratitude—buying Jay his favorite snacks, surprising his mom with flowers or something she'd mentioned in passing.

They never expected anything in return for their kindness, but doing those little things made you feel like you were giving back in some small way.

One evening, the restaurant was hosting a group of high-class businesspeople who had reserved the entire dining area. The room buzzed with laughter and chatter, the expensive suits and gleaming jewelry making you feel out of place as you carried trays of food to their table.

As you placed the dishes on the table, your eyes drifted to a middle-aged blonde woman sitting at the center. Her hair was perfectly styled, her tailored suit fitting her like it had been made just for her. She held a glass of wine delicately, twirling it in her hand as she laughed with the others.

Your breath hitched.

A memory slammed into you with the force of a freight train.

Gunshots. Screams. Blood splattered across the ground. You could see the flash of a machete. Hear the sound of a head rolling across the dirt. Your chest rose and fell rapidly, your throat tightening as the room spun around you. The scar on your arm felt like it was burning.

"Excuse me?" a man's voice pulled you back to reality, his tone polite but firm. "Do you need anything else?"

You blinked, your breath still shaky as you tried to steady yourself. The blonde woman's laughter had faded, and now she was looking at you, her piercing eyes sharp and almost bored, like she was trying to place where she'd seen you before.

You struggled to keep your hands from trembling as you clutched the tray tighter. "I-I'm fine," you stammered, inhaling deeply to keep your composure.

But it didn't help when one of the other women at the table—a brunette with diamond earrings—reached for your arm, pushing up your sleeve to reveal the long scar that ran down the length of it.

"God," the woman said, her voice dripping with disgust. "What a nasty scar you have." Her fingers brushed the raised tissue, making you flinch involuntarily. "How'd you even get this?"

You froze, the room seeming to go quiet as her words echoed in your ears. You couldn't breathe, couldn't think. You wanted to rip your arm away, but your body felt paralyzed, like you were trapped in that night all over again.

And then, you heard yourself asking, "Are you Ms. Wilson?"

The words felt foreign on your tongue, your voice shaky as you stared at the blonde woman.

She raised an eyebrow at you, her expression amused. "Yes, why?" she asked, taking another sip of her wine. "Do I know you?"

You almost laughed. Of course, she didn't remember. People like her never did.

Your grip on the tray tightened, your knuckles white as your mind raced. You remembered her now—her face, her voice, the way she had smiled behind the mask as she watched you and the others run for your lives.

And she didn't even remember you.

"No," you said, your voice steady despite the storm raging inside you. "You don't."

Her head tilted slightly, her sharp eyes narrowing as if she were trying to place you, but after a moment, she simply shrugged and turned back to her companions, already dismissing you from her mind.

Your heart pounded in your chest, your nails digging into the tray as you tried to contain the rage bubbling up inside you.

You turned on your heel, your legs trembling with each step as you left the dining area. The walls of the restaurant seemed to close in, the air thick and suffocating. 

Your breaths came in short, shallow gasps as you pushed through the kitchen doors, your tray clattering loudly onto the counter.

Gripping the edge of the counter, your knuckles turned white as you stared down at the cold, stainless steel surface. You willed yourself to calm down, to pull it together, but your heart was racing, your chest heaving as the memories refused to let you go.

You muttered something about not feeling well to your manager, barely hearing his reply as you left the restaurant. 

You didn't go to Jay's home like you usually did. Instead, you walked to your own apartment, your feet moving automatically, your head swirling with thoughts you couldn't control.

When you finally closed the door behind you, something inside you broke. You let out a scream, raw and primal, nails digging into your throat as if you could claw the pain away. Tears streamed down your face, hot and endless, blurring your vision as sob after sob wracked your body.

You stumbled to the target board you had set up on the wall—the one you used for practice, for preparation—and grabbed a knife. With a sharp, angry cry, you hurled it at the board. It hit the target right in the head.

You screamed again, louder this time, grabbing anything within reach and throwing it across the room. A glass shattered against the wall. A stack of books tumbled to the floor. You didn't care.

When you finally collapsed onto your bed, your body was trembling, your chest heaving as you cried into the pillow. The tears wouldn't stop, your sobs loud and broken as you curled into yourself, trying to escape the weight pressing down on you.

At some point, exhaustion took over, and you fell asleep, your face damp with tears.

You jolted awake when the bed shifted beneath you. Your heart leapt into your throat, your body tensing instinctively, but then you saw him—Jay, sitting beside you, his worried eyes scanning your face.

"You didn't come home," he said softly, his voice full of concern. 

"I was worried. Your manager said you took an early leave." He reached for your hand, holding it gently as his thumb brushed over your knuckles. "Did something happen?"

His voice was so calm, so steady, and it only made your tears resurface. You watched him lift your hand, pressing a soft kiss to your fingertips. The tenderness in his actions broke you all over again.

Your eyes watered, and before you could stop yourself, you threw your arms around him, burying your face in his chest as you cried. Your sobs were muffled against the fabric of his shirt, but he didn't say anything—he just held you, his arms wrapping around you tightly, protectively.

"It will never go away," you choked out between sobs, your voice muffled against his chest. "I don't know how to heal when this Purge still fucking exists."

Jay tightened his hold on you, his hand moving to the back of your head as he gently stroked your hair. 

"I'm so sorry," you cried, your voice breaking. "For always being like this."

"Shh," he murmured softly, pulling you into his lap. His arms wrapped around you, holding you close. "You don't have to apologize, love. Don't ever apologize for how you feel."

You buried your face in his shoulder, shaking your head. The words of comfort should've helped, but all they did was amplify the storm inside you.

"Do you want to talk about what happened?" Jay asked, his voice low and patient.

You shook your head, gripping him tighter. You couldn't bring yourself to say it. Not now. Not yet.

He didn't push. He just held you, his hand running up and down your back as you cried into him.

And then, as the room grew quieter, your emotions spilled into something else. The ache in your chest shifted, giving way to a deeper, more desperate need—the need to feel alive, to feel connected, to escape the weight of your mind, even if only for a moment.

Your lips found his, and he kissed you back without hesitation, his hands tightening around your waist. The kiss was slow at first, gentle, but soon it grew hungry, fueled by the raw emotion lingering in the air.

It wasn't long before your knees dug into the mattress, your body arching beneath him as he moved inside you. The pain and weight of your emotions blurred into the pleasure of his touch, every thrust sending a wave of heat through your body.

"A-ah! Fuck, slow down!" you gasped as he hit a spot inside you that made your toes curl.

"Felt so good," Jay groaned, his breath hot against your ear as his body pressed flush against yours. His lips found the nape of your neck, leaving wet, open-mouthed kisses as his fingers kneaded your breasts, sending sparks of sensation through you.

You threw your head back, your arms giving out beneath you as he pressed deeper. "Jay," you whimpered, his name tumbling from your lips as your body trembled with every movement.

"Love you," he groaned, his voice rough with desperation. "Fuck, a-ah, I'm gonna cum."

"Inside me, please," you begged, your voice barely above a whisper, but he heard you.

Jay's body fell against yours as he pushed deeper, his breath hitching as his release overtook him. The feeling of him filling you pushed you over the edge, your orgasm crashing into you so intensely that tears pricked your eyes.

Your cries of overstimulation mixed with his groans, his hips moving in small, desperate thrusts as he fill inside you. Finally, he collapsed beside you, pulling you into his arms, his chest rising and falling as he caught his breath.

His lips pressed soft kisses along your forehead and temple, his hand trailing to your stomach, where his fingers traced gentle patterns on your skin.

"I love you," he whispered, his voice so full of sincerity that it made your chest ache.

You turned your head, catching his lips in a soft, lingering kiss. He kissed you back, his thumb brushing against your cheek.

"Spend the Purge at our house," he said after a moment, his forehead resting against yours. "You'll be safe there. I'll protect you. I promise."

His words should have comforted you. They should have been enough. But as you stared into his eyes, full of love and hope, you felt your chest tighten.

Because no matter what Jay did to protect you, no matter how much healing you tried to find, there was one truth you couldn't ignore.

No matter how hard you fought it, no matter how much you loved him, you're still broken, and lost.

March 21, 3:00 PM

You wiped the tables methodically, trying to focus on the task, but the air in the restaurant was tense. All eyes were glued to the TV mounted on the wall, where the announcement of the Annual Purge was being broadcast. The monotone voice of the announcer echoed through the room, describing the rules and restrictions for the night.

Your manager came up to you, his voice urgent. "Hey, take an early leave. Go home and get ready. You shouldn't be out when the sirens start."

You nodded, offering him a faint smile. "Thanks, I'll head out soon."

After finishing up and helping close the restaurant, you walked back to your apartment. The sun was dipping lower in the sky, casting long shadows over the streets. As you set up a small barricade in your apartment—nothing fancy, just furniture pressed against the windows and doors—you heard a car honk outside.

Peeking out, you saw Jay leaning casually against his car, waiting for you with that familiar warm smile.

You felt a wave of comfort wash over you at the sight of him. Smiling back, you hurried outside, throwing your arms around his neck and pressing a soft kiss to his lips.

"Let's go home?" he asked, his voice calm and full of care.

You hesitated, glancing back at your apartment. "I need to grab a few things first," you said.

Jay nodded easily. "Of course. Take your time."

After changing out of your work uniform, you slipped into a white off-shoulder dress that reached your knees—something simple yet elegant. You'd never worn it before, and even the soft fabric against your skin felt foreign. Paired with Mary Jane shoes and a pair of cute white socks.

When you stepped into Jay's car, he looked up at you, his eyes widening slightly. "Wow," he murmured, his gaze softening. "You look beautiful."

You felt your cheeks warm as he leaned in, holding your jaw gently and pecking your lips. "What's with the outfit today?" he teased, laughing lightly.

You smiled faintly, brushing a strand of hair behind your ear. "I just thought... maybe I'd wear something different. Something nice."

Jay laughed again, his hand reaching out toward your thigh, but you subtly redirected it, placing it over yours instead. He didn't seem to mind, intertwining his fingers with yours as his other hand rested on the steering wheel.

March 21, 4:30 PM

The house was buzzing with noise by the time you arrived. From the top of the stairs, you peeked down and saw six boys piling in through the entrance, bags slung over their shoulders as they greeted Jay's mother.

"Oh, it's Jay's friends!" his mother exclaimed warmly, hugging them one by one.

You recognized Ni-ki and Sunoo, the only ones you'd met before. The rest were strangers to you, their confident voices filling the house as they exchanged jokes and pleasantries.

"Hi, Mrs. Park! I hope you don't mind if we spend the Purge here at your house!" said a tall man with an easy smile.

"No problem, Heesung," Jay's mother replied, her voice full of affection. "What about your parents and sisters?"

"They're at a party," another boy replied casually. "Some politician's mansion. They love that kind of thing."

Your breath hitched, the words hitting a nerve.

What a nice life to be rich, you thought bitterly.

"Hey," Jay's voice pulled you from your thoughts. You turned to see him standing beside you, his brow furrowed slightly. "Are you okay?"

You forced a smile, one you'd perfected over the years. "Yeah, I'm fine. Your friends are downstairs."

Jay studied you for a moment longer, but then he smiled, intertwining his hand with yours as he led you down the stairs.

The boys were loud and full of energy, laughing and teasing each other as they set their bags down and unpacked their things. Jay's mother fussed over them, offering snacks and asking about their families.

"This is Y/N, my girlfriend," Jay announced proudly, pulling you close by your waist.

The room fell quiet for a brief moment, and you could feel their gazes on you.

"Oh my God, you're a thing now?" Jay's mother gasped, her hands clasped over her mouth.

"Isn't it obvious?" Jay replied with a laugh.

One of the boys stepped forward, introducing himself. "Hi, Y/N! I'm Heesung. This is Jake, Sunghoon, and Jungwon. I guess you already know Ni-ki and Sunoo."

You offered a polite smile, nodding as they all greeted you.

As the evening went on, you stayed mostly quiet, helping Jay's mother prepare food while the boys joked around. Jay noticed your silence, slipping his arms around your waist from behind as you worked in the kitchen.

"Hey," he murmured against your ear. "You're safe, okay? You don't need to worry."

You turned to look at him, your heart heavy with emotions you couldn't express. "I love you," you said softly, staring into his eyes.

Jay smiled, pressing a kiss to your lips. "I love you more," he replied, glancing at his watch. "It's already 6:30. I need to barricade the house."

You nodded, watching as he started to walk away. Then, impulsively, you called out, "Jay."

He turned back, his eyes soft. "Hmm?"

Walking up to him, you wrapped your arms around his waist, hugging him tightly. His hands found your face, gently brushing his thumb across your cheek as he looked at you with worry. "Are you anxious, baby?" he asked softly.

"No," you whispered, your voice trembling slightly. "I just wanted to say I love you again."

Jay let out a soft laugh, leaning down to kiss you. "Love, I'm just barricading the house, not purging." He kissed your forehead tenderly, his lips lingering for a moment. "Now, let me lock everything down so we'll be safe, okay?"

You nodded, stepping back reluctantly as he disappeared toward the storage room.

Jay walked through the dim hallway leading to the storage room when he heard footsteps behind him. Glancing over his shoulder, he saw Sunghoon catching up to him, a casual smirk on his face as he slung an arm around Jay's shoulder.

"Yo, bro," Sunghoon said casually, falling into step beside him. "No offense but, you sure about that girl?"

Jay frowned, shrugging off Sunghoon's arm. "Why? What are you talking about?"

Sunghoon shrugged, shoving his hands into his pockets. "She just... seems like a lot. I mean, no offense, but she looks like she's difficult to handle."

Jay's brows furrowed deeper, his steps slowing as he turned to face Sunghoon. "What the hell is that supposed to mean?"

"Look, we care about you," Sunghoon said, raising his hands as if to calm him. "Have you seen her scars? Her face? She's clearly been through some shit. Is she even healed from all that?"

Jay's jaw tightened, his teeth clenching as anger flared in his chest. He stepped closer to Sunghoon, his voice low and dangerous. "Watch your mouth."

"Chill, man, I'm just saying." Sunghoon grabbed Jay's arm in an attempt to reason with him. "That girl's got baggage, and I'm telling you, she's going to be a lot of problems for you. She's not stable, bro. You can't tell me you haven't noticed."

Jay didn't let him finish. His hand shot out, grabbing Sunghoon by the collar and shoving him back against the wall. "Say another word, and I swear I'll make you regret it," he growled, his voice dripping with rage.

Sunghoon's eyes widened slightly, but he didn't back down. "I'm trying to look out for you, Jay," he said, his tone firm. "You're my friend. I don't want you getting hurt."

Jay released him with a sharp shove, his chest heaving as he tried to control his temper. "Don't ever talk about her like that again," he said coldly, his eyes burning with anger. "You don't know a damn thing about her."

He turned on his heel, ignoring Sunghoon as he walked into the storage room. His hands trembled slightly as he pressed the button to activate the lockdown. The sound of metal walls sliding into place filled the air, sealing the house and cutting off the world outside.

"Jay, listen to me," Sunghoon said, his voice following him into the room. "I'm serious. There's something off about her. Just think about it, man."

Jay didn't respond. He slammed the door shut behind him, shutting Sunghoon out both literally and figuratively.

Returning to the living room, Jay found the rest of his friends lounging on the couches, laughing and exchanging stories. His mother was tidying up nearby, a small smile on her face as she listened to their chatter.

"Where's Y/N?" Jay asked, his eyes scanning the room.

"I think she went to your room," Ni-ki said, glancing up from his phone. "She said she wanted to sleep early."

Jay nodded, his shoulders relaxing slightly. But before he could take another step, Sunghoon appeared at his side again.

"Man, I'm trying to talk to you," Sunghoon said, his voice laced with frustration.

Jay's patience snapped. Without thinking, he turned and landed a punch squarely on Sunghoon's jaw, sending him stumbling backward.

The room fell silent as the others jumped to their feet.

"Jay! What the hell are you doing?!" Jake shouted, stepping between them.

"I'm just trying to give him advice about his girlfriend!" Sunghoon snapped, holding his jaw as he glared at Jay.

"Are you seriously saying that fucking nonsense while my girlfriend is in this house?!" he shouted. "How dare you even say that shit in front of me?!"

Sunghoon raised his hands in defense, but Jay wasn't done. He stepped closer, pointing a finger at him. "You've known her for, what, an hour? And you think you have the right to judge her? To judge us? Fuck you, Sunghoon!"

"Jay, calm down," Heesung said cautiously, stepping between the two of them with his hands outstretched, but Jay wasn't having it.

"You don't get to judge her just because of what you think you see!" Jay growled, his voice trembling with anger. He shoved Heesung and Jake off as they tried to hold him back.

"Get the fuck off me!" he barked, storming out of the living room. His footsteps pounded against the floor as he made his way up the stairs, leaving everyone behind in stunned silence.

Jay climbed the stairs two at a time, his anger still simmering beneath the surface. He pulled out his phone, swiping through his notifications until he found a message from Dr. Jisoo that he had missed earlier.

Dr. Jisoo: Good afternoon, Mr. Park. I just wanted to check in on Y/N since she's missed her last three sessions. Please keep an eye on her, especially today—it's a particularly triggering event for her. Thank you.

Jay felt a wave of dread wash over him, his heart sinking into his stomach. He quickened his pace, practically sprinting to his bedroom.

"Y/N?" he called, pushing the door open.

But the room was empty.

Panic set in as he checked the bathroom, the closet, all of the room, even under the bed, but you were nowhere to be found.

He bolted back down the stairs, his voice frantic as he called out for you. "Y/N?! Where are you?!"

His mother stepped into the hallway, her face pale with worry. "What's wrong, Jay?"

"She's gone," he said, his voice shaking. "Did anyone see her leave?!"

Everyone in the living room exchanged confused looks, shrugging helplessly.

"Y/N?!" Jay shouted again, his voice echoing through the house.

Jay froze as the broadcast echoed through the house, the robotic voice chilling him to the bone.

"This is not a test. This is your emergency broadcast system announcing the commencement of the Annual Purge sanctioned by the U.S Government.

Weapons of class 4 and lower have been authorized for use during the Purge. All other weapons are restricted. Government officials of ranking 10 have been granted immunity from the Purge and shall not be harmed.

Commencing at the siren, any and all crime, including murder, will be legal for 12 continuous hours. Police, fire, and emergency medical services will be unavailable until tomorrow morning, until 7 a.m., when the Purge concludes.

Blessed by our New Founding Fathers and America, a nation reborn. May God be with you all."

The final words echoed in his ears as the sirens blared, signaling the start of the Purge.

His heart pounded, his chest tight as he pieced everything together. The missed therapy sessions, how quiet you had been all day, the way you hugged him like it might be the last time.

You weren't in the house.

You were out there.

Jay turned on his heel and sprinted to the storage room, his mind racing as panic surged through him.

He yanked open his closet, grabbing the bag he had packed weeks ago—just in case. Inside were the essentials: a shotgun, a pistol, extra ammunition, and a knife. He tossed the bag over his shoulder, his hands trembling as he loaded the pistol, cocking it with precision.

"Jay, what are you doing?!" his mother cried, standing at the door with tears streaming down her face.

"Unlock the barricade and lock it again after I leave," he said coldly, his voice devoid of the warmth she was used to.

"Jay, you can't! It's dangerous out there!" she pleaded, stepping closer.

"Unlock it!" he snapped, his voice sharp, though his eyes betrayed his inner turmoil. "Please, Mom. I have to go."

"No," Sunghoon interrupted, stepping forward and grabbing Jay's arm. "You're not thinking straight. She left, Jay. She chose to go out there—"

Jay swatted his hand away, pointing the pistol directly at Sunghoon's head. The room went silent.

"Jay!" Heesung shouted, stepping forward.

"Come any closer, and I'll blow his fucking head off," Jay growled, his jaw tightening as his finger hovered near the trigger. "You don't get to stop me. None of you do."

Sunghoon raised his hands slowly, his expression shifting to one of caution. "Alright, man. Just... relax, okay? I'm just trying to—"

"Shut up," Jay hissed, the tension in his body radiating outward. His voice lowered, trembling slightly. "I told you to stay out of this. She's out there, and I'm going to find her."

He turned his gaze to Ni-ki, who was frozen near the security console. "Ni-ki," Jay said firmly. "Unlock the barricade. Now."

Ni-ki hesitated, looking at Jungwon and Jake for guidance, but neither said anything. With a shaky hand, Ni-ki pressed the button, and the sound of the metal walls lifting reverberated through the house.

"Jay, please," his mother sobbed, grabbing his arm as he stepped toward the door.

Jay paused, his resolve faltering for just a moment as he looked at her. "I'm sorry," he said softly, leaning down to kiss her forehead. "But I can't stay here knowing she's out there."

Tears streamed down her face as she nodded, her voice trembling. "I understand, be safe. Please."

"I will," Jay said, stepping out the door. "Lock it the second I'm gone."

The metal walls began to descend behind him as he walked to his car, his mind racing with questions. Where could you have gone? Why didn't you tell him? Were you safe? Were you scared?

Sliding into the driver's seat, he tossed the bag into the passenger side and gripped the steering wheel tightly, his knuckles white. His eyes scanned the darkened streets, the occasional scream or gunshot in the distance reminding him of the stakes.

Without hesitation, he pressed the gas pedal.

You walk slowly down an unfamiliar road, your steps unsteady. You just keep walking and walking, unsure of where you're going or why. You don't understand yourself anymore. You thought everything was finally okay. What more could you ask for?

You have a loving boyfriend who always tries to make you smile. His mother cares for you like her own. You eat three meals a day. You're seeing a therapist. And you even have a safe place to hide on Purge Night.

So why do you feel like this?

Why do you feel so broken when you should feel whole?

Why are you out here, in the middle of the street, on the most dangerous night of the year, with just a knife strapped under your dress?

You wonder if Jay has noticed you're gone. He probably has by now. Your chest tightens at the thought of him pacing back and forth, calling your name.

Your lifeless eyes stare ahead as you walk deeper into the quiet street. It's so still, unnaturally still. No trucks rumbling down the road. No gangs or masked figures in sight.

"Kill me already!" you scream into the emptiness. Your voice echoes down the road, but there's no answer. Not a single sniper or purger takes the bait.

Then, a distant cry catches your ear—a plea for help. You turn toward the sound and walk toward it, your grip tightening on the handle of the knife hidden beneath your dress.

As you approach, you see a young girl sprinting toward you, clutching her bleeding waist. Four people in masks are chasing her, laughing like it's some sick game.

"Man, we just want to purge!" one of them—a woman—cackles. That laugh—it burrows into your memory like a needle.

The girl stumbles, and when her eyes meet yours, there's desperation written all over them. She collapses at your feet, her blood soaking through your white dress as she clings to you.

"Please... help me," she gasps.

Her words are cut off by a gunshot. Blood splatters across your face as a hole appears in her forehead. Her body falls limp, her grip on your dress loosening.

"My fucking soul feels cleansed!" the woman says with a twisted laugh. The others laugh with her, like a pack of hyenas.

"Up next—" the woman starts, raising her pistol toward you.

But you're faster.

In one fluid motion, you pull out your knife and hurl it at her. It pierces through her mask and into her skull. She drops instantly, blood dripping from the blade.

The remaining three hesitate, stunned. That's all the time you need. You yank the knife from the dead woman's head and dash toward the others, slicing the nearest one's throat in a clean arc.

The man in the joker mask fumbles for his gun, but you grab the dead body beside you, using it as a shield. Then, you throw the knife again, this time hitting his chest.

He stumbles back, gasping for air, as you snatch his gun from his weakening grip. Before he can even hit the ground, you fire a shot straight into his skull.

Now, there's only one left.

The last purger, wearing a cat mask, drops to his knees and pulls the mask off, revealing a trembling man. He raises his hands in surrender, tears streaming down his face.

"P-please... spare me. I-I just wanted to purge this year," he stammers, his voice cracking.

You glare at him, the weight of your actions and emotions swirling inside you.

"How many innocent people have you killed in all the purges you've been a part of?" you ask, your tone icy.

His lip quivers. "P-probably 70—"

Before he can finish, you pull the trigger.

The gunshot echoes through the street as he collapses, lifeless.

Silence fills the street once more as you stand there, your white dress soaked in blood, surrounded by bodies. You don't know how long you've been standing there, staring at the carnage.

Then, it happens.

A soft laugh escapes your lips. It bubbles up from your throat, quiet at first, but it grows louder, sharper, until it echoes down the empty street. It's not a happy laugh. It's hollow, bitter, unhinged.

You bring a hand to your face, your fingers brushing against the blood splattered across your skin.

You really have lost yourself, haven't you? Or, did you found it now?

You hate the Purge. You hate the monsters it creates. You hate the people who thrive on it, the ones who laugh, who kill, who hurt.

So why are you here, in the middle of the night, doing the exact same thing?

Tears prick at your eyes, but they don't fall. You just stand there, your shoulders trembling as the weight of everything presses down on you. You feel nothing. And that terrifies you most of all.

You crouch down, wiping your knife on the dead woman's clothes, smearing blood across the fabric.

Your hands tremble slightly, it's not fear—it's something else. A quiet storm you can't name.

Once the blade gleams clean, you tuck it back into the thigh strap beneath your dress. Grabbing the fallen gun, you check the chamber and reload it. The satisfying click of the cocked weapon echoes as you straighten up and continue walking.

The street stretches ahead, eerily quiet except for the distant sounds of chaos—gunshots, screams, and the occasional rumble of an engine.

Three figures suddenly sprint toward you from the shadows. They glance at you, wide-eyed, as they pass by, their faces pale with fear.

Ahead of you, three figures suddenly appear from the shadows. Their faces are pale with fear as they sprint past you. One of them—a panicked old man—stumbles and grabs your arm, his grip shaky.

"Miss, don't go that way!" he says, his voice hoarse and desperate. "That group's rounding people up—they're psychos!"

His words barely register. Your gaze drifts past him, toward the direction he came from. A cold calm washes over you as he keeps tugging at your arm, pleading.

A large truck screeches to a halt in front of you, its headlights blinding. The old man panics, letting go of your arm and bolting down the road. He doesn't get far. A sharp crack rings out, and he collapses mid-stride, a bullet tearing through his back.

You don't flinch.

The truck door swings open, and several masked figures step out.

One of them grabs your arm, yanking it behind your back as another snatches the gun from your hand.

"Blessed be the New Founding Fathers of America," one of them says, leaning close to your face.

You smile. Not a kind smile—a bitter one. "Blessed be them," you whisper back.

Then, without warning, you jerk your head forward, slamming it into the man's nose. He stumbles back with a grunt of pain, clutching his face as blood pours through his fingers.

Before the others can react, you twist your arm free and yank your knife from its strap. The blade flashes in the dim light as you slice upward, catching one of them in the throat. They gargle and drop to their knees, clutching at the wound.

Another lunges at you, swinging a metal pipe. You duck under the blow, driving the knife into his ribs. He gasps, his body jolting as you twist the blade, blood spraying onto your dress.

You scream—whether it's from rage or something deeper, you're not sure.

The sound rips from your throat as you yank the knife free and stab again, and again, and again, until his body goes limp.

Behind you, the first man—the one whose nose you broke—recovers quickly. He raises his gun, aiming it directly at your back.

You're too focused, too lost in the heat of the moment to notice him.

The loud crack of gunfire fills the air, but it doesn't come from his weapon.

The man's body jerks violently as a burst of bullets tears through him, and he collapses to the ground, lifeless.

Your breath catches in your throat, and you spin around.

Your wide eyes locking onto the figure standing behind him.

"Jay," you whisper, your voice barely audible.

He steps forward slowly, his shotgun still in hand. His expression is unreadable, his eyes flicking over the bodies surrounding you before settling on you.

You brace yourself for the anger you expect to see in his face. For him to yell at you, demand answers, maybe even tell you he's done with you.

But he doesn't.

Instead, he stops in front of you, his gaze softening as he raises a hand to your face. His thumb brushes gently across your cheek, wiping away the streaks of blood smeared there.

"Are you okay?" he asks, his voice full of worry. "Are you hurt?"

You can't speak. Your lips tremble as tears blur your vision. Slowly, your hand rises to hold his against your cheek.

"I'm sorry," he says quietly, his voice heavy with guilt. "I'm sorry for not noticing sooner that you weren't okay. I should've known."

His words hit you like a punch to the chest, and you shake your head, your tears spilling over. "W-what are you doing here?" you manage to say, your voice shaking. "It's dangerous."

Jay smiles softly, leaning down to press a gentle kiss to your forehead. "I could say the same thing to you, love," he murmurs, pulling you into a warm, protective embrace.

His arms wrap around you tightly, holding you like he's afraid to let go. You bury your face in his chest, your tears soaking into his shirt.

"I can't let my girl be out here alone on Purge Night," he whispers into your hair.

You pull back slightly, looking up at him, your smile shaky and uncertain. "Y-you're not angry?"

Jay shakes his head slowly, his warm hand cupping your face as if to anchor you. "No, baby. I'm not angry," he says softly.

Your lips tremble, the guilt clawing its way up your throat as you look into his eyes. "I... I'm a monster, Jay. Look at what I did," you whisper, your voice cracking.

His thumb gently strokes your cheek, his gaze never leaving yours. There's no judgment there, no fear—just a quiet understanding that makes your chest ache.

"I don't think I'm normal anymore, Jay," you say, your voice barely audible as tears spill freely down your face. "I don't even know what I'm feeling right now. I don't know who I am anymore."

You start to sob, the raw emotion pouring out of you like a dam breaking. Jay leans forward, pressing his forehead against yours, his other hand sliding to the back of your neck to hold you steady.

"I love you," he whispers into the space between you. "No matter what. No matter what you've done, no matter what you want to do... I love you."

His words hit you like a wave, and your sobs come harder, your body trembling in his arms.

"You always ask if you're normal," he continues, his tone soothing as he brushes a stray tear from your cheek. "But I already told you, love. Who cares about normal? Normal doesn't matter to me. You matter to me."

His arms wrap around you tighter, pulling you against his chest.

"If this is what you need to do to heal, then I'll be here," he whispers into your ear. "And I'm sorry if I ever made you feel like you couldn't say this to me. I'll always understand, love. Always. Just... don't do this again without me knowing, okay?"

You nod against his chest, your sobs muffling into his shirt.

"I'm such a—" you try to speak, but the words get caught in your throat, your cries making it impossible to finish the sentence.

Jay shushes you softly, his hand rubbing slow circles on your back. "You're not. You're not anything bad, baby. You're just... hurting."

You pull back slightly, your hands clutching his shirt as you look up at him, your voice trembling. "I hate it, Jay. I hate what I've become. I'm not me anymore. It terrifies me."

His hand moves to cradle the back of your head, and he presses a soft kiss to your hair. "I know," he whispers. "But I'll be here. I'll be with you through every terrifying moment, love."

For a long moment, the two of you just stay like that—his arms holding you close, your head resting against his chest as your breathing slowly evens out. The tension in your body begins to ease, though the storm in your mind still churns.

Jay pulls back slightly, tilting his head to meet your gaze, his smile growing softer but never losing its warmth.

"Are you enjoying yourself right now?" he asks, his voice light and genuine, almost teasing.

You blink at him, surprised by the question, but the answer bubbles up inside you before you can stop it. A faint smile begins to form on your lips, something that feels both wrong and inexplicably right.

"Yes," you admit quietly, your voice steadier than before. "I think I am."

Jay's smile widens just a little, his thumb brushing against your cheek again as if to ground you.

"That's all that matters," he says softly, his voice filled with a calm acceptance that makes the tension in your chest ease.

Then, his eyes flicker toward the carnage surrounding you—the lifeless bodies, the blood that stains the street, and your hands, still trembling but steady enough to hold the knife.

"What do you want to do? Hmm?" he asks, his tone curious yet understanding, as if ready to follow wherever your answer leads.

You take a deep breath, feeling the weight of the gun in your hands and the heat of the night pressing against your skin. Your lips curve into a determined smile, and your answer comes without hesitation.

"I want to kill purgers," you say, your voice clear and sharp, your eyes shining with a fire that you hadn't felt in years.

Jay doesn't flinch or waver at your words. Instead, he nods, stepping closer to you and holding out his shotgun. "Here," he says, his voice calm as he hands it over.

You take it, your hands steady now, and your eyes glint as you examine the weapon.

"Is this a SPAS-12?" you ask, running your fingers along the smooth barrel.

Jay chuckles softly, watching the way your gaze flickers with excitement.

"Yeah. My dad gave it to me," he replies as he takes your free hand in his.

"Come on," he says, tugging you gently toward his car. "Let's get out of here. It's dangerous to stay in one spot too long."

You follow him, practically bouncing on your heels as you intertwine your fingers with his. As the two of you approach the car, a question bubbles up, one you hadn't thought to ask before.

"Where's your dad, anyway? I've never met him," you say, glancing at him as he unlocks the driver's side door.

Jay shrugs lightly, opening the door for you.

"He's overseas," he explains as you climb in. "He's been busy. A lot of countries are starting to plan their own versions of the Purge, and he's consulting on security systems for them."

"Wow," you mutter, settling into the passenger seat as Jay slides in beside you.

He starts the car, the engine rumbling to life as he glances over at you. "You ready?"

"Is this car bulletproof?" you ask, running your hand along the interior with a raised eyebrow.

Jay smirks, shrugging. "I don't think so, but who needs bulletproof when we've got each other?"

You giggle, the sound light and unexpected, even to yourself.

As he presses the gas pedal hard, the car lurches forward, and the thrill of speed courses through you.

The windows are down, and the cool night air rushes past you as you cock the shotgun, the familiar click of the weapon sending a chill down your spine.

You lean halfway out the window, scanning the streets for purgers, your eyes narrowing when you spot a group down the road.

"Hey, fuckers!" you shout, your voice carrying across the night.

Jay glances over at you, his grin widening as he watches you. "Careful with my car, love," he teases, though there's nothing but pride in his tone.

You don't respond, too focused on your target. Raising the shotgun, you take aim and fire. The blast rings out, and one of the masked figures crumples to the ground.

Jay chuckles, gripping the steering wheel tightly as he drifts the car in a sharp circle, giving you a clear view of the rest of the group.

You take the opportunity, cocking the shotgun again and pulling the trigger, your laughter bubbling up as another purger falls.

Jay's eyes are on you the whole time.

There's a softness in his gaze, even amid the violence. A quiet love that seems to radiate from him as he smiles, the chaos of the night fading away for him.

There's just you, him, and the shared thrill of the hunt.

March 22, 4:00 AM

The two of you stand on the rooftop of an abandoned building, the city stretched out before you in ruins. Fires burn in the distance, their orange glow painting the night in an eerie light. Screams and gunshots echo faintly through the air, but up here, it almost feels quiet.

Jay's arms wrap around you from behind, pulling you against him as he rests his chin on your shoulder.

"When I first saw you, I thought you were the prettiest girl I'd ever seen," he says softly, his voice low in your ear.

You snort, your lips twitching into a faint smile. "I smelled like shit, Jay. I looked like skin and bones. Where's the 'pretty' in that?" you ask, a chuckle escaping you.

Jay presses his lips to your neck, his voice a murmur against your skin. "You were pretty then. You're pretty now. You've always been pretty."

"You should hate me," you whispered, your voice barely audible over the distant crackling of fires below. "For leaving. For running away."

Jay's grip tightened, his hands pulling you closer as his forehead pressed against the back of your head. "I could never hate you," he murmured. "Not when I know what you've been carrying."

You opened your mouth to argue, to push back

"I don't deserve you," you admitted, your voice cracking as the weight of the night caught up with you.

Jay let out a soft laugh, the sound warm and reassuring. "You don't get to decide that," he said, his tone teasing but full of affection. "That's my call, and I'm not going anywhere.

You tilt your head slightly, giving him more access, your breath hitching as he kisses the sensitive spot just below your ear. His lips linger, soft and warm, before his tongue flicks against your skin, sending a shiver down your spine.

A quiet moan escapes you as he nips at your neck, his teeth grazing your skin before he soothes the bite with a kiss. "Jay..."

His hands begin to roam, one sliding up to cup your breast, squeezing gently, while the other dips beneath your dress. His fingers brush over the fabric of your panties, teasing the sensitive bundle of nerves there.

"You're really doing this?" you sigh, half-laughing even as your body arches into his touch.  "In the middle of the purge?"

Jay chuckles softly, his lips still pressed against your neck. "We're standing on a rooftop, watching the world burn," he murmurs. "Seems like the perfect time to me."

His fingers move with more purpose now, slipping past the fabric of your panties and brushing against your wet folds. You gasp, your body trembling against him as he slides one finger inside you, curling it just enough to make you bite down on your lip.

"You know," Jay whispers, his voice low and rough as his free hand kneads your breast, rolling your nipple between his fingers. "I'm not normal either."

You barely manage to form a response, your mind clouded by the pleasure building inside you. "W-what do you mean?"

Jay bites gently at your neck again, his lips curling into a grin. "Watching you out there... gunning down those purgers... smearing blood all over that cute little dress..." He groans, his hips pressing into you so you can feel just how hard he is. 

"Fuck, it turns me on so much. You looked so beautiful. So fucking dangerous."

His confession sends a jolt of heat straight through you, and your legs almost buckle as he slides another finger inside you, his pace increasing. His other hand slips beneath the neckline of your dress, tugging it down just enough to expose your chest as he palms your bare skin.

"Jay..." you gasp, your head falling back against his shoulder as his fingers work you over, pushing deeper and curling just right.

"You're so perfect like this," he whispers, his voice breathy and filled with adoration as he watches your face twist with pleasure. 

"The way your body moves, the way you moan for me... I'll never get enough of you."

His thumb brushes over your clit, sending a shockwave of pleasure through you. You grip his arms, your nails digging into his skin as your body starts to shake.

"F-fuck, Jay," you cry out, your voice muffled as he kisses your temple.

"That's it, baby," he encourages. "Let go for me. Let me see you lose yourself."

You're barely holding on, your body trembling as he picks up the pace, his fingers sliding in and out of you relentlessly. 

The pressure inside you builds and builds until it snaps, a wave of heat and pleasure crashing over you as your orgasm takes hold.

You cry out, your hips bucking against his hand as you ride out the high, your walls clenching around his fingers. Jay doesn't stop, his movements gentle now as he works you through it, his lips pressing soft kisses to your neck and shoulder.

When the aftershocks finally subside, you collapse back against him, your chest rising and falling as you catch your breath. Jay wraps his arms around you tightly, holding you close as he presses a kiss to your temple.

"I love you," he whispers, his voice soft and sincere.  "Now, let me eat."

Before you can respond, he gently turns you, guiding your back to the cool metal railing. His hands are steady on your waist

"Park Jongseong!"

He crouched, his teeth hooking the edge of your panties and dragging them down, baring you inch by inch. The fabric pooled at your knees before his face dove between your thighs, his tongue parting you

He worked his way up to your clit, licking slow, teasing circles that made your knees threaten to buckle.

His grip tightened on your waist, firm hands pulling you closer, urging your hips to rock against his face.

Your right leg lifted, hooking over his shoulder for balance, your fingers threading into his hair to anchor yourself. You tugged, hard, grinding yourself against him. His groan reverberated through you, the vibrations sending shockwaves straight to your core.

"Jongseong!" you sobbed, your voice breaking as the intensity overwhelmed you. Your grip on his hair tightened, your body trembling.

Abruptly, he pulled away, leaving you breathless and desperate. 

Before you could protest, his hands were on your shoulders, pushing you down. You hit the rough ground with a muted thud, your palms scraping against the coarse surface.

You barely had time to process the sensation before his hands were on your hips, lifting you up.

"Need to be inside you, baby."

You heard him groan softly, the sound of him stroking himself before he pressed against your entrance.

The stretch as he slid inside you was slow, deliberate, every inch a sensation that left you gasping. You clenched around him instinctively, earning a hiss from him as he threw his head back, savoring the feeling.

"Faster," you whimpered, your voice trembling with need. Your hands scrambled to reach his, gripping the one on your waist.

"My baby wants more?" he laughed, a dark, almost mocking edge to his tone.

Before you could answer, he gathered your wrists in one hand, pulling them behind your back and holding them there. His pace quickened, his hips snapping against yours with bruising force.

You screamed, your voice raw, your body pliant in his grasp.

He didn't stop, didn't relent, even as your cries turned to desperate whines. You felt yourself teetering on the edge, your body trembling violently. But just as you were about to fall over, his movements faltered.

"No!" you cried out, shaking in his hold, trying to move, to chase the release that hovered just out of reach. His hand slid to the back of your neck, pressing you down firmly.

"Don't move," Jay ordered, his voice low and commanding. "I'm still enjoying the view."

You sobbed, your body trembling, your desperation mounting. "Please! I'll be good, I swear, please!"

He growled low in his throat, his hips slamming forward again, harder, rougher, making you cry out.

Gunshots echoed faintly in the background, but they felt distant, irrelevant. All that mattered was the man above you, his hands pinning you down, his movements relentless.

Your mouth fell open as you felt him twitch inside you, his pace faltering before he suddenly flipped you onto your back. Your legs went limp, draped over his shoulders as he sank into you again, his face hovering inches from yours.

Your focus locked on him, the way his brows knit together, the way his jaw clenched, the way his sweat-dampened hair clung to his forehead. He was beautiful in his rawness, primal and consuming.

"I wanna cum," you whimpered, your hand reaching for your clit, desperate for release, but he slapped it away with a sharp look.

"Hold it, love," he commanded, his breath ragged. He leaned down, his mouth latching onto your breast, his tongue swirling around your nipple before he bit down, hard.

You screamed, tears streaming down your face as your body writhed beneath him.

"Can't hold it anymore," you sobbed, shaking your head, your pleas growing more desperate.

"Just a little longer," he whispered, his voice a strained plea of his own. His thumb found your clit, pressing down in firm, maddening circles, even as his hips drove into you faster, harder.

The moment came like a tidal wave, crashing through you with a force that left you breathless, your body spasming around him.

"A-ah fuck!" you screamed, your voice breaking.

His rhythm faltered as you tightened around him, pulling him over the edge with you. He buried himself deep, his groan low and guttural as he came, filling you completely.

"Jay, can't!" you whimpered, your body oversensitive, trembling as he continued to move, chasing the last echoes of his high.

"Fuck, I love you," he muttered, his voice thick with exhaustion

Finally, he stilled, collapsing beside you. His arm looped around your waist, pulling you close.

"You're not falling asleep on me, are you?" he teased, his voice soft.

"Tired," you mumbled, pouting with your eyes half-closed.

"What happened to killing purgers all night?" he asked, his tone light, teasing.

You cracked one eye open to glare at him. "It's morning," you grumbled.

Jay chuckled, his fingers gently smoothing down your dress as best as he could. His eyes lingered on you, softening as you murmured sleepily against his ear.

"I wanna kill Ms. Wilson next year," you whispered, your voice faint.

His lips curved into a small, knowing smile. He kissed your forehead softly, his breath warm against your skin. "Anything for you, love."

You hummed in response, your body melting further into his hold. "I hate how the Purge is so right," you mumbled, your words fading into the quiet dawn. "It really did cleanse my soul."

March 22, 6:45 AM

The sun hung low on the horizon, casting a pale golden glow over the city. The streets were eerily still, a grim quiet settling over the aftermath of the Purge.

Jay carried you carefully to his car, his movements slow and deliberate as he set you down in the passenger seat. For a moment, he lingered, crouching beside you. His hand brushed a stray strand of hair from your cheek, his fingers ghosting over your peaceful expression.

You had found yourself, hadn’t you? Maybe not in the way most people would expect, but in a way that felt undeniably true to you.

Your eyelashes fluttered, your eyes opening just enough to glance at him groggily. "What time is it?"

"6:45," Jay replied softly, his voice low. "The Purge is almost over."

You nodded weakly, your head tilting back against the seat as your eyes drifted closed again. But before sleep could take you, they snapped open once more, and you turned your head to him.

"Why? What’s wrong?" Jay asked, his voice laced with gentle concern.

You smiled sweetly, your lips curving in a way that made his heart skip.

"Kiss me."

His lips twitched into a chuckle, but he leaned down without hesitation, pressing his lips to yours. 

"I love you," you whispered as your eyes closed again, this time surrendering completely to sleep.

"I love you too," Jay echoed, his voice just above a whisper. His hand lingered on your cheek for a moment longer before he straightened up, gripping the steering wheel as he started the car.

The streets stretched out before him, empty and silent now, save for the faint echoes of distant sirens. The Purge had ended.

Jay chuckled softly to himself, glancing over at your sleeping form in the passenger seat. You looked so peaceful now, your lips slightly parted, your head resting against the window. It was hard to believe that just hours ago, the two of you had been surrounded by blood.

"Next year, huh?" he murmured under his breath, a small, knowing smile tugging at the corner of his lips.

Jay definitely needed to watch his back next year.

But with you by his side, what could any purger do?

There was no telling what the two of you were capable of.

taglist: @fancypeacepersona, @tunafishyfishylike

[hencheri]

▸ 18+ mdni.

| pairing. jock!jeno x nerdy girl!reader

| warnings. noncon, unprotected sex, squirting, perv!jeno, reader wears glasses.

the cold breeze bites your skin, tears gracefully streaming down your face, reaching your neck and disappearing into the material of your polo shirt. your lashes are wet and stick together as you blink, quietly sniffling, jeno's low moans reaching your ears.

perched over the bleachers, the dents of the metal stairs imprinted on your stomach as your shirt has slightly ridden up, he rocks his hips against your ass, hard cock pulsing in you.

you just wanted to get your bag back as you forgot it earlier in the evening when you went to watch the baseball game with your friends. your university ended up winning, and in the midst of all the cheers and screams, you left without your belongings.

jeno is part of the university baseball's team, and when you came back to the field, he was still there.

you've always known he had an interest in you, but you never reciprocated. maybe you should have—just to avoid this.

your panties sitting on top of your sneakers prevent you from moving too much, giving jeno the liberty to handle you how he desires. his hands hold your hips in place, your skirt flipped up over your ass and his sweats pulled down just enough to free his cock.

"i’ve always wanted you, you know…" he pants loudly as your glasses fog up, being as out of breath as he is. "such a shame that you never let me have this pussy before," he groans, slightly frustrated.

jeno has been waiting for quite a long time now. he never pushed you or went too far, just some attempts here and there, but you always had a negative answer for him.

jaemin once said you were a prude dressed like a slut. a stuck-up; a girl too obsessed by her studies and her image to allow guys to fuck her.

but you weren't too difficult to convince tonight. a little whiny, but oh so docile.

his mouth agape, he fucks his engorged cock into your soppy pussy, his hairy pelvis meeting the curve of your ass each time he bottoms out, making the flesh bounce.

the night is harsh, cooler than usual, the tips of his fingers becoming cold as the time passes. it contrasts vastly with the high temperature of your body.

you slowly turn your head to look over your shoulder, eyes inching up jeno's body, glancing at his hips moving back and forth and then his bare face, illuminated by the bright street lamps all around the field.

he licks his lips before locking eyes with you, but eye-contact is soon broken when a thrust rougher than the others makes you jerk forward, the end of the bench under you digging into the bare skin of your thighs. you gasp, scrunching your eyes shut and involuntary clenching around his girth.

your glasses slip down a little, sweat accumulating where the frame of the glasses sit on your nose. when you open your eyes, you see a foggy silhouette of jeno, your hot breath meeting the cold air of the night creating mist in your lenses.

"fuck," he chokes out, "i knew you'd be tight, but that much..." he chuckles, telling you his unholy thoughts about you. "you have the perfect pussy, i swear. so warm, and fucking wet... god," jeno comments—something you've never thought someone would tell you, even someone as perverted as him.

more endless minutes pass, stopping himself when he feels his orgasm building up in his stomach, going again when the feeling has disappeared—basically edging himself as long as he can.

but eventually his pace gets faster and faster, almost knocking the breath out of your lungs. you cry and whimper under him, the coil at the pit of your stomach ripping, cumming messily around jeno, droplets of clear liquid flooding out of your cunt.

"oh, shit-" he curses, moaning in sync with you as he keeps pounding you.

soon after, weeks worth of jeno's cum spurt in you, filling you up till it drips out of your pussy.

he pulls out and the quivers of your pussy make more of his creamy cum fall, running along your inner thigh.

"so fucking pretty," he exhales, admiring the mess he made of you.

[landoughnut]

Made With Love

♡ masterlist - request

♡ pairing - max verstappen x fem!reader

♡ summary - while visiting your boyfriend working, why not bring a little surprise sign you made for him?

♡ warnings - blushy and in love max, drivers and fans teasing max, fluffffff

♡ w/c & a/n - 1.08k | IM BACK 🫶🏻 hehe sorry yall this isn't too great but I gotta get back into the groove so pls send in thoughts or requests bc my minds a blank canvas

Race weekends were always chaotic, but the energy in the paddock today was on another level. Fans packed the grandstands, waving flags, banners, and signs - some are more simple, some are memes of the drivers, yet they were all made with the same excitement for the race ahead.

And somewhere in that sea of people, standing right at the front, was you. Normally, you’d be in with Red Bull but you went over to the fans to join them for the time being. Some had given you bracelets and asked for pictures, which you happily agreed to. 

So here you stand, clutching a sign you had spent way too much time making the night before.

It wasn’t your fault, really. You had been up late, watching Max’s past races for “inspiration” (which was really just an excuse to admire him), when an idea popped into mind. With a few markers, a ridiculously pathetic and cheesy pun, glittery heart stickers, and maybe a questionable drawing of you two, you created what could only be described as likely the most embarrassing thing he would ever see before a race.

“DRIVE FAST BUT NOT TOO FAST, I HAVE PLANS FOR YOU LATER ;)”

You could already imagine his reaction - probably an exasperated sigh, followed by that little smirk he always gave you when he pretended to be unimpressed but was actually very much an attempted cover up of how he falls deeper in love with you. 

The drivers started their walk to the grid, and your raced just a little bit when you spotted him looking impossibly handsome. Max looked calm - focused, sharp, already in his zone - but you knew him well enough to see the tiny traces of nerves beneath the surface. 

As they passed by, you lifted the sign above your head and glanced at some of the fans around you who giggled when they read it.

It took him a second, but then he stopped.

He just… stood there, staring at the sign like he wasn’t sure whether to laugh or melt into the asphalt. His mouth was parting and closing again, unsure of how to react, but you just gave him your perfect smile and it made his heart flutter. His ears went pink first, then the blush crept up his neck, blooming across his cheeks.

“Oh, for f-” Max muttered under his breath, rubbing his temple, but the amused smile on his face betrayed him.

And that’s when the teasing began.

Lando cackled loud enough for the entire grid to hear. “Oh, this is GOLD!”

Before Max could escape, Lando slung an arm around his shoulder, grinning like he’d just won the championship. “So, what’re these ‘plans’ about, mate? Anything we should be worried about? Should we clear the podium early?”

“Do we need to tell Christian?” Charles chimed in, barely holding back his laughter. “You know, just in case he needs to schedule some extra… recovery time for you.”

A chorus of laughter followed. Max groaned, dragging a hand down his face, but the pink on his cheeks only deepened. “You’re all the worst,” he grumbles.

Meanwhile, the nearby fans had caught on fast.

“Oh my god, he’s BLUSHING,” one girl gasped, tugging her friend’s arm.

“He’s practically making heart eyes, how adorable,” another comments, phone already in hand and recording the scene.

Max, looking positively doomed, glanced at you - a mix of betrayal, affection, and desperate pleading. But you? You just continued to smile sweetly with a tilted head.

“You like it.”

“I hate it.”

“You’re literally blushing.”

“I’m warm.”

“Mhm,” you roll your eyes and chuckle.

The teasing didn’t stop as he pulled out his phone and snapped a quick picture of your masterpiece, grumbling something about “evidence to haunt me later.” But before he walked away, he pointed at you, eyes narrowed.

“You’re lucky I love you.”

Your heart did a little flip and you grinned. “Oh, I know.”

And just like that, he was gone, back into the pre-race frenzy - but not before stealing one last loving glance at you over his shoulder.

Later on, the celebration was loud and chaotic. Max had finished on the podium - not a win, but a damn good race - and when he finally found you in the paddock, you barely had time to react before he crashed into you, arms wrapping tight around your waist.

“Enjoy the show?” he asked, voice still breathless with adrenaline.

“Loved it. Thought you might’ve forgotten about my sign, though.”

“Oh, trust me,” he groaned, pulling back just enough to look at you. “Hard to forget when the im being tagged in posts of it nonstop.”

Your brows furrowed. “What do you mean?”

He sighed dramatically before pulling out his phone. Everywhere, Twitter, Instagram, TikTok, was flooded with clips from earlier.

Fan tweets scrolled across the screen:

“THE WAY HE STOPPEDDDD LOOK AT HIM. HE’S A GONER”

“If my future man doesn’t hold up a sign like this for me, I don’t want him”

“This man is so down baddd LOOK AT THE BLUSH”

“MAX VERSTAPPEN ‘I’M WARM’ CHALLENGE (IMPOSSIBLE)”

You bit your lip, trying (and failing) not to laugh. “I mean… they’re not wrong,” you poke his cheek.

Max groaned, pressing his forehead against yours. “You’re never making a sign again,” he says, although you both know he doesn’t mean it.

You wrapped your arms around his neck, swaying slightly. “Oh, baby, you know that’s a lie.”

Before he could argue, you kissed him, soft at first, teasing. But then he tilted his head, deepening it, fingers pressing into your waist like he didn’t care that people were watching.

Somewhere in the background, some group of fans started shouting.

“Oh my goshh, he’s in love!.”

“Life is so unfair! Where’s my Max?”

When you finally pulled away, breathless, he was grinning like a lovestruck idiot.

“You’re ridiculous,” he muttered, thumb brushing over your cheek.

“And you love it.”

His gaze flickered to your lips, then back to your eyes. “Yeah,” he whispered. “That I do.”

Later, when you made it back to his driver’s room, you caught him slipping the sign into his bag, folding it carefully like it was something worth keeping.

“… You’re keeping that?” you asked, amused.

He shot you a look. “Shut up.” You didn’t push it. But you did smile. He bites his lip, placing it into his pocket, knowing that no matter how many trophies he collects, this - you - might just be his favorite thing he’d ever won.

[11keu]

NEEDY | S.JY

SYNOPSIS. Waking up in the middle of night at the height of your fertility cycle leaves in you desperate need of some relief only your boyfriend can provide.

PAIRING. Sim Jaeyun x Fem! Reader

GENRE. Smut, fluff. Established relationship. Short, self-indulgent drabble. Soft and sleepy. Reader calls him ‘Jae’.

WORD COUNT. 1.3K

WARNING. Smut under cut, minors do not interact.

CONTENT. Profanity, almost no foreplay, unprotected sex (wrap it up), very lazy sex, the opposite of dialogue-heavy, nipple play, fingering, spitting / saliva, mutual masturbation.

How perfect he looked, knocked out and completely unaware of the animal in heat possessing you right now.

Your eyes raked over Jake’s peaceful features, taking in his messy hair and the way he would swallow, slightly lift his head and then drop it back down onto his pillow, before nuzzling the side of his face against it to get comfortable again. Not to mention, his bare torso and arms. You were practically drooling at the sight of his muscles tensing with every movement. He was so unbelievably sexy to you right now. It pissed you off that he could be sleeping right through your aching need, as clueless as could be.

You tossed and turned, trying to cool off both physically and emotionally. With your face buried in the pillow, you groaned softly in defeat.

Your eyes flickered back over Jake’s features, silently willing him to wake up. But you didn’t have time to wait on wishes to come true, so you shifted closer. His arm reached out for you, a foolproof tactic of yours. The hold he had on you was heavy, strong, as he pulled you flush against his chest — your head tucked under his chin, his fingers trailing half-assed lines up and down your back beneath your t-shirt.

A soft hum left your lips, and you hoped it was loud enough to at least stir him a little bit. His heavy eyelids lifted slightly, one eye squinted as he looked at the time on the digital clock across from him. It wasn’t even five in the morning.

‘What’s up?’ He sleepily mumbled, yawning before he could even finish the two-word sentence.

You frowned at the feel of him yawning above you, feeling slightly guilty for waking him. You created some space between the two of you, his hand sliding from your back to your thigh, gripping the flesh to keep you there. As you locked eyes with him, you took in his offended expression.

‘Go back to sleep, Jae,’ you murmured.

‘You’re up, I’m up,’ he protested, eyes falling closed again. ‘C’mere.’

He tugged fruitlessly at your thigh, pouting as you didn’t shift. With every ounce of strength he had in his sleepy state, he pulled you flush against him and hooked your leg over his hip. The soft gasp that left your lips was all the proof he needed. He smiled against your neck, pressing one soft kiss to the skin.

‘Just can’t get enough of me, can you?’ He teased, drawing his head back.

‘You’re such a dick,’ you retorted.

His hand slid up your thigh and over your ass, fingers pressing against your dampened panties. He groaned, eyes closing once more as he applied pressure to your clothed clit. You sighed, content to just let him rub you to an orgasm, and then pass out and get a good night of sleep for once.

But no. You knew Jake got hard at just the thought of you being wet, so it was no surprise when you felt his growing bulge press firmly against your front.

You slid up on top of him, finding his lips in a kiss. His hands were under your t-shirt, rubbing softly at your waist. Your hands cupped his face, holding him to you as you kissed. Kisses that were half soft and sleepy, half firm and needy. The kind of kiss that made you think; god, this it. I could die right here, right now. You hummed and sighed against his lips, one hand moving to gently rub at his scalp.

Jake’s hand slid between your thighs, pulling your soaked panties aside to slide two fingers between your folds. Warm and slick, as always. He hummed in approval, lifting you slightly to pull down his pyjama pants. The stereotypical ‘dad style’ pants you begged on your knees for him to start wearing.

How you even kept your hands to yourself at all after he agreed was an achievement in itself.

He jerked his cock for a second, getting fully hard before he tapped it against your entrance. You sat on it, rubbing your slick folds from the base to the tip a couple of times. He groaned into your mouth, hips just barely jerking up into the feeling.

You lifted your hips, giving him the space to press his tip to your entrance. He gently pushed into you, letting you slide the rest of the way. The kiss broke with the sated sighs that left each of your lips.

Falling flush against his bare chest, you considered just sitting there. But your boyfriend wasn’t a fan of cock-warming, and neither were you when sex with him felt that good. After a moment, you began to gently roll your hips. Struggling with the angle, you sat back. Jake watched you with hungry eyes, bottom lip pulled in between his teeth as you rocked against him. His hands moving to your hips helped you bounce slightly.

Knowing you’d get nowhere with the lazy pace you’d set, he began to fuck up into you. The bed rocked, soft sighs and moans falling from your lips that dissipated into the surrounding darkness.

A soft yelp fell from your lips as he hit your cervix, his apology almost as soft as your sound. But the way it made you clench around him, sucking him in, made him want to do it again. He tightly gripped your hips, holding you still as he continued to piston in and out of you. He was moaning breathlessly beneath you, a sinful image you were going to take back to sleep with you. Your moans turned into little whimpers as he fucked up into you hard and fast.

When he grew tired, he slumped back against the bed. You went back to rolling your hips and bouncing slightly, his hands roaming your body making your skin feel even hotter. He cupped your tits, massaging and groping. His thumbs flicked over your nipples, making you gasp and your movements jerk. You tightened around him, knees digging into his sides as you struggled to keep moving.

‘Fuck,’ he groaned, lifting you off him.

He replaced his cock with two of his fingers as you sat back on his thighs, letting you fuck yourself on them as he thrusted them in and out of you. After you spat on your own fingers, you rubbed at your clit with desperation. Jake began to jerk himself off messily, using his non-dominant hand for the sake of fingering you properly. Your eyes were fixed on his fist, the way he gripped himself tightly and twisted his wrist with every drag of his hand.

With the way you were clamping down on his fingers, Jake knew you were close. He picked up the pace of both his fingers and his hand, struggling to get you both off at the same time. You came with a gasp, dropping your head back in ecstasy.

Jake let out a whiny moan, cumming all over his fingers and his stomach. His fingers were stilled inside of you, but you were still rocking softly against them, riding out your orgasm. Your head dropped forward to see the end of his orgasm, watching the last few spurts of cum coat his fingers. Your twisted mind wanted to lick them clean, but you decided against it as you pulled out a few tissues from the box atop his bedside table.

You helped him clean up, the soiled tissues being tossed across the bedroom floor. You slid off of him and immediately knocked out, mumbling a half-assed confession of love.

Published by 11keu on Tumblr, 28th January 2025.

NOTE. i wrote this in an hour.. i’m down bad it’s 2 am

[queenie-ofthe-void]

Steve’s been running a hand through his hair, pacing back and forth in front of the stove for almost ten minutes. She’s told him over and over to be confident, that he’s got nothing to lose and everything to gain. But he’s still nervous. And to be fair, she can’t hold it against him. It took her ages to ask Nancy out.

“I don’t know, Robs,” Steve sighs, “are you absolutely sure?”

“Yes, Dingus, he likes you. Eddie never pulls the tips of my hair or holds my hand or leans on my shoulder. Because people only do that if they’re interested in someone. Right?” Her cheeks twitch under the strain of her reassuring smile.

“Yeah…?” He shines with guarded hope.

Robin can’t help but ask, for what has to be the millionth time, “have you at least told him you’re bisexual?”

Steve’s eyes dim again and it’s all the answer she needs. Honestly, he’s doing a hell of a lot better than she expected. He’s told a few people so far– as practice, Rob, with the easy people– including her and Nancy, Dustin, Max and Lucas. It might have been practice to start, but now he’s just stalling the inevitable. And they both know it.

“Let’s go back out there,” Robin encourages. She throws her arm over his broad shoulders, highlighted by the plain indigo t-shirt that’s on the right side of too small. They’d picked it out together: something dark and tight for Eddie, yet something still classically Steve. 

He nods as she hauls him back towards the living room, two cold six packs in their hands. The group’s Saturday movie night tradition at Steve’s had been going well so far. After a few joints, Argyle suggested a drinking game, hence the beers. Eddie, Steve, and Robin were quick to jump on the bandwagon, leaving Nancy and Jonathan as sober cabs for Robin and Argyle, who’d just rented a new apartment in town.

Eddie, very pointedly, hadn’t committed to how his night would end. Robin snorted when his eyes darted to Steve to gauge his reaction as they coordinated cars, even though her poor best friend was completely oblivious to Eddie’s blush.

Steve’d been in the middle of ordering pizza when he’d overheard their planning and almost dropped the phone, bulldozing their conversation to shout, “Teddy, why don’t you just spend the night, since your van is back at your– oh, hi yeah can we get one large–” and Eddie sagged in relief. 

Robin loves them, but my god are they actual idiots. Even Nancy couldn’t help but giggle at their antics, Eddie smacking her lightly on the arm in protest of her teasing. The two have become increasingly close since Eddie’s two month stint in the hospital recovering from demon bat rabies. Not rabies, Robin! Just a normal infection.

It was a shock at first, to find Eddie and Nancy spending time together away from everyone else. They just didn’t seem to fit together, from the outside looking in. But much like Steve and Robin, all you had to do was look past the surface.

Which means if Robin can successfully set up Steve and Eddie, they’ll create the perfect little quad. Sometimes she gets caught up imagining their double dates, if onlookers would be surprised to find Robin on Steve’s arm and Nancy on Eddie’s, and not the other way around.

They’d be able to go on actual dates in public. She could hold Nancy’s hand under the table and lean her head on Steve’s shoulder. He’d give her a light kiss on the forehead while playing footsie with Eddie. Then Robin would go home with Nancy and fall asleep wrapped up in each other like a dream.

It’s the perfect plan. Or at least, it would be if the boys could just take their heads out of their asses. 

So as the six of them lazed around all day, Robin and Nancy made sure Steve and Eddie were always next to each other; although, they really didn’t have to try that hard. The boys reflexively sought each other out, eyes catching from across the room, or shoulders brushing sitting side by side. 

They were the only two who shared a joint, even though Argyle had plenty to pass around. Steve whined about his low tolerance, how he didn’t need a full one, only for Eddie to fall over himself– literally, with how fast he turned to face him, almost smacking Steve in the head– to offer his own to share.

So when they walk back into the room and something feels just slightly off, Robin briefly wonders if her own smoke was stronger than normal, even though she’d only felt a slight buzz. That maybe, hopefully, this is some awful hallucination and the joints were laced with acid.

Argyle’s sitting on the sofa next to Jonathan right where they’d left him, now lazed over the arm and lightly snoring with his feet curled up underneath him like a giant cat. Eddie’s still sitting on the floor next to Jon’s legs, an open space to his right where Steve had been sitting only minutes ago. Except there’s something different with Nancy. 

Nancy had been sitting in the chair across from Argyle earlier, complaining about Robin’s bony ass digging into her leg but refusing to let her up. Now she’s standing by the opening of the hallway, almost like she was waiting for them to come back. She's biting her lip, eyes wide, ringing her hands in front of her like she doesn’t know what to do with them.

Robin moves towards her, anxious to know what’s got her so upset. She notices Nancy’s eyes flitting between Steve and the boys, so Robin follows her gaze.

Jon’s bent forward, leaning down over Eddie like they're sharing a secret. His hand cradles Eddie’s cheek, and Robin can see the moment Eddie fits himself between Jon’s legs. Eddie cranes his neck as he turns to face him. It’s uncoordinated roaming hands and sloppy lips, too much tongue– and the sounds. Wet, slurping and sucking she’ll never be able to unhear, obnoxiously loud and seared into her brain.

They're kissing.

Robin’s going to throw up. She’s died, this must be hell. No wonder why Nance looks so freaked out. None of them knew about Jonathan. Sure, they all wondered if he and Argyle had something going on, but no one pried, and the two had never said anything. Objectively, Robin knows this wouldn’t bother Nancy. She and Jonathan dated almost three years ago, they’ve both moved on and are good friends at this point. So why would she–

Jonathan opens his eyes to find them watching. They crinkle around a smile as he looks behind her and tugs on Eddie’s curls. Without breaking eye contact, he shoves his tongue deep into Eddie’s mouth, who then moans in response. Robin’s not sure if Eddie knows they’re in the room, but Jonathan sure as hell does. 

It takes her too long to put it together, to realize Jonathan’s not looking at her or Nancy. There’s a small whimper behind her where his gaze is locked and he smiles again, triumphant.

Robin rounds on Steve, who’s frozen to the spot. All the blood’s drained from his face, leaving him pale and sickly looking like he could pass out any second. He isn’t blinking. He’s staring and staring and staring, completely enraptured by the scene unfolding before them. 

She bodily moves herself in front of him, thankful more than she’s ever been that he’s a little short for a boy and she’s a little tall for a girl. He won’t look at her, he can’t see her standing right in front of him, his eyes a million miles away. She grabs both of his hands and digs her nails into the meat of his palms.

His eyes finally snap to hers, and she almost wishes they hadn’t. Steve’s hands practically vibrate within her own, matching the wobbling of his lip and the shimmering on his lash line. 

“Robs,” Steve croaks, the rest of his thought lodged in his throat.

There’s nothing she can do as she watches Steve’s heart shatter in real time, cracked down the center like it was struck with a bolt of lightning. 

“Steve,” Eddie calls out in concern, “are you okay? What’s wrong?”

Robin turns around to face him, keeping her place in front of Steve like a shield. She catches the downcast of Jonathan’s eyes as his hand threads through the ends of Eddie’s hair, lips still loose and open waiting for the next kiss. But now Eddie’s pushing himself up from the floor, brows drawn tight together, fixated on Steve like he’s the only boy in the room.

Except she’s seen him look at Steve that way a thousand times in the months since they barely survived hell together. Eddie looked at Steve with stars in his eyes, like he was the man of his dreams. How he would grow wider and taller and louder if Steve kept laughing until he’d snort. A sound Eddie fucking loved. She’d watch Eddie take care of Steve during migraines, scrape his fingernails down his scalp until Steve fell asleep, head cradled in Eddie’s lap.

Robin loved watching Eddie watch Steve because, for the first time, it felt like someone finally saw in him what she’s always seen. She’s wanted nothing more for Steve than to have someone in his life who loves and takes care of him as much as she does. And Robin was so, so fucking sure that that person was Eddie Munson.

How things have gone horribly wrong.

Steve catches Eddie’s movement and bolts back toward the kitchen, faster than she’s ever seen him move on the court. Nancy moves to follow him but Robin slips her hand into hers. Beautiful, sweet, smart, wonderful Nancy Wheeler understands Robin quick as a flash, shoring up next to her to help block the hallway. 

Eddie stands on tiptoes in front of them, stretching his neck to catch a glimpse of what Robin hopes is a closed door.

“What happened?” Eddie’s genuinely concerned, and Robin has to shove down the warm, fuzzy feeling she normally gets when Eddie asks about Steve in favor of the overwhelming urge to murder everyone in this room. Except for Nancy, and maybe Argyle, who’s started slowly waking up from the commotion.

Robin obnoxiously shifts to the side to block Eddie’s path. “Don’t worry about it, Munson. He’s fine, just a little sick from the shitty weed.” The weed isn’t shitty– it’s Argyle’s. It’s the first excuse her brain concocted. But it doesn’t really matter. 

Her tone is barbed, meant to dig the hurt in deep and hook it inside his skin. She’s never considered herself a mean person. Apparently all someone has to do is hurt her best friend. Eddie flinches away, nose flared and eyes crinkled, ready to argue back until Nancy interrupts them both. 

“If Steve isn’t feeling well,” her voice chimes with a practiced false sincerity, “maybe we should all head home and let him rest.” God Robin fucking loves this woman. Always quick on her feet, fast on the uptake.

Robin’s gaze is unyielding in the face of an angry Eddie Munson. They both know, under normal circumstances, Robin would back down by now. Every second he’s forced to soak in her wrath, she catches him shrinking further in on himself. There’s uncertainty growing in the uptick of his brows, the crease of his forehead. He’s tugging at the hem of his sleeveless Queen t-shirt.

Her lip pulls up into a fierce scowl in recognition. Robin tugs at the front of the shirt hard enough to stretch it out. She’s not too worried about ruining it anymore than it already is. There’s white paint stains on the shoulders from when Steve begged her to help give his bedroom walls a base coat. Little holes dotted along the hemline from Steve’s poorly-ashed joint a few months ago.

The shirt is old, faded, well-loved, and Steve’s. It’s all the reasons why Eddie asked to keep it, and why Steve didn’t hesitate to give it up, wanting Eddie to always have a little piece of him.

Robin’s white-knuckled grip stretches the shirt enough that the sound of ripping causes Eddie to try and escape. When she lets go, a few of the holes in the hemline have torn together. He stumbles backwards, smoothing out the new stretch marks on what’s left of the printed lettering.

Robin revels in the moment he truly recognizes what he's wearing. His face now completely devoid of the Freak’s bravado and misplaced anger. What’s left is a montage of emotions like confusion, frustration, and panic, running him over like a bulldozer and Robin gets to watch each hit smash him deeper into the dirt.

“Yeah, Nancy might be right,” Jonathan sighs, sounding faux-tired and yet all too pleased to call it early. He slaps his knees as he stands and gives Argyle’s shoulder enough of a shake to get the guy up and moving.

They gather their things, Nancy wandering over to help push them along, while Eddie and Robin stand as stone pillars facing each other. She’d plant herself here the rest of her life if it meant keeping her soulmate safe.

“Robin,” Eddie practically whimpers, “please–”

“Hey, uh, Teddy?” Jonathan chirps up happily from across the room. Eddie’s eyes slip closed in pain when Robin mockingly mouths the nickname back at him– one she thought was special, just for Steve. “I’ve still got a few more pre-rolls, want to head back to my place?”

Eddie’s eyes fly open. A sardonic smile splits her face as he chokes on his own spit in response. “Guess this means you won’t be staying. Right, Teddy?”

Eddie flinches when Jon slings a heavy arm over his shoulders, which morphs into a possessive claim when he drops his arm to wrap around Eddie’s waist, going so far as to slip the tip of his finger into the top of Eddie’s skin-tight jeans.

Robin notices Argyle’s hair dip forward to hide his face. It’s only now she realizes he’s missed everything that’s happened. Sure enough, she barely catches the shock in his eyes before he turns away.

This is such a fucking nightmare. If she breaks Jonathan’s head open with the nail bat upstairs, she wonders if she’ll be able to see the part of his brain that’ll tell her what the hell he was thinking when he decided to kiss Eddie.

Moving to extricate himself from Jonathan’s hold, Eddie awkwardly chuckles. “Actually, Johnny-boy, I think I might just head home instead.”

“Oh,” Jonathan frowns, in a way that Robin absolutely hates. “How are you going to get home? Didn’t Steve pick you up earlier?”

Eddie– eyes still locked on Robin– very obviously flounders for an excuse and Robin’s enjoying watching him grasp at straws. “I’ll just walk home. Little bit of fresh air never killed anyone, right?”

“No, dude,” Jonathan croons, “I can give you a ride. I’m more than happy to go a little out of my way if it’s for you. Maybe we can smoke at your place instead?”

Jonathan’s free hand reaches up towards Eddie’s hair again, like a little boy pulling his crushes pigtails for attention. But Eddie practically throws himself at the opposite wall, putting as much space between them as he can without actually running down the front door.

“I’m dropping off Argyle, anyway,” Nancy jumps in to save the day, her hand gently patting Argyle’s shoulder, “and you two live the same direction. So why don’t I drive Eddie home instead?”

“Please,” Eddie begs, staring at Robin as he melts with relief into the wall. “That’s great, yes. Thanks Nance.”

Jonathan seems to have shrugged off the entire exchange as he moves towards the door to slip his shoes on. Nancy and Argyle are already ready to go, waiting on Eddie, who’s slowly backing his way toward them and still looking at her. This might be the first staring contest Robin’s ever won in her whole life. 

Once he’s finally got his shit together, Eddie looks her up and down, confusion scrunched between his eyes. “Aren’t you coming with? You said you and Nancy were–”

“I think I’ll be staying here, thanks,” Robin states flatly. 

Eddie chews on his lip, but nods and heads out the door, Jonathan still hot on his heels. Her and Nancy exchange a quick I love you, good luck, keep me updated goodbye before she shuts the door behind her.

Every fantasy Robin imagined about a future filled with her favorite people fell apart in the span of five minutes. She can’t help but wonder if they had just gone back to the party sooner. If Steve had confessed to Eddie yesterday. If Eddie hadn’t gotten so high or maybe even if Jonathan had an ounce of common sense, this could’ve been avoided. 

Robin could be lying in bed with Nancy tonight, wrapped around each other, comfortable and warm. She could fall asleep proud that Steve had finally worked up the courage to confess how he felt. She could’ve woken up tomorrow imagining her two favorite dinguses were in a similar tangled mess of limbs, and she could smile knowing they finally found each other.

But now, silence presses against the walls of this empty house, pushing at the ceiling and cracking the foundation. It sits heavy on her chest. Her head’s filled with static and she thinks she finally understands the juxtaposition of a loud silence. But a weak sob cuts the air like a jagged shard of glass. Turning towards the kitchen, she shores up everything she has left in her to help her soulmate pick up the shattered pieces of his broken heart.

Part 2

Ao3

[minkieater]

yknow what ,,, who in atz makes love vs fucks ,, i am tinking abt it

FUCK THIS IS HARD. controversial take on atz tbh i cant believe mingi is where he is i want him to be a freak so bad but i must separate mental mingi and real mingi

FUCKS: freak bitches

1. hongjoong

hj is a possessive demon freak you can see it in his eyes fr. there isn’t a day that will pass without you getting split in two, he’s not just a freak but he has stamina and he’d rather do literally anything else but sleep, so what better way to pass the time when his brain is fried from making music than to fuck your brains out???? you love his libido and his ability to never turn it off, i don’t think his dick ever softens tbh not really. especially not when you’re talking to another man, that possessiveness really comes into play, it doesn’t matter who it is from your coworker to your friend he’s taking you to the next secluded spot and reminding you who the fuck you belong to. maybe toxic, but that’s hj, and when he’s done blowing your back out you’re reminded every single time that you don’t need anyone else but him (and you like it that way) (he’s my soulmate in the astral realm btw)

2. jongho

he’s a dominant freak and its so fucking sexy. his dominance slips into every aspect of your life, what you wear, what you do, who you talk to, what you eat, never in a toxic way, but in a way that he’s taking care of you, looking out for you, keeping you safe. he loves a good game of cat and mouse, loves when there’s a lil brattiness he has to tame, to assert his dominance all over again— there’s been several nights where you haven’t finished once because you disobeyed him, tears streaming down your cheeks with your legs shaking because you were so fucking close and he ripped it away last second, he knows every inch of your body like the back of his hand, he knows what you’re thinking half the time just by the look on your face. he’s got boxes of toys set aside, ropes and handcuffs and spreader bars, either for torture or your pleasure depends on your behavior (jongho ill be so good for you pls) and he is NOT afraid to use em. god hes so in tune with you and your body and his OWN his control is so fucking crazy i think i could keep going and actually talk about this for hours

3. wooyoung

he’s a fun freak!!!! giggly and experimental he wants you in every position he can think up, he’s creating his OWN positions when he runs out of ideas. he’s fucking you in public, in a dressing room, fingers slipping inside you under the table, a cocky little smirk on his face when you accidentally let a moan slip UGH he’s the type to not be weirded out by anything like if you find some weird shit on the internet and wanna try it out he’s 100% down. he’ll try anything once. you want to tap into omegaverse shit??? he’s barking for you and still fucking into you like its the first time. you wanna get into pee??? cum eating??? bondage??? cuckolding?? it literally doesn’t matter. he’s down and he’s researching and he’s educating YOU. he needs an experimental partner too tho cus his ideas are just as fucking crazy and he is NOT shy about sharing them with you. sex is fun with him, never boring, never stale, he keeps you on your toes just as much as you keep him on his, you’ve spent legit weekends in the bedroom because you tried something new and neither of you can get enough. toys, vibrators, dildos, butt plugs, cockrings, Strap Ons, you have them all, wooyoung is a yes man and no one can tell me differently. with a shrug and a smile on his face EVERY TIME he’s like yeah sure why not Omg and if there’s something that doesn’t work he’s like ok whatever and then just goes back to normal. sex is so chill and so fun and so experimental and there’s never any pressure FUCK wooyoung i fucking love you i got carried away

MAKES LOVE: sweet angels

1. yeosang

guys im sorry he’s here. i do think yeosang is versatile but not often enough to classify him in the middle, if you catch him on a day where is patience is thin he might be using his biceps to cut off your air flow while he’s fucking into you from behind, but on the day to day, he’s kissing every inch of your body, hands in your hair, petting your skin, cupping your cheeks, whispering sweet words, praises, everything is so fucking sweet it usually ends up with you in tears from the emotion passing back and forth between you. yeosang takes care of you in every way, there’s never a time where you finish unsatisfied, he makes sure of it. if you aren’t whining with tears streaming down your cheeks he isn’t done yet, he has stamina and he could fuck you for hours, even besides fucking he’s eating it for hours if thats the vibe. yeosang i want you so fucking bad

2. mingi

man :/

he’s a whiner. he’s sloppy and messy and so fucking virgin even after you’ve been fucking for years, every time is like the first time with mingi. while his hands grow more confident and his body has more stamina, he’s still fucking into you like it’s new, eyes screwed shut and staggered breaths leaving his chest because it’s inconceivable that you feel so fucking good— that’s something he’ll never get used to i fear, how you wrap around him so perfectly, how you’re so warm and wet it’s fucking war to not bust in you within three strokes. he doesn’t tho, he has pretty good control, up until you’re the one whining with tears slipping down your cheeks and he’s losing his fucking shit. elbows pressed into the mattress beside your head, tongue slipping into your mouth with no real rhythm, his cock rutting into you while barely pulling out, he’s addicted to your warmth, the feeling of being inside, the closeness, and god when he fills you up it just spurs him on farther. he’s not stopping until there’s three loads inside you with barely any reprieve between sessions, he’s spilling into you and fucking himself through the overstimulating, crying and whining and praising you because he loves you. im so fuckinf insane im an animal i fucking love this man i would die for him

3. san

this one should not be a surprise tbh san is a caregiver, the way he fucks is spiritual, its all consuming, its heavy and emotional and passionate and everything. you guys probably aren’t into anything hella freaky, farthest is probably a quickie in a dressing room every now and then, but most of the time he’s taking his time with you, stripping you of each scrap of fabric on your body with dainty hands and warm kisses, licking up your skin as if it was candy, telling you how you taste. he’s fucking into you with skilled precision, the movements of a man who’s taken the time to learn every inch of you, what makes you feel good. he’s big into breeding and he’s filling you up every time he def has a vasectomy. would never want u on any birth control because god forbid u change something about yourself for him!!! i feel like san is mad traditional in every way his fav position is probably missionary so he could see your face while he fucks you, holding your hands, kissing your lips that had long gone unresponsive against his own.

SOMEWHERE IN THE MIDDLE: both ways

1. yunho

hahahahahahahahahahahahahha this fucking freak bitch you know exactly what im gonna say. similar to jongho in the sense that he’s controlling many aspects of your life just because he can, he thinks its hot, and so do you. if you disobey him/make him feel disrespected he’s fucking you into next week, and he’s cruel about it, he’s not letting you cum, he’s holding your hands behind your back with one of his own just so you can’t touch him. he’s degrading you, vile words flying off his lips that make you clench tighter around him, he’s pinching your nipples until you’re crying. yunho dom agenda is so real. but he’s not like that all the time, you have your nights where you’re lost in kisses and sweet words and slow strokes, he fucks three loads into you because he wants to get you pregnant, would probably start trying to make you a mother a year into your relationship. if even that long tbh. yunho is mad versatile and he checks off every single box jeong yunho can i please have your phone number

2. seonghwa

😛 I WANT HIM SO BAD this freak bitch i still think he loves voyeurism and cuckolding and shares u. that blurb lives within me. i also think he is mad freaky like wooyoung, nothing puts him off, everything is hot and he wants to explore your sex life as much as he can, if something doesn’t work he’s like whatever we just wont do it again. prolly an ass eater on the regular. super flexible too he’s probably fucking into you from crazy angles like you’re both pretzels LMFAO fuck hes so hot i think seonghwa can do anything at any time. he’s another that loves to fuck you slow, but in a torturous way, like only fucking you with the tip until youre a crying mess begging for more. he definitely gets off on your whines, laughing in your face above you, but when he finally gives you what you want it’s shattering you. deep, heavy strokes, each one has his pelvis hitting yours, all while he’s kissing you sweetly and telling you how good you are for him. seonghwa freakbitch truther!

[bernardsbendystraws]

𝒐𝒃𝒔𝒆𝒔𝒔𝒊𝒗𝒆 .ᐟ 𝒄𝒉𝒓𝒊𝒔

⚠︎  mdni, smut, somnophiia, consensual sex, and more…

⤷ Get to reading, sluts. No copying. Ask if you’d like to use this as ‘inspiration.’ Fuck off and fuck me, lets get horny!!! Not proofread.

[ A/N : Apparently it's a trend to write un-consensual somnophilia right now. Here's an example of consensual. Please put warning on your stuff. Consent is sexy!! Just because you're dating someone doesn't mean they get automatic consent. ]

matt’s favorite toy, Rose

©bernardsbendystraws

It was one of the first times you had seen Chris so nervous—so hesitant. The lingering question that had been haunting him more and more each day had started to consume him. He would consistently wake up, biting desperately on his lip, imaging the way your warm pussy would clamp around his dick as he slowly woke you up.

“Chris, what is it?” The question had made him nervously play with your hair as he held you on his lap. Words so close to spilling, but the confession of his desire was being held back by fear. He didn’t want to make you uncomfortable. He didn’t want to scare you.

What if you said yes but in the morning you didn’t want to?

Anxiety and doubt were soon silenced. The question spilled from his lips as he nervously looked down at your shoulder, his finger tracing over your collarbone. “I…I just…wanna wake you up…with, um….I…..”

The smile on your face that grows makes him a little more nervous. “You wanna wake me up by touching me?” you ask.

Chris swallows thickly. Nodding his head, his fingers twirl the ends of your hair in loops. You can feel him adjust himself from underneath you. He’s already hard just from the thought. And you…you can’t wait to show him just how much you trust him—how much you love the clingy obsession he has for you.

____________________

Morning light peeps through the blinds. Chris is already letting out rough breaths just from the thought of your pussy wrapped around his cock and sleepy moans slipping through your lips as he thrusts himself deep into you.

You’re still asleep. The soft, even breaths leaving your lips is breathtaking to him. You look so peaceful—so content.

Chris trails wet, sloppy kisses over the side of your neck as he spoons you from behind. A grin pulls at his lips as you let out a hazy whine, grinding your hips onto him mindlessly. “Mmmmm, baby….so pretty—so fuckin’ pretty,” he husks to himself.

Your nude bodies underneath the sheets create an intoxicating warmth. Soft skin being caressed from his hands starts to tingle. Chris trails the hand wrapped around your waist down. Passing your belly button, he starts to slowly circle your clit. A sleepy whine escaping your mouth makes his dick twitch. He needs to be inside of you. There’s nothing he wants more than to hear you cry out as he slowly fills you to the brim with his cock.

“—so warm, fuck,” he purrs.

Guiding his cock along your slippery folds, he lines himself up with your entrance. Hissing through his teeth, Chris wraps his arm back around your front. Using the angle, he pulls you against him, his cock digging deep inside of you with a slow and steady motion.

“Oh god,” he breathes.

Your body moves slightly. The intrusion feeling heavenly, but making your mind start to rummage to reality more.

Rocking his hips with a sluggish, lazy pace, Chris lets him groan right against your neck. The euphoria of pleasure is wavering your sleep. You don’t feel quite awake. It all feels so good—too good.

A muffled whimper vibrates through your lips as he plunges himself into your pussy again—taking his time to grind himself into you. “Oh—Chris,” you moan out.

Your hand clutches onto his forearm that pulls you impossibly closer against him, your back arching as his cock prods against just the right spot—the spot that makes Chris let out a dry laugh, rocking his hips a little faster. “Yeah? This okay? You—fuck, love my girls pussy. I…shit,” he seethes.

The quick nod of your head only encourages him. His arm around your waist pulls you even closer, making you take all of him to the hilt.

“—‘s deep, isn’t it? Yeah…you can take it, fuck—“ His hips rock with more urgency. The hand on your lower stomach glides downwards, his finger slipping through your folds before toying with your clit in small, tight circles.

The way your body squirms tells him you’re close. “Yeah? You’re awake now, hm?” he taunts.

Nodding your head furiously, you let out a strangled moan of his name as the pressure in your gut knots into a blissful, overwhelming wave of pleasure. “Fuckkkkkk, that’s it,” he praises.

"You---you feel s'good, I...fuck, keep suckin' in my dick. I----mhm, just like that," he soothes, kissing sloppily in the crook of your neck.

“My sleepy girl.” 

[dollfacefantasy]

Room for One More

pairing: leon kennedy x fem!reader x chris redfield

summary: months ago, chris let his apprentice slip through his fingers when she transferred to the d.s.o. to work with leon kennedy. now the three of them have been sent on a mission together and are forced to share a hotel room.

cw: nsfw (18+), smut, threesome, p in v, oral sex (f and m recieving), face-sitting, exhibitionism, age gap (early 20s, late 30s), jealousy, light angst

word count: 9.2k

a/n: had this in my drafts since february let's go. hope you guys like it <3

You and Leon were so fucking annoying.

Irritating, aggravating, infuriating pains in his ass. That’s all Chris could think while speeding down the road, his knuckles white from their tight grip on the steering wheel. The three of you were all supposed to be professionals for god’s sake. He shouldn’t have to deal with the two of you acting no better than a couple of horny teenagers during a fucking mission.

It was constant. The giggling and gasping, soft whines of “Leon stoppppp.” And he could hear Leon’s stupid fucking smirk when he chuckled and kept doing whatever was causing you to squirm around with him in the back seat. If he had to sit through much more of this, he was pretty sure he’d end up plowing the car into a nearby tree and putting himself out of his misery.

Chris glanced in the rearview mirror. Darkness engulfed the car right now, making it hard to clearly see what his ‘partners’ were up to. All he could really make out was that Leon’s head had been in the crook of your neck but was now tilted upwards to capture you in a kiss. The only thing keeping him sane was the miniscule light in the distance. The small reminder that he wouldn’t be stuck in the car with the sounds of saliva swapping forever. He lets out a deep sigh and shakes his head, trying to will himself to just tune the aggravation out. But as the minutes pass by, each wet smack of lips grates on his nerves more and more.

“Can you two cut it out back there? I’m trying to focus,” he says. His harsh stare remains on the road ahead.

He hears your bodies briefly untangling as his words pierce the bubble you had created for yourselves. Leon is the first to respond.

“Our mistake, Redfield. Didn’t know it was such a challenge to go twenty-five miles an hour on an empty road,” he remarks. Again, Chris’s blood boils as he senses that self-satisfied expression taking over the other man’s features.

Your light slap to Leon’s bicep sounds through the car’s interior. “Sorry, Chris. We’ll keep it down,” you apologize.

In contrast to your boyfriend, your tone rings genuine. You sounded almost a little embarrassed by Chris calling out your antics. Your soft voice drifting to his ears actually softens him a tad. He knew the expression you wore now too. How your eyes were fixed on the DSO agent, giving him the glare you used when you wanted to seem firm. In reality, it came off as cute, like an angry kitten. And now Leon got to be the one to grin at you and shake his head, amused by your sweet face. He got to be in the position Chris let slip through his fingers months ago.

***

You’d been his first. Started out at the BSAA as his rookie. Your first day you’d been so bright-eyed, hopeful and ready to start out your career and face the world. He’d been reluctant to take on a trainee at first. It’s a lot of work with a 50/50 shot at reward, but the second he laid eyes on you, he knew the luck of the draw had worked in his favor.

You were the ideal apprentice. A great listener, eager to learn everything you could, and accepting of commands. Every day with you was a breeze. And besides the parts of you suited for your job, you were just generally pleasant to be around. He could joke with you, talk to you about damn near any subject. You were a great partner in the field too. At first, he’d been worried. A cute little thing like you taking on bioterrorists? He struggled to believe that would work out. As soon as he saw you in action though, you left no doubt that he’d been wrong. He became more taken with you upon seeing you act so capable. He realized that he felt a connection with you that he’d been lacking for so much of his life.

Unfortunately for him, he had these pesky things called ‘morals’ that prevented him from pursuing you. Every time he legitimately considered flirting or asking you out, the guilt gnawed at him, filling his mind with words of shame rather than anything that could charm you. No matter how he thought about it, he just couldn’t work out any way it would be right. Not only were you his subordinate, his rookie, you were nearly twenty years his junior too. You shouldn’t be wasting the prime of your life with some old man, so he cut off any hope of being more than a mentor to you.

About a year after he’d taken you on, the two of you were sent on that mission in Texas. It was simple, standard, routine. You and Chris were simply there to assist local police with the aftermath of a bioterror attack. Both of you were in the transport vehicle on the way to the site, and this was a rare occasion where he was pretty calm. He wasn’t tense or anxious, didn’t have any other motive than getting in and getting out. He was just enjoying the ride and watching your pretty face soak up the sunlight beaming through the window.

What he hadn’t been briefed on was the DSO’s involvement in the case. More specifically, a certain DSO agent’s presence. Apparently he’d been in the area on unrelated business and had been ordered to stop by in case your team needed assistance.

The two of you got out of the car and wandered through the remnants of the event. At first, Chris was happy to see him. It’d been a while, and he seemed to be in a better place than the last time they’d met. You seemed happy to see him too despite the fact that you’d never met before. Right then, Chris should’ve known it was over.

“Who’s that?” you asked with more interest than he felt was appropriate, leaning closer his muscular frame to keep your tone hushed.

He glanced down at you and raised his eyebrows, initially amused with the way you almost seemed in awe.

“Leon Kennedy. He’s with the DSO. Probably just here for some backup,” he informed you.

You nodded, and as you padded along behind Chris, your eyes remained locked on the agent in front of you. If he hadn’t been wrapped around your finger, it would have been obvious to him that you were developing a little crush. You became so bashful around Leon. Smiling up at him, batting your eyelashes like a cartoon character, following him around the scene like a puppy.

At the time, Chris thought that you were simply intrigued by the prestige of the DSO. Looking back, he couldn’t believe how clueless he’d been.

It was only six weeks later that you came to his office to notify him you were transferring agencies.

“What do you mean transferring? I’ve been training you to work here. I need you here,” Chris said.

Your eyes had cast down. Your body appeared to shrink in on itself. “I know. The BSAA is important and all, and I’ll always be grateful for what I learned here. It’s just that Leon said…”

And those last two words were all Chris heard.

“Leon said? What’s he know? He met you one time. He’s gonna try and tell you that you’re a better fit for the DSO?” he asked, probably coming off more interrogating than concerned, “You’re perfect for what we do here. The Agency hasn’t had someone with your propensity for research and field work in years.”

All his reasons paled in comparison to the hearts you had in your eyes for Leon. Chris ended the day by signing off on your transfer and watching you pack up your desk. You gave him a hug and tearful words of goodbye before walking out the translucent doors of the BSAA building.

The next time he saw you was another two months after that. He had to bring some files over to the DSO building. The only thing he was looking forward to about it was seeing how his rookie was adapting to her new position. He wasn’t prepared for the sharp pain in his chest when he saw your new position was on Leon’s lap.

Your eyes had gone wide. You shot up off the other man’s thighs to try and act as if you two were merely two agents and nothing more. Chris wasn’t fooled, but he kept his composure even in the face of Leon’s obvious amusement. He had no real place to get mad at you. It’s not like you were throwing your career away; you still held a respectable position at a federal government agency. You hadn’t betrayed him either. The relationship between you and him had actually just been professional. He had no claim on you that could keep Leon away. The only thing Chris had to be angry about was the fact that you were going to spend the prime of your life with some guy over a decade older than you. It just wasn’t gonna be him.

***

The collection of lights down the road were getting closer now. You and Leon had settled down enough to make the last fifteen minutes of this trip bearable. Chris glances around the small, misty town the road was leading into. It was pretty desolate and old-fashioned. Everything was tinted orange from the dated street lamps lining the road. Buildings were mostly bricks except for the upcoming motel which looked primarily wooden. It would’ve been eerie if he wasn’t so exhausted.

He pulled into the parking lot of the place and stopped the car. Turning around in his seat to talk to you and Leon, he tries not to roll his eyes at how the younger man has you tucked to his side while you show him something on your phone.

Chris clears his throat. Leon’s eyes meet his, still smug from the earlier exchange. He can’t be mad though because you look up at him in earnest, ready to do what needs to be done.

“The target isn’t going to be passing through until tomorrow. How would the two of you feel about staying here for the night?” he asks.

Fortunately, you and Leon seem to want to rest for a while just as much as he does so there’s no pushback.

Chris steps out of the car into the brisk air. He heads across the way into the small lobby of the motel to grab a room. You and your boyfriend handle getting the small bags you were allowed to take on missions out of the car.

“Cold out here, baby,” Leon mumbles as he pulls you flush against his chest and plants some kisses down your neck.

“Mhm. And you’re making me shiver more,” you say as you still try to collect the bags.

He chuckles at your little joke and nips at the warm flesh of your throat. “Once we get in the room, I think I’ll be able to heat you up,” he says.

You giggle and squirm a bit in his hold as Chris comes back to the car. He’s stone faced, but for once on this trip, it isn’t due to you and Leon.

“They only have one room available,” he says flatly and holds up the small golden key.

Your face drops and Leon lets go of you.

“What do you mean they only have one room?” he asks, “Look at this place. It doesn’t even look like anyone’s even accidentally wandered through here in this century. How could they only have one room?”

“They said the others are closed for renovation,” Chris relays.

“Renovation for what? For the ghosts of people who stayed here the last time this place was actually full?” Leon continues.

“I don’t know, man. You wanna go in there and argue with the lady at the desk? She’s half deaf and in a great mood, I’m sure she’ll be open to hearing your concerns,” the older man says sarcastically, beginning to grow frustrated.

Their bickering continues as you glance around at your surroundings. It was cold, it was dark, and it really was starting to creep you out how empty this place was.

You carefully take Leon’s hand and give it a little tug.

“I’m really tired. Can we just deal with it for the night?” you ask him hopefully.

He looks over at you, the petty complaints seeping from his body when he hears your soft voice requesting something so simple.

He sighs and nods. “Yeah, sweetheart,” he says and kisses your forehead.

Chris is grateful for your intervention and scoops up the bags so you aren’t bothered with them. The three of you walk in line to your room.

The door creaks as your ex-mentor pushes it open. It’s pitch black inside until Leon reaches over and taps the light switch. Your eyes scan the small room. It wasn’t a horrible set up. The furniture was a little vintage to put it nicely, but it didn’t feel haunted. Two double beds sat against one wall while a ratty leather chair occupied the opposite corner. Besides that there was a dresser, an old tv that was shaped like a cube, and a small counter with a microwave and mini-fridge. Leon looks around with the same disinterest displayed on your face.

“Hey, at least there isn’t only one bed,” he jokes and slaps Chris’s shoulder.

The older man rolls his eyes and tosses his duffel onto the mattress closest to the door. You and your boyfriend follow suit. You tuck your bag neatly against the side of the dresser while he drops it on the floor next to the farther bed.

“I’m gonna take a shower,” Chris tells the both of you as he fishes some fresh clothes and toiletries out of his bag.

He gets two unconcerned nods in response, and that’s enough for him to head to the bathroom. As he’s shutting the door, he can already hear your giggling starting up again along with the creak of the mattress, presumably from Leon pulling you down onto it.

Turning on the water, he sighs deeply. The faucet was as old as everything else in the room. It whooshed and groaned before starting up and letting out some water. The stream was hot and even, so he guessed he couldn't complain too much. He sheds his clothes and steps in the shower that was too small for him. The confined area didn’t act as much as a reprieve for him. His head is about three or four inches too tall for where the showerhead was angled. The slick curtain clings to the part of his bicep that stuck out against it.

It felt like a physical manifestation of how the next twelve hours would feel.

Being in the room next to you and Leon would’ve been bad enough. He’d have to hear you two going at it for hours like there was no tomorrow, but at least he’d be alone. He wouldn’t have to repress his grimaces or hide his wistful exhales. No one would have to know how shameful he looked when he felt himself getting hard over the way you whined and mewled for the other agent.

Now you two wouldn’t be going at it, but he’d have to be in the room clouded by both of your desires to do it. He’d have to watch the lingering looks and hear the little hitches in your breaths. He’d see whatever cute little pajamas wore and the way you curled up to Leon beneath the covers. He’d witness how peaceful your face looked while you slept in another man’s arms.

He’d honestly just prefer to be forced to listen to the sounds of your headboard banging against the wall all night.

But he pushes those thoughts away to finish up washing himself. His large hands guide the shampoo out of his hair and glide the washcloth over his muscular form. The steam starting to rise helps to calm him a little.

He isn’t in there for much longer before he shuts the water off and steps out of the shower to dry off. He wraps a towel around his waist, letting the cloth hang on hips just below his happy trail and v-line. His reflection gazes back at him through the fog on the mirror as he rubs a towel over his head and dries his hair.

In an effort to be considerate, he dresses in the bathroom. Gray sweats cover his lower half while a loose t-shirt adorns his chest. He makes sure everything in the bathroom is back in place before heading back out there, hopefully to just get some sleep and not be bothered by his temporary roommates.

That isn’t meant to be though. As soon as he steps back into the main portion of the room, he’s greeted by the sight of Leon’s hand down your shorts and your lips locked together in a flurry of kisses. He’s frozen in place for a moment, watching how Leon’s knuckles move underneath the fabric between your legs. Though a moment later, he remembers how he should be reacting.

“Come the fuck on,” he says and brings his hand to his face in frustration.

Your eyes widen, and your head snaps up. Leon lazily glances in his direction. Chris looks back at the pair of you, thinking you’d had enough time to readjust. What really enrages him now is that Leon’s hand was still where it was. You have to grab his wrist and pull it away.

“I’m so sorry, Chris,” you apologize without another thought, “We got distracted and didn’t hear the water shut off. I’m so-”

He doesn’t even look at you though. He’s locked in a stare with the other man in the room.

“Grow the fuck up, Leon,” he says, his tone deadly serious, “I’ve had enough of this shit. You’re acting like a fucking high schooler. Like a dog with a bone.”

You go silent and look down with guilt. He would’ve felt bad if he wasn’t so fed up. To make matters worse, Leon merely rolls his eyes.

“Jesus, calm down,” he says, “You’re acting like you just walked in on a porno or something. You’ve never seen two people making out?”

“Leon, shut up,” you say, keeping your voice hushed as if Chris couldn’t hear you from a small distance of ten feet. Your boyfriend doesn’t even acknowledge you though.

“That’s not what it’s about, and you know that. I don’t give a shit if the two of you want to make out till your lips are blue. Do it on your own time. I don’t wanna have to deal with the two of you slobbering all over each other while I’m trying to do my job,” he says with a glare.

“That’s not what this is about either, and you know it,” the younger man retorts.

“Leon, just give it up!” you plead. He shoots you a look though that makes you react like a scolded puppy.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Chris asks incredulously as he crosses his arms.

Your boyfriend almost laughs in his face. He sits up, looking at him with a more pointed gaze. “You don’t care about what I’m doing. You’re pissed off because I’m doing it with her,” he taunts.

Somehow the look on Chris’s face darkens further.

“Alright, man. I’m sure that’s what it is. It’s not you just being an insecure dickhead like always,” he says, trying to sound dismissive as he walks to his own bed, “You're more immature than I thought.”

“Don’t try to act like it’s bullshit because I know it’s the truth. All the years I’ve known you, all the missions we’ve partnered on; this isn’t the first time you’ve seen me with a girl but you’ve never pitched a fit about it before,” Leon says.

Chris shakes his head, not dignifying the accusations with a response, but he won’t give it up.

“Also, you think I’m fucking stupid? You think I don’t see the way you’re looking at her? Undressing her with your eyes, laser focused every time she bends over? I think if she gave you the go ahead, you wouldn’t even hesitate to steal her away from me,” he says.

You notice as they argue that in contrast to the genuine aggravation on Chris’s face, Leon’s words come from somewhere else. Almost as if he’s enjoying calling him a liar, poking and prodding at the other man to provoke a reaction.

Chris looks directly at him now as if he’s ready to lunge in a moment’s notice.

“Shut your mouth. You don’t know what you’re talking about,” he says.

“Tell me then. Tell me how it is.”

That makes the older man pause. Of course Leon was right, but under no circumstances would he make that apparent.

“She had a bright future ahead of her, and look what you’ve done. She’s the best either one of the agencies has had in years, and you keep her in the palm of your hand like she’s a barbie doll!” he exclaims.

He sees the flicker of hurt on your face and knows he fucked up, but he could apologize later. He continues speaking to try and temporarily rectify his slip up.

“She’s too good for you, Leon,” he says simply, sighing and sitting down on his bed.

You see genuine emotion flash in your boyfriend's eyes. Chris struck a chord, picking at a very real insecurity Leon held. But he wanted to win this confrontation too, so he wouldn’t let that be known. Instead, he beckons you to him with a languid wave of his hand.

“C’mere, baby.”

Chris rolls his eyes, thinking Leon was gonna swoop in to comfort you for the way your feelings had been hurt. You waddle across the mattress on your knees and plop down between his legs, your back against his chest. His hands sweep over your stomach, soothingly caressing your skin.

“She might be too good for me, but you’re pissed off because she’s too good for you too,” he says.

“Leon, stop,” you whisper. Tomorrow was going to be awkward enough as is. He didn’t need to make it any worse.

Chris glances up at the two of you but looks down again quickly, not wanting to see the way the other man’s hands moved on your body.

“You think I’m the bad guy. That I’m corrupting your innocent little rookie,” Leon mocks, “But tell me you wouldn’t take my place if you could.”

“I wouldn’t,” he mumbles instantaneously.

“Look me in the eyes and tell me. Tell me that if she was actually interested in you, that you wouldn’t have taken her in your arms as fast as you could. When she was prancing around the BSAA, looking up at you with stars in her eyes, tell me you didn’t want her,” your boyfriend challenges.

Chris looks up at the both of you. His expression is hard to read. It’s some mixture of hurt and relief that you’re unfamiliar with.

“I didn’t,” he maintains.

Leon’s hand continues trailing on your tummy up and down. His fingers coast in between your breasts, causing you to shiver, but everyone’s so wrapped up in the conflict that you choose not to say anything.

“That’s a shame because I’m pretty sure your little rookie had a crush on you,” he says quietly.

“Don’t joke around like that Leon,” Chris scoffs at the same time as your eyes widen and you start to tell your boyfriend to be quiet.

“Shh shh shh,” he hushes you and places a small kiss on your temple, “You’re giving yourself away, sweetheart.”

You look down and the man across from you just looks confused. Leon smirks at the both of you before resuming.

“C’mon man. Don’t tell me you couldn’t see it. She’s a terrible liar, and I think she had it pretty bad for you. I just came along and pulled her attention elsewhere,” he says, teasing you while redirecting his words to Chris.

Your face was heating up fast as Leon aired out a confession you’d made to him on a night after too many drinks. Chris slowly returned his gaze back to the two of you. Instead of bothering with Leon, he looked into your eyes this time.

“Is that true?” he asks.

Every limb on your body feels frozen up, but you manage to force your head into nodding. You hear Leon chuckle from behind you, which only intensifies how awkward you feel.

“I liked you at first when I first started working at the BSAA. For the first few months,” you begin to explain. It’s not like anything you said would help the situation at all, but it still felt like you were supposed to offer something.

He continues staring at you, and you honestly can’t tell what’s running through his mind. All you can think is that he looks like he’s in pain. Meanwhile, your boyfriend’s hands caress over your skin in a pattern they’d developed.

“You were just so nice and understanding with me-” you start. But you’re cut off by your sharp gasp when Leon’s hand slides under the waistband of your bottoms and into your panties.

“Leon!” you whimper as fast as his fingers find your clit. You grab his wrist and try to pull it away like you’d done earlier, but when he didn’t want to be interrupted, he wouldn’t be. It wasn’t like you tried too hard anyways. You were still a little pent up from earlier, craving the pleasure that had been cut short.

“No, go on, sweetheart. Keep telling Chris how much you liked him. I know he wants to hear it,” he says lowly while his fingers toy with you.

“Leon,” Chris says firmly, trying to stand up for you. But fuck, if he didn’t want to keep watching your breath hitch and your hips squirm. Or your face getting pouty whenever his fingers stroked a certain way.

“Chris,” he says back, “Don’t act like you don’t wanna see. This might be your only chance.”

He smirks and kisses your temple again, rotating the pad of his middle finger over your clit. The motions draw little whines from you, and your eyes flutter. You keep them on Chris, looking into his own as you sink back into Leon’s chest.

“Go ahead, honey. Continue your story,” Leon prompts.

“You were so sweet- mm- and you taught me a lot and- ah- I don’t know it was just a little crush,” you say timidly.

Chris watches you. He doesn’t move at all for fear of bringing attention to how fast his cock has hardened.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” he breathes.

“Cause you were my boss,” you say, “I- Leon fuck- I didn’t wanna put you in a bad position.”

His chest feels like it’s turned to stone as he takes in these revelations. It’s hard not to let the regret take over. The realization that he’d been much closer to everything he’d wanted threatened to consume him if he dwelled on it. That on top of the fact that he was hearing all this while you whimpered another man’s name between your words had his mind scrambled.

“It wouldn’t have put me in a bad position, sweetheart,” he says, attempting to sound normal about the situation.

Your lips curve further down, as if you feel guilty for the mess of emotions building inside him. Behind you, Leon’s mouth makes the opposite expression.

“What happened to not wanting her, Redfield?” he teases.

“Shut up,” Chris says. Even if he wasn’t the one pleasuring you, this was a moment for you and him.

His eyes are locked on you, trying to drink in everything about the vision of beauty in front of him. Leon’s warning that this could be the only time he gets to see it echoes in his mind. He doesn’t know how he’ll survive if this is the only time. He doesn’t think he could ever get enough of this. The way your lashes flutter and your eyes look dreamy. How your soft thighs tremble while spread open. The little movements of your hips rocking your ass back and forth against the man behind you.

Why couldn’t that man be him?

It was the most blissful form of torture he’d experienced. He tried to tell himself that even if he just got to watch you cum, it’d be worth it. It’d be better to share this unforgettable sliver of time with you than to have nothing special at all.

He tries to refocus himself back on enjoying the view of your shorts sliding off your legs rather than mourn the relationship he’d lost out on. It was just nearly impossible to avoid envisioning himself and the other man swapped. He had imagined you in his lap like that for months before you even knew the name Leon Kennedy.

Chris’s mind is actually drawn back to the action in front of him once Leon’s got your shorts off, and your panties are fully exposed. The crotch is soaked through. He can see the way the fabric sticks to your center, only peeling away to make space for the nimble fingers working beneath it.

“Leon…” you mewl and tilt your head back against his shoulder.

“I know, princess,” he murmurs, “You’re doing such a good job showing off for Chris. I’m proud of you. You’re really making it worth his while.”

“Thank you,” you whimper.

Leon grins at your display of submission and rewards you with a gentle pinch to your clit. You yelp, and Chris’s cock jerks inside his pants. His bulge is completely visible to everyone in the room by now, no way of sitting could hide that. Despite his arousal, he still had questions.

“Am I the reason you left?” he decides to ask you.

He watches you snap out of the throes of lust and look at him. You hesitate before answering.

“No,” you say softly, “I left to be with Leon.”

It feels like a dagger straight to his heart. He watches any chance of salvaging you as his own die before his very eyes, those words acting as the nails in the coffin. It shows on his face too because he can see the guilt replacing the desire in your eyes. Even Leon’s face flashes with some sympathy. He tilts his head towards you again and nips at the shell of your ear.

“I think you might have hurt Chris’s feelings, baby,” he chides lovingly. His hand then leaves your panties and goes with his other one to your waist. Boosting you to your feet, he looks up at you and taps your ass. “Maybe you should help him feel better. Show him some of what I taught you.”

There’s only a brief pause on your part. You stand between the two beds, between the two men, looking back and forth. You weren’t against the idea at all, it just didn’t seem real. You never imagined this happening in your wildest dreams.

You drop to your knees and approach Chris from the ground, positioning yourself between his legs and looking up at him.

“You don’t have to,” he says, his tone quiet and genuine.

You reach up, sliding your hand up his thigh to palm at his bulge.

“I know,” you respond.

In the simplest of terms, you were still very much attracted to Chris. Your relationship with Leon had extinguished the torch you carried for him down to a small flame, but on a physical and instinctual level, you still wanted him bad. Especially having not cum yet after being teased twice. Your fingers unzip his pants and begin pulling them down, eager to get his cock out.

In a way, you were pretty sure you loved him. Not in the way you love Leon. You knew that. You didn’t dream of love and marriage and the baby carriage with Chris. But for so long, he’d been your safe space. Amongst the violence and horrors in the world of Bioterrorism, your mentor had always been there for you to hold your hand.

You yank his pants down to his ankles, and his dick flops out against his thigh. Your eyes widen slightly. It made sense for it to be big just like everything else on him was, but the sight had you drooling. It was thick and long, from one look you could only imagine how it would stretch you out.

Your fingers wrap around the length, feeling its warmth. The veins that sprawl across it pulse with desire for you. He moans quietly with only one stroke. Your hand pumps up and down tentatively as you spit down onto it for some lubrication.

No one in the room is in the mood to be teased tonight, so you lean in and flick your tongue against the tip. Another groan bubbles from Chris’s lips and you can feel Leon’s lecherous gaze on you the entire time. You lap at the head some more and keep working your fist up and down.

You’re either very talented or Chris is very needy for you, because it only takes a handful of gentle licks before precum beads at the top. His eyes are blown out and locked on you as you suckle the swollen tip between your lips and bob your head. Your mouth is the perfect combination of warm and wet and soft. You cup his balls and give them a gentle massage while working your magic.

He reaches down and pets your head as you work. His head snaps up when he hears the other man speak to him.

“How’s it feel? As good as you imagined?” he asks.

“Better,” Chris moans.

His breaths enter and exit his lungs in deep puffs. This truly was better than he could’ve imagined. Everything about you was beyond the capabilities of human imagination. Your gags were so soft and tender. They were precious despite their inherent lewd nature. You looked up at him with glossy eyes, maintaining eye contact most of the time. That was something he’d taught you. Your first days of work you were always looking down at your shoes or right through him at the wall. He’d been the one to tell you eye contact was important. It was the most baseline form of connection.

You take your mouth off Chris’s shaft with a small pop. A string of saliva dangles between you and his cock, but you quickly destroy it when your lips smoosh against the flushed skin. You kiss the tip over and over, savoring the taste of precum it brings.

“I’m sorry,” you whisper, not caring if he heard or not.

But he does, and his gaze softens. “You don’t have anything to be sorry for, rookie,” he says back.

Leon decides not to interrupt the exchange or tease Chris about the old nickname for you. He had no genuine ill will toward the other man. That plus his own cock was rising to attention, and he was more interested in palming it through his jeans.

“You're such a good girl. You don’t need to apologize for anything,” Chris continues to coo at you as you take his length back into your mouth.

His eyes crinkle as they shut. He doesn’t want to cum yet just in case there was the chance for anything more. You’re too taken with servicing him to notice that you should maybe slow down. Lucky for the both of you, Leon intervenes.

“Ah ah, baby. Don’t take Chris out of the fun too quick,” he tuts, reaching forward to guide your head back.

You pull off obediently and lean back onto your knees. Chris sighs at the reprieve but nearly blows his load when his eyes refocus on you gazing up at him with spit and precum on your lips.

“I think Chris needs a break, angel. You know how good that mouth of yours is,” he says and pets your head before looking up to the older man, “You want a little taste of her while you cool off?”

It’s like time slows to a halt in the world of Chris Redfield. The heavens part and the words he just heard are the gateway to paradise. He stares at Leon, almost in the same disbelief you had been in minutes ago.

“You’re cool with that?” he says, trying to seem casual.

“I wouldn’t have offered if I wasn’t,” he says and shrugs, “Plus, I think your rookie deserves a treat for her performance.”

“Of course she does. She’s probably feeling pretty needy by now too,” Chris says in return, beginning to feel more comfortable with the situation at hand.

“I’ll even let you pick, man. You want her spread out on the bed or riding your face?” he asks.

You look between the both of them as they speak before stopping on Chris as he makes the decision.

“Riding my face. Want her to smother me,” the older man says as he looks down at you with his familiar smile.

Leon glances down at you too. “You heard him, baby,” he says.

You return to your feet and approach the bed closer to the window. Chris discards his pants completely and removes his shirt before lying back. He pats his chest, signaling for you to climb up. As you move closer, so does your boyfriend. He rounds the bed and sits on the other side of the mattress to watch the pair of you.

You crawl over Chris’s muscular body, looking down at him for a moment when your faces are level. You then scoot up more so you’re basically sitting on his chest. You weren’t shy about sitting on someone’s face necessarily. You’d done it for Leon about a dozen times before, but Chris was new and you didn’t know how he liked to do it. From the way he guided your hips higher up though, you could already tell he was a little more gentle than your boyfriend.

He pulls you up until your pussy is hovering over his face. Then he takes a few moments to just admire it. It was cute just like every other part of you. One of his fingers drags over your flesh and pulls on the puffy folds, showing off your pretty little clit and slick entrance.

“Don’t hold back for me, rookie. I want to taste all of you,” he says as he looks up at you.

You return his look and nod before he pulls you lower by your hips onto his face. A squeak flies from your lips when his tongue makes contact with your cunt. Leon chuckles as he watches the two of you with lustful eyes. He’s working on undressing himself now.

Chris’s tongue takes a long swipe from the bottom to the top of your pussy, taking in as much of you as he can. Right now you’re all he can smell. Every breath brings him more of you. Your taste overwhelms him too. It’s the way he wants to live. You whine as his lips engulf your clit to suck on.

“Already making such pretty noises,” Leon teases, “Is Chris doing it how you like, sweet girl?”

You nod, your eyes connecting with those of your boyfriend’s for a moment. He kneels on the bed to be closer to you. His hand comes up to stroke your cheek.

“Good. You deserve it, baby. Just look at you. So precious. No wonder he’s crazy about you too,” Leon murmurs as he leans in and kisses you deeply.

His lips move with yours as you moan into his mouth. You begin rocking your hips back and forth on Chris’s face to get more of the stimulation he’s providing you with. His tongue flattens over your cunt and presses against it in stripes, making broad strokes that spark euphoria in your belly each time. His hands lock onto your hips to keep you still enough that you’re not interrupting his devouring of you.

The constant pleasure to your core makes you lightheaded. You would be swaying if not for the two men’s combined efforts to keep you up right. Your kisses become sloppier, and to alleviate it, Leon ducks down to kiss your neck instead. He peppers your skin with hickeys, his possessive nature shining through a bit.

“My pretty girl, doing so good for us right now. Taking it like a pro,” he whispers teasingly as his hands cup your breasts and give them a tender squeeze.

His lips travel down to where his hands are. He plants a few kisses on the swell of your chest. The sight of your nipples perking up for him would never get old.

“Sweet baby, everything about you is perfect. Don’t know how Chris resisted and never got a taste,” he says as he sucks one of your nipples into his mouth.

Your head falls back and you shudder. Two mouths on you, both licking and sucking in harmony. It made you moan loud enough that you would’ve certainly got a noise complaint if any of the other rooms were occupied.

“Is that for me or Chris, babydoll?” Leon asks and smirks up at you.

“Both,” you whimper, “Both of you are making me feel so good.”

“Not picking favorites, hm?” he goads you further.

“Can’t think enough to pick one right now,” you say simply before another whine leaves you. You didn’t want any more drama. At least not before you came.

“Oh, is your head getting all foggy, baby?” he coos.

“Mhm,” you whimper and nod.

On your lower half, Chris keeps his mouth firmly attached to your pussy. He’s pretty sure you already have him addicted, and you haven’t even cum yet. He’s licking with all the dedication in the world as if this task was his life’s purpose, the action he was put on this very earth to complete.

“Tastes so fucking good,” he grunts into you as he continues open mouth kissing your cunt, “Prettiest little pussy I’ve ever seen.”

Leon smiles at the compliment, almost as if it was partially intended for him by virtue of being your boyfriend.

“She’s loving you, Chris. You’ve got her brain melting out her ears,” Leon purrs while rubbing your back soothingly, steadying you from the tremors that rack your body, “Pretty baby’s probably gonna cum all over your face soon.

When he hears that, the man below you pulls your hips down even harder and locks you onto his mouth. He works even harder to please you, relishing in the way your noises grow louder and more strained.

You give Leon puppy eyes as your hand darts out for his. Your fingers squeeze his palm so tight, he’s sure there will be little red crescents on the skin when you let go.

“What is it, sweetheart? You need to hold my hand?” he croons. He gently squeezes your hand back and moves his face to your neck to press a few more kisses there. “I’ve got you, baby. You cum whenever you want, I’m not gonna let go. Show Chris how pretty you are when you cum.”

Your teeth dig into your lip and your hips quiver violently.

“Fuck Leon- I just- I- Chris,” you stutter out. Your brain rushes to latch onto something, but it can’t seem to get a lock on anything.

“Don’t gotta say anything, angel. Just cum all over my face,” Chris commands from between your thighs.

“You heard him, baby. No thinking. Just let yourself feel good. That’s what we both wanna see,” he whispers and brings your hand to his lips.

Your lips part to say something, but you decide to just listen. You grind your hips down against Chris’s mouth, gasping as the euphoria paramounts within you. Your hips roll even faster as you feel release within your grasp. You’re closing in on it when you shriek and nearly double over with the shattering feeling of your peak.

“There we go, that’s it,” Leon chuckles softly, “Show him what I get to see every night. My favorite sight in the whole world.”

Your body moves as if it’s possessed when you cum. Your back arches into a curve with supernatural speed. Your eyes are screwed shut while your mouth is wide open. The younger man next to you grins while the older man below you continues to make out with your pussy, lapping up every drop of you that he could.

When you start to come down, he lets up, knowing Leon had more in store from you. He lets your hips go, and you basically topple over onto the mattress. You inhale and exhale deeply as the cool motel sheets rest against your cheek.

Chris’s eyes are hooded from lust, the effects of the most erotic experience in his life lingering. His cock is fully hard, standing up and aching for more of your touch. Yet in a way he’s satisfied, having just made you cum, tasted the sweetest part of you, and heard your most vulnerable sounds.

Leon’s undressed on the bed, the only one of the three of you whose mind didn’t feel hazy with clouds of desire. He tugs on his stiff cock a few times as he decides what to do. His eyes flit between your crumpled up form and the other man lying on his back.

“Chris, you wanna hold her for a little bit? Have her sit in your lap?” he asks.

The older man almost felt pathetic at how eager he was to play along and say yes. Almost. Because he still does that. He nods and sits up, leaning back against the headboard.

The next move is getting you up. Your boyfriend guides you to where Chris is, and he then helps you into his lap. Your mind was coming back to normal, and you were looking up at Leon with adoration while you melted against Chris’s broad chest. You nuzzle it gently, feeling its warmth and plush quality. His thick arms encase you, making sure you feel secure.

Leon pulls you on your hips to get you a bit lower where he has easier access.

“I’m not gonna let you fuck her this time. I wanna show you how it’s done first,” Leon teases as he slots himself between your legs.

In any other instance, this would’ve pissed Chris off. Everything about it would’ve left him disappointed and annoyed. But now any negative emotion is overshadowed by two words.

This time.

Because this time implies there will be a next time. And maybe even a time after next time. Another time for him to feel his cock inside you. Another time for him to make you cum on his fingers or watch you ride him. Some of his hopes spring back to life.

Internally, his heart is soaring. He kisses your hairline carefully as Leon slides his tip between your folds that are sticky with arousal. He teases himself with the feeling only a few times before nudging the tip inside.

Your head falls back against Chris’s chest and you moan. He kisses your temple and caresses your sides as if you need to be soothed. As if this isn’t the dick you’ve been taking nightly for the last few months.

Chris’s own length is rock solid against your back. Every small change in your facial expression or rise in pitch of your voice sends blood rushing to it, the threat of cumming untouched ever present.

Leon steadily pushes in until he’s buried all the way inside and you’re nice and filled to the hilt.

“So fucking tight. You gotta feel it, Chris. You thought she tasted good? Just wait till you feel her,” he grunts.

“I bet. I could tell from how cute her pussy was. She was clenching around nothing the whole time. I’m sure she loves to squeeze down anytime she’s got a cock in her,” Chris whispers

More hope was rising in him that this wouldn’t be a one night only thing, and it took all his strength not to smile like an idiot. His knuckles move down your cheek lovingly as he speaks to you and holds you while Leon thrusts. Your body rocks gently with the momentum, pushing you against Chris’s cock each time.

“She does love to get all tight. Just wants to suck me in so I can never leave,” Leon says and holds your thighs to start thrusting harder.

“Such a needy girl. I should’ve known, rookie,” Chris murmurs to you.

“It just feels so good,” you whine, “It’s not my fault.”

“Oh I know it’s not, precious,” Leon mocks, “Your head is always full of nothing but air when I’m around. It probably just gets worse with Chris here.”

You whine in protest and squirm a little, unknowingly grinding your ass on Chris’s cock and coaxing a moan from him. Leon’s dick hits deeper too, bringing you heightened pleasure.

“You’re not an airhead, baby. You’re a sweet girl. My rookie. You just wanna feel good, hm?” Chris says teasingly.

You nod along, and from the look on his face, Leon is amused, pleased with the dynamic Chris opened up.

“No one said she isn’t sweet. Just that she goes a little dumb as soon as she’s got my dick in her,” he teases.

He sighs and his eyes roll back for a moment as you clamp around you. He keeps rocking in and out, enjoying the wet sounds coming from each one of his movements. He also can’t get enough of your mewls or the way you're clutching one of Chris’s forearms right now.

“Maybe he’s right about that. You just work so hard all the time. You need something that can calm you down,” Chris says and squeezes his arms around you, “You’re still so precious.”

You look up at Chris with lovey dovey eyes, remembering why you’d been so enamored with him in the first place. He talked to you like you were the sweetest thing to walk this earth and made you believe it. He made you feel cared for in a way that was indescribable. Pure feeling.

“Yeah you are,” Leon grunts, “And you can go as dumb as you want right now, baby. We’re both here taking care of you. I’m sure Chris loves holding you while all you can do is whine for more.”

“That’s right. I love seeing you like this, knowing you’re taken care of,” he whispers, “And you know I’ve always got you. I’ll never let my rookie go.”

All the words are overwhelming. You pant and writhe more in Chris’s grasp.

“You getting close again, babydoll?” Leon asks, knowing your tells.

You whimper and nod quickly.

“Good. I am too,” he grunts.

He starts working himself into you harder. The momentum from each snap of his hips keeps you rubbing against Chris’s shaft and working him closer to the edge as well. All three of you are panting, muscles tensing up in some way as the end approaches. 

You stare into Leon’s eyes for a moment before rotating your head and looking up at Chris. Both sets of eyes are fixated on you. The overflow of attention is the final strike your body needs to start convulsing with release. The older man’s arms tighten around you, keeping you close as your skin heats up and your noises grow whinier. Your boyfriend keeps a steel grip on your hips, his fingers stroking back and forth.

“That’s my girl,” Leon grunts, “Let it out, baby.”

He moans and lets his head fall back as he feels himself hurtling towards the finish line.

“My rookie. Just perfect, honey,” Chris whispers, “I’m so proud of you.”

The words nearly triple your pleasure and you continue to ride out the high as Leon finally cums and shoots it inside you. He nearly growls as he pounds into you, completely emptying himself. All the rutting is enough for Chris to cum too. He spurts his hot seed against the small of your back, holding onto you with all he has as his hips jerk upwards and he imagines it’s him buried inside you.

Leon’s the first to get his bearings back. He pulls out slowly, letting you adjust to the feeling of emptiness. He then rolls to the side of you and Chris, watching the final moments with the other man. You lie on his chest with your eyes drooping, your chest heaving as you catch your breath. His hand lazily runs down your side. He savors your warmth on his chest. Almost subconsciously, it feels like you really are his in this moment.

That is until you regain your composure and sit up. You hop up for a moment to clean off the mess on your back. He knew you’d have to, but the sight still makes Chris’s heart ache. 

As you return to the bed, you give your boyfriend a dizzy smile and crawl over to curl up at his side. He rubs your back and pecks your forehead. For the two of you, it’s like a regular night. Chris isn’t sure where he fits in this anymore. Should he just move to the bed you two had claimed earlier? Should he make the two of you get up?

He’s running through solutions in his mind when your hand comes out and grabs his wrist. You’re looking up at him with some sort of longing in your eyes.

“Stay with us,” you say.

It was softer than he ever heard from you, different from when you introduced yourself on your first day of work or made a mistake on a mission. It was a new kind of shyness that just made him want more from you. He stares at you and contemplates the idea. Leon raises his eyebrows and gives him a look, giving him the silent ok he needed to slowly lower himself to the mattress. 

He shuts off the light first, leaving the motel room in darkness except for the glow of the yellow street lamps shining through the window. His head hits the pillow, and he drapes an arm over you. You’re still leaning into Leon for the most part which he makes no move to interfere with.

The three of you don’t say anything for the rest of the night. Silence permeates the atmosphere of your shared space. The events of the last hour run through each of your minds in different ways. The mission had taken a back seat for now. It could return to prominence tomorrow once the mental dust had settled.

Leon’s eyes flutter shut first, and his deep, even breaths of sleep follow. You’re barely awake with your cheek squished against his pectoral muscle. Chris watches you, the outline of your face illuminated from the faint light outside. He wonders if this really will be the only time with you. If his taste of heaven will remain that, a sample of what he could have had. He chooses to not believe that and drive himself crazy.

He shuts his eyes too and brings his face to nestle against the crook of your neck. His breath hits your neck when he sighs. In the abyss that is the motel room, he feels your hands come up to rest on his arm.

[lavenderchqn]

✧・| green with 'envy'

— anemo men trying out the "you're the most jealous person I know" trend with their partner. for some it feels like more than a trend.

content warnings: comedy, hurt/comfort; serious and unserious jealousy talks; a panic attack (I am so sorry Venti mains, all you do is suffer because of me); implied self-doubt/low self-esteem in some; mentions of overthinking; playful teasing;

this set of scenarios has been requested by anon!

[note.] — cover art created by @sssA_km on twitter for hoyofair 2024! and a personal writer note - from this point onwards, all scenarios created for anemo males as a group will include ifa! give it up for our first tall man.

𝐀𝐄𝐓𝐇𝐄𝐑

Abort the mission, abort I repeat! When he joked about you being jealous, getting it spun onto his… oversights… was not what he had in mind. Oh heavens above, somebody please save him! 

“You’re the most jealous person I know,” Aether says as he enters the room. It’s heavy, the atmosphere. His usually bright golden eyes have seemingly dulled. His arms are crossed. Nothing in his behaviour indicates he’s joking. And thus, you take it as a confrontation. 

You sigh. If being labelled as the jealous one is what it takes to finally access some of Aether’s behaviour, then so be it. At least you’ll hopefully be on the same page. “What makes you think that?” You ask. There’s no reason for you to turn this into a screaming match.

The blond stutters. It’s like Aether hadn’t expected your reply to be, well, that. He blinks a few times, trying to process your counter-question… and how to proceed. After a second of thinking, he replies again. “Your tendencies to cling whenever somebody else is speaking. Or how you drag me away when somebody’s asking for help.” Ouch. That’s cold. Unnaturally cold for him.

You nod. “Love, you realise I’m doing it to, I dunno perhaps, help?” You know, you’re not the only one who’s noticed the lack of decorum people show around your partner. How they ask for his assistance in the simplest tasks. And well, how he never seems to find it in himself to deny them. “People are getting overbearing, trampling over you because you never deny.” 

It’s groundbreaking. World shattering. Aether is at a loss for words. Is it really true? He stands, still as a statue, when the severity of your words seeps in. “W-Wait, so—“ He starts, stumbling over his words. “My quote ‘jealousy’ is me trying to help you out from being taken advantage of, Love.” There’s not an ounce of matter in your body where it seems like you’re unserious. Not to mention… how you’re right. 

You get up, coming close. With the gentlest of notions, you pull Aether into a hug. “It’s okay, you know.” You whisper, rubbing comforting circles into his back. “You can work on boundaries.” Your jealousy was just a defence mechanism. Not for you, but to protect him. And, until he’s able to defend himself, you’ll be there in his place. Even if it makes you seem like the clingy and overbearing partner. Who may or may not be an asshole at times. 

𝐕𝐄𝐍𝐓𝐈

He doesn’t mean to send you into a panic. Unfortunately, his words dig deep. Not because you’re unhealthily possessive in his eyes. It’s because he can see the things that are hidden. Those things you’re not fully ready to tackle right in the moment. 

“You’re the most jealous person I know…” Venti says nonchalantly. He throws it how one would a compliment. But the tone, the words. This isn’t a joke. This feels like an interrogation about to be laced with poison. 

A pin drops. You feel like the mere sentence has knocked all the air out of your lungs. It’s getting hard to breathe. You feel like you’re about to pass out any second now. 

“Love?” He asks. Unfortunately, his words don’t seem to reach you. You’re as still as a statue… Oh god, are you breathing? “Baby? Baby!” Something has gone utterly wrong. You were not supposed to react this way! You were supposed to play into the joke, not take it to heart. Not to mention have a panic attack. 

“Okay… okay…” Venti’s reaction is immediate. He helps you to the ground, holding your hands so you won’t hurt yourself. Even if he didn’t think you’d have a panic attack over his comment, that’s the situation. He has to make it better. “Love, can you hear me?” 

You don’t. You can barely hear anything over your heart pounding. There are too many thoughts running rampant. Will Venti scream? Shout? Leave you over that? Tears continue falling down your cheeks.

“Try— Try and follow my breathing, okay?” He says, linking your hands together. He takes a deep breath, hoping you’ll follow. Your body does, even if you’re still unresponsive. It takes trial and error, sobs rippling through your chest. 

“…sorry—“ You breathe out, leaning forward. You feel exposed. In your subconscious, you feel Venti uncovered something he wouldn’t like. “Don’t apologise, please,” He’s still not convinced. He doesn’t want to assume. “Can I?” He asks, rubbing his thumb over your knuckles. He doesn’t need to. You know. Venti is asking if he can give you a reassuring kiss. You shake your head. It’s a little too early for that. “That’s okay,” 

It takes a moment for you to feel like you’ve become one with your body again. Even longer when you feel able to speak about what happened. 

“Do you ever ask why I get this way…?” You begin. “Maybe it’s because -y’know what, never mind…” And it’s gone. But Venti doesn’t push further. Because he knows. He knows that some deeper feelings are buried in your mind. Those that require addressing, but not perhaps now. 

𝐗𝐈𝐀𝐎

He gets the worst timing. Not to mention, how he doesn’t even reply when you enquire. In the end, Xiao makes you think… you’re actually the most jealous person he does know. And what’s about to come is an interrogation. 

“You’re the most jealous person I know,” Xiao says, handing you another plate. It’s an odd timing — right in the middle of doing dishes? Really? Well, in his defence, he didn’t even want to participate in this whole… joke. Venti’s nagging and Heizou’s retelling of his story ultimately pushed him towards it. 

“You’re right, I am. Especially when you look like that, Xiao,” You say, drying a glass and standing on your tippy toes to place it on the back shelf. That- That was not what he expected your reaction to be. You seem to have caught on, stopping to look at him. “Xiao?” 

He’s silent, looking at you in confusion. You come up close, slowly taking a plate from his hands to ensure it doesn’t end up on the floor. “You meant it as a joke, right?” You ask. “I, uh—“ 

“Okay…” You tut, pinching the bridge of your nose. “Let’s finish cleaning up, okay? Then we can discuss it seriously.” Your voice is lower, meeker. Like you came to the wrong conclusion due to his lack of response. A time machine to go back these few minutes, please. 

The rest of the chore session is spent in silence. Uncomfortable one, to be precise. With glasses of water on the table, you’re finally ready to talk. Communication is the key to maintaining a healthy relationship. If Xiao thinks you’re jealous, you’re open to tackling it. No matter how worried it makes you feel. 

“Ssoo…” You begin, taking a nervous look at your partner. He looks equally anxious, if not more. Heavens above, was it that bad? If Xiao was so worried about bringing it up, it had to be serious. “What makes you feel like I’m jealous?” You ask, gulping. 

“I, uh, don’t think you are.” “Wait, what?” You blink a few times to make sure you’ve heard him right. “I don’t consider you to be jealous.” “Sorry, I uh? Do you want me to be more jealous then?” Xiao sees the puzzled look on your face. You do your best to solve the riddle you're getting from his words. Jealous, but not really? Should you be jealous? 

“It’s a trend—.” Xiao takes a sip of his water. “Wanted to see how you’d act... or something,” 

“Oh, you silly goose!” 

𝐇𝐄𝐈𝐙𝐎𝐔

He knows you like the back of his hand. There are many ticks he can do to finally push you to your limit. But what if you actually do act upon his words… If he wants you to be jealous, then why not return the favour tenfold? 

“You’re the most jealous person I know,” Ah. Heizou’s at his annoying behaviour once again. Recently, he’s been doing everything to push your buttons. A compliment to a random coworker here, a brief hug there. Doing everything he could to make you jealous. 

“Oh?” Your voice is higher and clearly amused. Well, if Heizou oh-so wishes, you can play right into the trend. “You know other people?” You ask, dropping down an octave. Your voice almost robotic. You’ve turned around to face him, eyes ice cold. Exactly how the trend goes, yet precisely against the picture Heizou has been painting in his mind. 

For weeks, he wondered. Would you puff your cheeks in annoyance? Would you cling to try and assert dominance? Or maybe, just maybe, you’d leave marks in visible spots. That’d be pretty hot. Alas, here you were being… actually jealous. And not in a cute way.

“What?” He hums, shocked. “No, no, of course I don’t, Darlin’” He has this one smile across his face. The dumb one. The one he likes to plaster on whenever he eats your food when you’ve told him not to. 

“Maybe I’m right in being jealous,” You sigh. Wandering from window to window, you blabber — loud enough for Heizou to hear. “My partner does nothing to stop the unwanted attention… You know what,” You stop for a second, looking directly at him. “Maybe I should take after his behaviour.” You smile. Hugs, compliments, and perhaps a date? If he’s acting like he’s single, so should you.  

“Absolutely not.” His voice gruff, as he grabs you by the shoulders. “My darling is not for sharing, you know.” His olive eyes looking straight through you, searching for any signs of your act being a joke. It had to be. 

“Oh, but Heizou,” You roll your eyes. “If you want me to be jealous, it’s only fair you get jealous too~” 

He drags you closer. With one arm dropped to your waist, he bends forward, cradling you in a graceful arc. All so he can whisper huskily into your ear. “I won’t repeat myself… Darling,” Let’s just say Heizou has bitten off more than he could chew. 

𝐊𝐀𝐙𝐔𝐇𝐀

From the beginning he makes it sound like he’s joking. He doesn’t consider you jealous one bit, but there’s nothing wrong in having a little laugh. Besides, once and if a situation of your jealous nature truly arises — he’ll be there to provide you with the truth. 

“Ah, you’re the most jealous person I know, Beloved,” Kazuha’s voice is light as he embraces you from behind. His words — with a heavy meaning behind them, don't carry the same tone. Turning around, you notice a gentle smile across his face. Like your jealousy is a mere word of endearment.

“Is that so?” You ask, returning to your previous task, albeit moving slightly to allow your partner to nestle his head close to your neck. Kazuha only hums in return, his hair tickling you softly as he places a small kiss. “Well, with a partner like that, I’d be silly not to make sure the world knows.” 

Oh? Your words have definitely piqued his interest. He hugs you a little bit tighter, waiting for what your thought process seems to be. “What makes you say that, Dearest?” 

“Oh, you know,” You turn the two of you around, a glass of water in your hand. There’s a struggle in getting to the couch — given you’re basically moving two bodies at once. Kazuha and his cat mentalities… thinking he can just hang on you. “Love, give me a hand, c’mon,” “Okay, okay, whatever my Muse says.” 

Once you safely make it to the couch and Kazuha makes himself comfortable with his head in your lap, everything in his gaze is asking you to continue. Therefore, and once you’ve covered the two of you with a blanket, you resume your thought. “You’re dashing and others want a piece of you for themselves, Kazu. Can’t allow them that,” 

You lean forward, gently grabbing his cheek in between your teeth. To demonstrate your point. Kazuha chuckles in response but cannot deny he’s enjoying himself. Especially when you kiss him across his face, lest a mark forms. “That’s what you think, Muse?” He asks, turning his attention to your hands. 

“People have eyes, of course, they’d want to steal you…” 

The room soon turns into silence. You’re enjoying your glass of water while Kazuha enjoys being treated like a cat — having your fingers play with his hair and all. Unfortunately, there’s an irrational thought bubbling in your chest. Honestly, it’s been there ever since he made the comment. “Kazuha?” “What can I do for you, Dearest?” 

“You’d tell me if I was unhealthily jealous, right?”

“Of course.” 

𝐖𝐀𝐍𝐃𝐄𝐑𝐄𝐑

What a hypocrite he is. If anything, you should be the one to call out his jealousy… since you’ve gotten yours from being in a relationship with him. Oh well, at least by participating in the trend he’s inflating his already big ego. 

“You’re the most jealous person I know,” Wanderer states as he notices your sour expression. In truth, you aren’t even sour. That’d be an overreaction. Still, you cannot help but roll your eyes at the stack of chocolates and love letters he brought home. It’s like he gets you jealous on purpose to try and get the higher ground… Heavens, the lack of self-awareness on his part.

“Sorry?” You tilt your head, eyebrow raised. “I’m the jealous one?” The tone of your voice is baffled. Hell, you look around and point at yourself. You do your best not to snort. After all, you have to uphold your posture and make him out to be the buffoon here. 

“Who else?” He rolls his eyes. “As far as I know, chairs don’t get in relationships.” Okay that was a stupid joke. Your cover gets blown off as a smug smile graces your lips. You look your partner up and down as you think of what to say next.  

“I think you need a mirror, Love.” You comment, laughing a little. “If anybody is jealous in this relationship, it’s you.” “Oh, please,” He retaliates, turning his head upwards without breaking eye contact. The glint in those blue pupils begging for you to take the challenge. Oh, how amused he is. It’s game on. 

“Mind I remind you of…” You pause, putting a finger to your lips. “Of how you almost strangled the guy who praised my outfit the other day.” The ball is now in his court. “Duh? I’m the only one who’s to compliment your outfits.” He doesn’t forget to mention how he chose it. Taking pride in being complimented for something you didn’t achieve? How childish.

“The barista asking for my number.” “Looked shady, also, ew.” “The girl who helped me to get up after—“ “You shouldn’t have fallen, idiot.” 

It does go back and forth for a while. It’s like for every example, there's a retaliation. Well, he is being delusional in thinking those don’t constitute jealousy. 

“—Miss Miko gifting me the flowers.” For the first time since you’ve started, there’s silence. Oh, you must’ve cut deep. Okay, okay, maybe it was a low blow… Yae Miko and all...

“Good one.” Wanderer smirks. Man, that was quite fun. He'll be sure to repeat it sometime.

𝐈𝐅𝐀

He feels guilty even wanting to attempt it. His motivation is to be useful to others, so making your means of affection out to be something toxic grinds his gears. Will be apologising for the stupid joke for at least a week straight. 

“Bro, you’re the most jealous person I know… you know?” Ifa’s voice is full of uncertainty when it echoes through the room. It’s like he’s unsure if the matter should even be brought to light… Like it’s serious. 

You, on the other hand, are absolutely floored. You open and close your mouth, unsure of what to say. Sure, there were some comments about Ifa being married to the saurians instead of you. Did those constitute you being labelled the jealous one? You always try your best to not be controlling, at least you think. Your weight shifts from one leg to the other and you feel your lips trembling. 

“D-Do you really think that?” You ask, tilting your head forward — as a mechanism to not let him see how your eyes fill with tears. Some of the locks make it between your fingers, twirled nervously. “I’m s… sorry, I’ll do bett—er. Promise,” The words are being thrown out haphazardly, hoping any of them land. You’d rather not… have Ifa break up with you right there. 

You brace for impact. The slew of accusations, the painful stabs into your heart. It makes your head spin. Instead, you’re met with the broad chest of your partner. His arms wrap around you as Ifa pulls you into the biggest hug possible. “God, I’m so sorry,” He lets out. Stupid, idiotic, imbecile, he mutters name-calling himself. “It was a stupid joke. I didn’t mean it at all, Bro.” 

You look up at him. Ifa’s jaw is clenched as he rubs your back. “Really?” You ask, still unsure. He wouldn’t be bringing up it if he didn’t mean it… right? “Yeah, I was joking. Didn’t mean a word. Sorry.” He doesn’t peek at you, embarrassed he even attempted to participate in the trend. So stupid, so immature. Of course, you’d be worried. Jokes are only good when both parties laugh. If he could, he’d bash his head against the wall. You deserve better than his antics. 

“I really don’t feel like you’re jealous, okay, Bro,” He says, for the last time today, as kisses you on your head. “I won’t tell you that unless I really mean it.” Ifa holds his pinky up, waiting for your acceptance with bated breath. Only when you link your finger with him, does he feel the calm wash over his body. 

date of posting — may 11th 2025

[yurunivo]

Synopsis: continuation of this idea (and also subtracting and adding a few of my own) part 2 part 3 part 4

TW: yandere behavior, cult ish behavior, mentions of blood, injuries, torture, SAGAU, inaccurate personalities, bad grammar, english is not my first language, very short

Characters: Natlan cast x Creator!gn!reader (slight yandere Archons too)

You hated this.

All you were doing was playing genshin and then you suddenly got sucked into the game! At first, it was a dream come true, but now you wanted to be out of here as fast as possible. All this suffering just because you looked like someone?

Mondstadt was a no no. The acting grand master found out so quickly, and the knights of favonious were on your tail. Liyue was also a no, the millelith and adepti was also there. Heck, Zhongli came out of retirement just to catch you! Inazuma? Raiden was enough. Fontaine wasn't any better either. You got put on trial, it's only because of plot armour that you managed to survive.

Sumeru was a bit better. The dendro archon found out about your status quickly, due to Irminsul. But, her people were out of her control, so you got hunted down anyway.

The abyss was even worse. Once they sensed that the creator came back, they were ecstatic to kill you. The abyss weren't known for their fondness of the gods after all. Right now, with the amount of times you fought the abyss and the people of teyvat, your entire body was like a piece of paper ready to be blown away.

You were walking to Natlan, as fast as your legs would take you. Your arm was filled with abyssal energy, and you had open wounds all over you. The sand got into your injuries, which really stung. It was hell trying to walk, but the tiny sliver of hope that Natlan would be different would be enough to keep you going. Usually, your wounds healed instantly every time you were injured, but the attacks from the abyss slowed down your healing. You would show your golden blood, but the injuries healed too fast and the people would be too consumed by anger to even notice your golden blood.

How long has it been since the chase started? Like one or two years? You couldn't really tell. Your mind was foggy, and your body was trembling and shivering. Just the thought that you'll eventually heal and get hunted down again, without anyone knowing about what was truly going on was enough to consider dying. You coughed your way through to Natlan, and as the sandy desert came to a halt for the beginning of Natlan, you could only hope that Natlan would be different.

It wasn't long till you passed out, but you got a tiny glimpse of a Saurian watching you...

Your head hurt, everything did. You woke up to your injuries healed, as you thought what happened. Your body probably managed to heal itself, so that was already explained. What was not so good and definitely needed explaining was that the environment you were in was certainly different, even if you remember not seeing much.

You saw a little girl coming towards you. She looked familiar, but you began to panic. Were you really going to get hunted this time too? If that was the case then dying seemed like a better option than anything.

"Are you okay?! You really looked like you weren't going to survive!" Huh? Why wasn't she attacking you? Was this really a dream? Thank god! You felt like crying at the kindness you were shown after so long!

The girl introduced herself as Kachina. You thought that's why she looked familiar. Perhaps you were not thinking straight from the suffering that you were inflicted on. You introduced yourself too, but you used (fake name) instead of who you really were.

"What happened? You looked so pale and your entire arm was covered with abyssal energy! Did you get attacked on your way here?" She asked so innocently, which made you realize that you had to create a fake story, and fast. You contemplated for a moment, creating a fake story within seconds was hard, but the sheer thought of being hunted again left a bad image on your brain.

"Ah well, I was a runaway from my home in Sumeru. I encountered some enemies and that's what happened to my arm. Is there any place in Natlan where I can get a job and a cheap house and a job? I don't have any Mora on me," you lied through your teeth. You had Mora from the treasure chests you saw in the wild, but it would be weird that a runaway who left everything behind has Mora on them. You felt bad lying to Kachina. But, for your survival, everything was necessary. She seemed to believe you, so you internally sighed in exhaustion. Children were so naive.

She felt so sorry for you, even though your story was fake. She took a cherry flavoured candy from her large bag and gave it to you. Finally, tears started to slip through your eyes. It's truly been so long since you had seen kindness being shown to you. A tear fell from your eyes as you cried. Kachina began to panic, but realized that it was best to stay quiet. You sobbed and sniffled as Kachina continued to comfort you. You again passed out from crying so much.

"There is a bar nearby that you can work in! And for the place to stay in, they have a space above the bar where you can be at!" You walked together as she continued talking. She was nice to talk too, and didn't really pressure you and ask any more questions which might have made you uncomfortable. You changed your clothes too, wearing gloves to hide your injuries from the abyss. You looked at the bar she led you to and thanked her profusely. She was so kind, certainly a gift from the gods!

You got the job and a place to stay. All you had was cleaning duty, and, compared to the injuries and (sometimes) vomiting you had to deal with by yourself, this was a piece of cake. You just cleaned the counters, the glasses and the floor and also throw out the rowdy people in the bar. The room you live in now was cramped, but it was at least better than having to sleep in defeated hillichurl camps with no protection whatsoever.

After getting a stable income, you started giving Kachina a lot of gifts. After all, she helped you so much when you literally had no will to live. She always tried declining them, but you always insisted, saying that she deserved it. She really did though, you needed to pay back her kindness from the beginning anyway. You also started visiting her much often, exploring or just talking with her.

You do meet her friends eventually enough.

"(Fake name)! These are my friends, Kinich and Mualani! I hope you get along with them well!" You were shaking, what if they weren't as kind as Kachina? What if they find out? What if, what if-

But, they were much more easy going than what you expected. Mualani was very cheerful, and Kinich was also very kind! Something was weird though. Ajaw was much quieter than usual. Sure, he still had those narcissistic comments, but it was like he toned down on them a bit. That was very confusing, but if the others didn't notice then you didn't need to bother.

You sometimes visit Mualani in the hot springs, just keeping your arms out of the water for the abyssal energy not to spread. You also sometimes visit Kinich in the Scions of Canopy. He does his extreme sports like bungee jumping, you just watch. Again, it was really unnerving on how much quieter Ajaw was..

But, this happiness wouldn't really last for long.

You were cleaning in your bar, secretly listening into some drama in one of the tables. A woman came into the bar. She was clad in a dark cloak, so you couldn't really see her. But, upon taking a closer look, you realized it was... Mavuika?!

You were sweating like your life depended on it. How did she even figure out that you worked here? Did you have to move again, when you we're just getting settled? Was this perfectly calm life just going to stay for false hope? Seriously, you were scared. You went to go clean another station instead of your own, but not until she managed to give you a message.

"I've been meaning to meet you for a long time, how about we just talk outside later?" She smiled warmly, but you just felt a chill down your spine. You were terrified. But, considering how powerless you were, you agreed. You never know what she might do after all.

Your shift was done, and you gulped as you walked outside. Mavuika was there, waiting for you. She waved, and you nervously waved back. You looked down at yourself. Your hands were trembling, and your entire body was shaking. The sweaty feeling in your palms never went away, it was uncomfortable, but not nearly as uncomfortable as having to talk with an archon.

"I already know that you are our creator, please rest assured," huh?! She already knew? But how? You never revealed your identity,what was going on?! But, all you did was nod your head, still nervous on what she could do.

"I've heard of the chase that you have been through in other nations, but please be assured that I will not do the same. I will protect you from the other nations, and you can continue living your life as it is. I will do my best to help you lead a normal life," you were shocked. Absolutely shocked. Since when did an archon treat you so nicely?

Venti chased you with his bow and arrow, and you got nearly got sucked into the black hole that he had in his burst. Moral was leading the adepti and Liyue Qixing to find and hunt you. You just completely avoided Inazuma. It would be terrible that the Shogun would find you, since she's not as "nice" as Ei. You thought you could start a new in Fontaine, but you got put on to a death sentence by the Oratrice. At least Neuvillette had some kind of pity for you. The eremites, grand bazaar and the scholars of Sumeru were also in the hunt. You started reflecting on how much suffering you had to deal with, as tears welled up in your eyes again. You went to hug Mavuika and just sobbed in her shoulder. She looked surprised but didn't question it as you cried. She patted your back over and over again, letting you cry all your frustrations out.

Of course, it's not like people won't find out eventually.

Kinich was the first to find out. He offered you to bungee jump with him, and you stupidly agreed.

"It won't be that bad, I promise," oh how you shouldn't have believed him. You were screaming the entire time that he held you. Ajaw was fuming at Kinich, which, again, was very weird. He never cared for anyone before, so what was going on?

Though he was holding onto you, it didn't really stop you from getting injuries by nature itself. You had a cut on your cheek, as blood began to seep out. You landed, and it was only when Kinich was recovering from the adrenaline rush, did he notice your cut. He was speechless. He was just staring as you realized the cut you had on your skin. Your eyes widened at the revelation.

"W-wait, I-I can explain!" You didn't even know what you were panicking for. Wasn't it a good thing that they found out? If so, then why did it feel like your heart has been shattered into a million pieces when he found out? Ajaw then screamed at Kinich, like he was reprimanding him.

"You filthy servant! How can you not realize that the creator was with us all this time?! Honestly, what went on in your head when you took them in such a dangerous activity?!" He spewed out to Kinich, while the boy was still in a state of shock. Finally, as if he got to his senses, he muttered out:

"You're the creator?..." He mumbled under his breath. He looked extremely shocked, and also extremely guilty. He ran out of words so quickly. This is how he treated his creator the whole time?

He was about to apologize, but you interrupted him. There was no way that you would let him even say sorry, not when you want to live your life as a human instead of some divine being.

"If you want a more detailed explanation for this... predicament, meet me at the outskirts of the Children of echoes, you'll get all your answers there."

Mualani was second to find out. You two were walking through her tribe, talking about getting swimsuits for the hot spring. The area was very humid, and the floor was very slippery.

Suddenly, you tripped on your steps and fell on the ground. A scratch was on your knee, as you realised that the blood would show. You tried to hide the injury from Mualani, but she took a glance anyway. Her expression was very surprised, but all she did was wrap a piece of cloth around your knee. It really stung, but you really hoped she wouldn't ask any questions about it.

She took you to a secluded area with no people. Just you and her. She was staring for a long time, and you gulped in nervousness. You were enjoying your life without being chased or worshipped, why did this peace have to end now?!

"Well, (fake name), actually it might not even be your real name.. But anyway, I know it might make you uncomfortable, but please explained what happened a bit ago," she asked and all you did was mumble an incoherent sentence with a bitter tone.

Kachina was last to find out. You were exploring some ruins that you found along with her.

It was just supposed to be a little expedition outside in Natlan, but you got way too many cuts from the rocks inside. It didn't really hurt, so you brushed it off, forgetting that Kachina didn't know you were the creator. When she lit up a fire to check in on everything, that's when you realised this. You tried to stay out of the light as much as possible, but she found out very easily.

"What's wrong (fake name)? Why aren't you coming near the fire?" She innocently asked. You cursed at your self for not realizing that she didn't know sooner. But before you could respond, she dragged your wrist into the light in an attempt to see if you had any injuries or not. When she saw the golden blood however, she turned quiet.

"Y-you're the creator?" She asked, almost terrified. Oh what had she done! Treating the holy creator so casually like a friend! You only looked down at her, feeling guilty at putting so much terror to her mind. You patted her head, unsure of how to respond to her.

"Yes I am, but I am your friend still, am I not?"

Spies can exist anywhere and everywhere. After all, it's such a common phrase in Liyue, the walls have ears.

However, the spies that were there to find you and excecute you, were certainly incompetent in their job, letting their emotions get in the way of things.

Seeing the golden blood for their own eyes, the blood of the "imposter" that they were hunting down, was not really easy to swallow. Instead of kidnapping you, they just took a picture with their kamera and ran like the wind, doing anything to inform their leader.

When the Archons found out, they were nothing less than shocked. They have been hunting their creator the entire time? No, this couldn't be! They trembles at the photo in hand, realising how bad they fucked up. Now they were more determined to find you than ever, not to kill you, but to welcome you into their arms. They will get you back, no matter what it takes. Oh and the actual imposter? They're as dead as they can be. Nothing matters except you now.

Nothing else matters.

This is so short Lmaooo hope you like it tho!