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muntitled · 6 months ago

Text

Indebted

Pairings: The Salesman x Fem!reader

Summary: He wouldn't call it jealousy... He just wasn't very fond of sharing his toys.

Warnings: Dead Dove Do Not Eat, Jealousy Language, Violence, Age gap, God Complex, Brainwashing, Psychopathy, Blood, Gore, Codependency, Yandere!Salesman, Stalking, Smut (+18) mdni, Caning, Forced Orgasm, Controlled Orgasm, Dumbification, Impact Play, Blood Play, Blood Kink, Sadomasocism, Dom!Salesman, Sub!Reader, Rough Sex, Blood Play, Degradation Kink, Praise Kink, Sadism, Punishments, Dom/Sub Dynamics, Overstimulation

A/n: I'm not responsible for the media you consume

4k words

"Seriously, if it weren't for your help, I'd probably fail this module-" you meet him at the door, your Salesman, who's come to play one of his games. He arrives just as you're ushering someone else out.

"It's honestly my pleasure," you say, "You've made me feel useful."

As you speak, you open your front door to reveal your Salesman standing on the opposite end of the threshold.

You hadn't been smiling, not until you saw him standing there in a crisp, well-fitted navy blue suit. He's not looking at you. Not immediately. His eyes are trained on the boy you're standing beside. The one who's slipping on his sneakers, still murmuring about how incredibly grateful he is for your tutoring.

'It's nothing,' you replied modestly, even though it was most definitely not nothing to dedicate your entire Wednesday afternoon to tutoring. The boy is a first year and budding with the need to get better in psychology. His essay would have been flawless, had it not been for the grammatical and spelling errors that plagued the page. You'd both sat for the majority of this Wednesday afternoon hacking through the issues and improving on his spelling. It was endearing. To be in university and still need a spelling tutor.

"Thanks so much for the help." The boy tries to maneuver his lanky frame past your Salesman who takes up the majority of the space by your little doorway.

"See you next week." He shoots you a small smile before giving an uneasy glance to your Salesman.

"Hello." Says the Salesman, so painfully formal it causes a wave of unease to swell. He peers down at the boy like a tiny little thing.

"H-Hey." Your student replies before thanking you once more.

When he leaves and it's just you and the man you're paid to please every Wednesday evening, an uneasy sort of silence settles between you both.

You're smiling up at him.

And he's smiling down at you but it's different somehow. Tighter. Not a genuine smile at all.

Although admittedly, none of his smiles were genuine. His entire face was a carefully orchestrated scam, to get any suspecting victim to trust him.

And yet somehow, this smile feels more phoney.

Like a tempest is brewing beneath.

Before you're able to dissect it further, he's already stepping closer, letting his large, elongated shadow fall on you. "Aren't you going to invite me in?"

"The last time you came to my house, you killed someone." You lean against the door, your hip leaning against the wood as you fold your arms over your chest. His eyes zero in on the movement and a rare occasion occurs: You feel powerful. That's the last thing you've ever been made to feel in his presence.

"It took a week to get the smell of blood and death out of my room." You continue.

He lifts his hands in front of you, showing the briefcase that hangs from his heavy fingers and the blisters coating his palms. Like a magician convincing you his hands were clean, "I come in peace." That deep and gravelly vibrato veneering his voice causes a tantalizing hum to run all the way down your spine, leaving a trail of warmth in its wake. You step aside, staring blankly ahead of you as he steps into your house, bombarding everything with his presence.

From his brisk walk alone, trudging into your apartment like he owns the palace (which he regrettably does) you almost immediately realize that something is wrong. You are not under the impression that you've done anything to make him angry but unease still rolls in your stomach like a tempest that's brewing. When you make it into your adjoining living that bleeds into the kitchen, you find him standing in the kitchen. He lowers his briefcase onto the counter before resting both his heavy hands there.

You move to the other side of the counter, leaning down- giving him a more than perfect view of the cleavage spilling from your dress. You hope it might appease him as you try to wrack your mind for possibile slip-ups that would've caused this terrible silence.

This little-to-no-conversation between you both makes your dynamic feel like the transaction that it actually is: a girl, who needs her university fees paid and a sadist who wants his needs met. Feelings weren't in the equation and yet, your heart stops when he asks,

"How was school?"

"School was school." You reply, sounding pathetically excited to finally hear his voice since the moment he entered your little home.

"Although," you peer down at your jittery fingers on the counter. Your nerves are shot to hell as you admit, "I don't know how proactive I'm going to be tonight-”

He was a ruthless dominant, never failing to leave you absolutely spent by the end of the night. It left you with great discomfort to not be able to perform to the greatest of your abilities during these sessions. “I'm so tired... I've got this psychology quiz and-"

"Who was that?" His questions cut through yours like the tip of a hot knife.

“Who was who?” You ask.

He only smiles before turning his back to you, frantically pulling open cupboards as he says, “Rice. Where's the rice? Do you have rice?”

“The cupboard in the bottom row- Who are you referring to?”

He pulls out your tall container of rice and you watch him round the counter with it in his hands. “This place is so fucking small.” He says, popping the lid of the container, “Reminds me of my childhood home.” He stands right in the only open space in your apartment and all you do is watch as he tips the container over, watching millions of rice grains scatter to the bare floor.

“THAT'S MY FOOD, WHAT THE HELL ARE YOU-”

His voice is like molten lava when he looks down at you and points toward the ground. “Kneel.”

You feel nothing but cold air slide across your exposed arms when he trudges back to your little kitchen. Your mind reels and your stomach sinks and sinks and sinks- burning a hole through the rest of your organs.

“Am I being punished for something?”

“Be a good girl and kneel on the rice.” He says and because you were nothing but a slave to the dominance in his voice, you slowly lower yourself to the ground. From behind the kitchen counter he watches your face contort into unmistakable pain as the rice grains dig into your knees. He takes a while but soon you're fully kneeling on the floor. He rounds the counter once again until he's standing before you.

“That… child that was just here,” his voice is eerily calm as he caresses your cheek, “Who was that?”

Had you been in any other situation, under vastly different circumstances, you might have looked for the urge to laugh. His blatant jealousy of some university first-year was nothing if not laughable.

“He's just a friend from class- ah.” It almost becomes unbearable but for the sake of your self preservation, you know not to get up.

He continues to caress you, loosening his tie as he asks. “Which class?”

“P-Pardon?”

“You mean to tell me you only go to one class?” He snaps and you fight off tears, “What the fuck am I paying for?”

“You're paying for me to get my psychology degree.” You reply with feeble words, trying to put away the thought of all the little stabbings plaguing your knees.

“And does that entail sleeping with your classmates?”

“What?!” You screech as he walks away. You're suddenly left without nothing to hold onto and you sway forward, your palms landing on more rice.

“Y-You know I don't do that.” You cry, feeling the sting more from the accusation than the pain of all this bloody rice, “Y-You know I don't sleep around- You know I don't talk to anyone-”

You hear his briefcase click open. From your vantage point on the lowly rice-filled floor, you cannot see what he's taking out. It fills you with more dread than you've ever experienced before. Which was utterly ridiculous.

With him, dread is a thing you ought to be accustomed to. Dread is where you live now. You ought to get comfortable with it.

“Such a shame.” He tsks as he finally rounds the corner to reveal whatever it is he's gone to go fetch. His dress shoes clack against your recently varnished floor and you breathe heavily. The pain had subsided- or perhaps you've gotten used to it- which scares you more than anything. He's messing with your pain threshold. Causing you to build a tolerance for certain things and that terrifies you.

Hidden under all that terror was unmistakable lust.

God help you.

“I thought we were making progress, you and I.” you see the cane first. Made of rattan, it hangs from his strong hand corded with tense veins. A gleaming watch is secured around his wrist and you're already shaking your head as you slowly look up at him. Now the tears are right by the doorway. No matter how much pain he forces you to get accustomed to you could never survive this. Your body still has limits.

“He just asked me to help him with his spelling- Please!”

He raises an eyebrow. “Spelling, you say?” he pats down on your head, eliciting a dizzying wave of subordination as he says, “I think you've just given us our game for tonight, Doll.” He bends down, knees bending until he's somewhat closer to your height. He's still far too big for you. Far too much. You try to crawl backwards, you try to crawl away but he grabs you by your face. You're quite literally being expertly manhandled as he turns you around until you're on your knees in the opposite direction.

“Please…” You're begging but you don't know what for. Once his games were set in motion, nothing could stop him.

Your movements still when you fill him lower his large hand onto your backside. It's so big and warm and you momentarily forget about the rice digging into your skin. He slowly lifts up the skirt of your dress, revealing your underwear beneath.

“Our little Spelling Bee,” he lowers your panties down your thighs, causing a shiver to wrack through your entire body. It's pointless to hide how affected you are by every little thing he does.

“For every word you spell right,” he lifts your leg for you, giving you momentary reprieve from the pain as he manoeuvres you out of the underwear, “You get to cum.”

You'd never felt more degraded: being forced onto doggy style onto a million grains of rice while this man lets his fingers graze over your exposed cunt. He parts your folds and a wave of embarrassment rolls over your face. It's all so normal to him though, just sticking his fingers inside your cunt. He does it with the professionalism of gynecology and all you're able to do is stare blankly ahead while he prods at you.

“We can't make things too easy, though, so you're gonna keep this little thing warm for me while we play,”

You're craning your neck back, trying to get a look. “What thi-”

You release one hoarse gasp when he inserts something round and bulbous and vibrating, straight into your cunt.

“Th-This isn't a game. It's a punishment.” You say through gritted teeth, trying to fight off a moan as the vibrator hums inside you, “I've only ever had sex with one person-”

You. That voice pipes up in the back of your head, feeble as you felt. You think back on the time you gave him your virginity. It had been a bloody affair.

The second his cock ruptured your hymen and the blood began to coat your thighs, it only made him ravage you more. You'd gone to bed crying that night, your tears soaking into your pillows. You were unable to get up and head to classes the next day. All that pain and yet you also felt so incredibly fulfilled. The pain was a godsend.

But this pain? It's angry.

He's angry and he's punishing you for it.

Silence follows your pleas.

“Are you done?” He asks and your shoulders slump as the tears begin to fall. The urge to grind down onto the vibrator coupled with the rice stabbing your knees puts you in an odd predicament. The inner workings of your body is being made a fool of and he's the root cause.

“I'm afraid you've gotten too comfortable with me-”

“Comfortable?” You scoff, whipping your head back to glare at the man watching you with calm eyes and raised eyebrows. “I could never feel comfortable around you.”

“And you've forgotten your place.” He smiles before standing to his full height, “Letting little boys over to your place-”

“We were studying-”

“I've gone soft on you as of late.” He lets his other hand drag across the length of the hard cane. “Shame on me. It's clearly deluded you into forgetting about our arrangement.”

He steps around you until he's once again standing in front of you. “You've forgotten your place as a thing.”

He grabs your face. “My thing.”

You do a very wrong thing then.

You moan.

It's soft and insecure and so dreadful but you moan

His eyes search yours. You can see the pleasure diluting them. Causing them to go as round as saucers.

He wants to lean into that sound you just made, but he's still furious with you and that sends you into a spiral.

“I'm sorry. I'm sorry, okay-”

“So you admit you're a slut?” He asks, inches the buttons of his blaze as he readies his assault. “You whore yourself out to that little boyfriend of yours.”

"Boyfriend?” It's laughable. “Me?”

“Are you condescending me?” He asks darkly and you screech in frustration.

“You know I don't talk to anyone- Why are you so angry with me!?”

“You haven't seen angry, Little girl.” His face is calm. Dangerously so. “You haven't fucking seen angry.”

A shiver wracks through your body as you look up at his cold dead eyes.

“Fine.”

Whatever it takes.

“I am a slut-” you really weren't and the words barely register as truth but you're scrambling as he steps away from you. His hands folded in front of him and he appears oh so in control as he says, “Your first word is Gorgeous.”

You breathe out as you try to refocus enough to successfully spell the word.

“G-Oh.. fuck.” Your cunt spasms around the device and your eyes roll back. You're rocking backwards and forwards, frantically searching for friction that just isn't there. He loves the show you put on for him, writhing on the floor like a puppy in heat. He barely contains his glee as he raises his hand and says, “Wrong.”

“W-What!?” you blink, trying to shake away your pleasure-filled daze, “N-no that wasn't my final-”

“G-o-r-g-e-ou-s,” he says smugly as he moves until he's behind you. Your body tenses and the world shatters when he darkly repeats, “Wrong.”

The cane cracks through the air before it ever lands on your backside. The word ‘sting’ doesn't begin to cover the utter agony that blossoms across your asscheeks. All you know for all those seconds is white hot pain. Everything is at attention, and your body vitaly tries to urge you to take care of the inflicted wound but you can't.

“Sane.” He's breathing heavily as he walks over to stand in front of you. He's getting riled up, a strand of black hair falls in front of his almond eyes. His shoulders rise and fall and rise and fall. Seeing you get caned once does unspeakable things to his resolve. “Your next word is sane.”

Too easy.

"W-Which one?" You blink through the pain, trying to will the tears away. The second you slipped into self pity, it'd be over for you. "S-Sane is a homophone.” You say thickly. The pain. The pain. The pain. “There's Sane,” you glare up at him through wet lashes, “Which you very much aren't-" that amuses him greatly. You're regrettably far too happy to hear the dark chuckle. “Then there's Seine, like the fishing variety-”

He places his hand on your head. “Clever girl. I thought you didn't have a dad.”

“I don't,” you hiccup, “I just like fish. Men aren't the only fishers in the fucking world.”

“Smart mouth.” He pulls away again until he's standing at his full posture. “You use it like that with the boy from Psyche?”

Your shoulders slump and you don't care about the desperation in your voice as you reaffirm, “I'm telling you I haven't done anything-”

“Seine as in the fishing practice. Spell it.”

“S-E-I-N-E” your eyes are squeezed shut as you take a strike from a whip that never comes. Your eyes that had once been squeezed shut, slowly flit open and you're amazed to see his grinning face right in front of you. Every wrinkle running like tributaries around his eyes. The smile lines. He's so handsome it's devastating.

“Correct.” He says. “You're allowed to cum. Congratulations.” Just those few words have your eyes rolling into the back of your skull as you begin to rock back and forth. You lean into the pleasure like a warm and fluffy blanket during aftercare. It's a godsend and it has you moaning and whining into the air.

“Let me give you a hand,” he says, before stopping to deliver that signature, “My little winner.” He brings you in close, your hands cling onto his forearm while the other reaches behind you. He delivers a kiss to your forehead as his fingers find your puffy clit.

“I'm gonna-”

“Cum for me my Clever girl. Cum for me before I change my mind,” There is nothing but him. He consumes you as you fervently hump against his hand on all fours like the animal he reduced you to. Your hips move on their own accord and in his eyes, you can see his own pleasure mounting. Its in the gravel in his voice when he clears his throat and says, “Thank me for letting you cum.” your orgasm crashes down on you and it's ferocious. It's vicious. It's guttural. The rice underneath you still serves as a reminder of your punishment and that somehow has you coming harder.

“Thank you for letting me cum Sir,”

his eyes flutter shut and his chest expands as he basks in your servitude. He breathes it in, letting it settle in his bones, making him feel as important as he needs to.

“N-No more, please,” you whisper once the orgasm passes. He doesn't switch off the vibrator and soon the pleasure bleeds into a painful discomfort. the aftershocks rattle through your body as you drift into overstimulation, “Please-Done-” you became horribly useless with your words when he had you like this, and he watches you so intently as if not only turned on by your torture but so completely intrugued by it. You intrigued him.

“Stop-” You begin but he chuckles as he moves away from you. He straightens his suit and readies the cane, “Why? You’re not even bleeding yet.” He says, “Suck it up.”

“Oh my god, I need to come again,” it rolls through you quite literally out of nowhere and you gasp as you try to keep it at bay. Cumming without having won a round was a breach in the rules of the game and you didn't wanna do that.

“Well then, I guess you better spell the next word for me.” he says with a smile.

You swallow thickly. Your previous win elicits a tiny sliver of confidence and spelling is something you excel in so you steel your nerves. You breath in deeply and stare blankly ahead.

“Honorificabilitudinitatibus.”

You immediately look up at him.

“Latin words arent-” another aftershock rams through you. You're so close to cumming completely hands-free. “L-Latin words aren't allowed.”

Nothing but a dark chuckle escaped him at your expense. “I had no idea you were making the rules.” He says sarcastically. “Had no idea the cane's in your hand.” That draws your gaze to the cane, leaning in his palm.

Point made.

He could throw in whatever wild-card word he wanted because he held the cane.

“H-o-n-o-r-” you make the mistake of looking up at him then. He's gazing down at you with his head tilted slightly to the right. His cane behind his back as he leans down slightly.

“No cumming,” he tsks, shaking his head. “Disqualified.”

“B-But I didn't-” even as you say those words, you feel it. The lightning zipping through you like a phantom. A ditzy sort of smile flashes across your face as you succumb to the pleasure being forced out of you. “F-Fuck-” its so painful and so fucking good you're seeing stars. He runs a hand through his messy hair and the cane comes down on your backside. This time it draws blood.

“I'm a rusty old man, glad to see I've still got a firm grip,”

“P-Please-” You're still caught in the world of unicorns and rainbows. Your orgasm is center stage, in spite of all the pain. You didn't even know your body could cum for this long. You didn't think it was possible but here you are, riding wave after wave of pleasure induced by a vibrator in your cunt while he canes you almost mindlessly.

He transcended every realm of physical possibilities.

He's breathing heavily now as the cane falls to the floor. The end is bloody. You stare down at the floor while he moves behind you.

“Don't forget, this is a transaction,” Behind you he kneels behind you, his fingers graze your backside, “This is about you avoiding student debt for the rest of your miserable life. A life you'll probably spend married to some depressed drunk who beats you and doesn't even let you cum.” A hand pulls you back by your hair until you're seated on your haunches. Skin had broken.

Your blood drips down your backside like a marble statue in the rain. There were marks. Scars.

“You're indebted to me.” He says behind you. “Say it.”

“I'm indebted to you.”

“Thank me for hitting you, Doll.” His hands drift over your body. The softest touch after these moments of brutality.

Th-" You struggle to catch your breath as he digs his fingers in your cunt, finally freeing you of the vibrator that rattles to the floor, “Thank you… for hitting me.”

He hums into your hair, smelling you, feeling you. “You're welcome, my little winner,”

You hear the sound of his zipper, and frantic movements behind you. You're utterly spent. You'd let him do anything he wanted. Anything at all.

“You look so pretty, Baby. Look at you,” his fingers swipes down the arch of your back. He brings his hand around to show you the crimson dropping from his index. Almost automatically as if the two of you were in communication far beyond that of human understanding, he brings your finger forward the same time you dip your head lower and roll your tongue out. Until the taste of your own blood drawn from all his sadistic torture is wiped along your tongue.

He groans. “I wanna jerk off with your blood.” He admits, “Fuck-”

You gasp, beginning to rock on haunches as if you could still feel that vibrator inside you, “Please- don't say stuff like that-”

This was bad enough.

You were bad enough.

He's already corrupted you to a point where you didn't even recognize yourself.

Where is the quiet, shy girl you had been? She's drowning under all the blood he'd spilled to make himself cum. She's buried under all the pain, all the turmoil and all the damn torture.

You don't miss her

"Pl-lease fuck me, I need it." Your voice is hoarse and you realize you're making demands but still you peer at him over your shoulders. Your tired eyes plead with him.

“I never ever ask you for anything. I've let you control everything.”

While you speak, your voice deep and hoarse, his hand is already moving over his erection. He bends you forward, until you're in doggy style again. Fabric rustles. Your limbs are trembling.

“For once, just grant me th-” the words are barely out your mouth before he's shoving his cock all the way inside you.

“O-Oh God!” Your eyes squeeze shut as he fucks you on the floor like a rabid animal. You try to crane your head back, to watch him ravage you.

His hair is a mess, his tie completely undone. He's everything he tries to hide from the rest of the world. Nothing but an untamed beast.

“Your cunt is so fucking tight-” he says, resting his hands on bloody ass. He guides your movements, pulling you roughly down on his cock until you're screaming into the open air. You're both like animals. You've both regressed to the very basis of your instincts.

“I need to see your blood on my cock,” He's already pulling out of you. The sound reverberates with finality all around the apartment and you cry. It's all you're able to do as you crane your head back to watch him stroke his cock with a bloodied fist.

“Are you ready to cum for me again, baby?”

Your lips are quivering as you rock backwards urging his cock in, “L-Like you won't believe,”

“Then cum for me, Princess.” He says, sliding his cock back inside your overstimulated cunt. Your orgasm is instant and swift and it rocks through you, tightening your cunt around his cock like a vice. His movements grow more frantic as he fucks you through it, keeping a firm grip on your ass.

Your mouth falls open when you realize he's fucking his own cum and your blood back into you and its all too much. He throws his head back when he cums, letting his hips stutter against your ass and the world spins.

“You're s-such a fucking slut,” he laughs manically. You've quite literally given yourself to a sadistic monster and the post nut clarity is vicious.

“I want to take you out,” he says, way softer than he had been a minute ago.

Your body tenses. “Out? Where-”

“Dinner.” He says. “You deserve it… my little winner.”

If you knew anything about anything, you knew it wouldn't just be any ordinary dinner.

But who were you to refuse?

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7K notes · View notes

kashverse · 5 months ago

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uncle gogo = gojo, for those confused

career day at the sukuna household is not for the weak.

at the tender age of five, your daughter is no longer just a visitor at her father’s company. no. today, she is there for work. she arrives at the office in her best outfit—tiny blazer, tiny briefcase, tiny attitude—ready to take on the corporate world. sukuna, ever the supportive father, plays along.

"alright, kid," he says as they step into his office, adjusting the little lanyard around her neck that says junior executive (custom-made, obviously). "first day on the job. you ready?"

"mm-hmm." she nods seriously, clutching her briefcase like it holds state secrets. "good," sukuna smirks, ruffling her hair. "first order of business—don’t let the idiots boss you around."

"idiots like uncle gogo?" she asks.

"especially uncle gogo."

things go smoothly at first. your daughter sits in sukuna’s big chair, scribbling on documents (coloring books), occasionally nodding as if she understands corporate jargon. employees pop in to say hello, bringing little gifts—stickers, snacks, an absurdly large teddy bear that now sits beside her like an honorary executive.

but then, he arrives. a mid-level manager with a smile just a little too fake, eyes that linger just a little too long. your daughter, ever perceptive, immediately stiffens. the man kneels beside her chair, trying to look friendly. "and who is this little boss?" he asks, voice dripping with condescension. your daughter stares him down, face blank.

"…weird man," she declares.

the entire office goes silent. sukuna, who had been checking emails, slowly looks up.

"what?"

his daughter turns to him, completely unbothered.

"i don’t like weird man."

the manager laughs awkwardly. "kids, huh? always saying the darndest things." sukuna barely spares him a glance. "yeah. they do."

your daughter, meanwhile, has already moved on, humming as she arranges her teddy bear like it’s the new CFO. sukuna doesn’t think much of it at first. kids have weird instincts. but a few hours later—

"boss," one of his executives says, looking grim. "we have a problem." sukuna doesn’t look up from his laptop. "when don’t we?"

"it’s about him."

the name that follows is the same weird man his daughter had called out earlier. sukuna finally looks up.

"what about him?"

"he’s been embezzling funds. we just caught the discrepancies in the accounts—tens of thousands missing. and, uh..." the executive hesitates. "he’s also been at the center of multiple employee harassment complaints. HR covered it up, but—"

CRACK.

everyone in the office flinches. sukuna has broken his pen in half.

by the end of the day, weird man is ex-employee weird man. security drags him out kicking and screaming, and the company lawyers are already preparing a case. sukuna, meanwhile, sits back in his chair, arms crossed as he watches his daughter—his psychic daughter—methodically stacking staplers like it’s part of an intricate business strategy.

"so," he says, tapping his fingers against the desk. "you got anything else for me, little oracle?"

she looks up at him, blinking.

"uncle gogo steals candy from your office."

sukuna sighs. "of course he does."

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barnesonly · 27 days ago

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Miss Rabbit ˖ . ݁𝜗𝜚. ݁₊

congressman!bucky barnes x reader

summary: Congressman Barnes always finds the little bunny you hide in his suit. This time, he finds it mid-meeting, right before a big vote. When he calls you to his office that night, you know you’re in trouble… 🐰💼💋

words: 3692

WARNINGS: 18+ explicit content, MDNI. fluff (kinda) to smut, established relationship, curse words, dirty talk, praise kink, spanking, fingering, oral (f receiving), PiV, unprotected sex, rough sex, teasing, edging, semi-public sex (office sex), breeding, overstimulation, petname (bunny), fully consensual by both parties although not explicitly stated.

Every morning before Congressman James Buchanan Barnes stepped into Capitol Hill, he carried a tiny secret stitched into the folds of his carefully polished world: you. Specifically, the little bunny you’d hide somewhere on him before he left.

Sometimes it was a pin tucked into his suit jacket. Other times, a sticker placed just-so in the corner of his wallet where he’d find it mid-meeting. Once, you’d clipped a stuffed keychain to the side of his briefcase, and he hadn’t noticed until the middle of a veteran affairs hearing. He’d given you a look when he got home, but the bunny was still dangling there the next morning.

He always grumbled about it, “Bunny again, doll?” “You’re trying to get me mocked in the ethics committee, aren’t you?” but he never once took them off. Not really.

Because he liked the reminder. Of you. Of home. Of the softness he wasn’t supposed to show.

And you? You liked knowing that behind every stern press release, every steely-eyed soundbite, stood your man with a tiny bunny tucked into his suit. Your personal rebellion against his polished public life. A quiet little claim on him the world couldn’t touch.

This time, it was a tiny bunny pin — soft beige felt, little floppy ears, stitched eyes. You’d snuck it into the inside pocket of his navy jacket while he was distracted on the phone that morning, already half-listening to a briefing about a defense budget proposal.

He didn’t notice.

Not when he kissed your temple on his way out.

Not when he walked past security.

Not even during the first two meetings.

It wasn’t until he reached into his pocket to grab a pen — mid-sentence, mid-argument, in a conference room packed with sharp suits and sharper words — that his fingers grazed it. The soft brush of felt ears. Familiar. Unmistakable.

He froze for half a second.

Then slowly pulled it out, holding the pin between his fingers like it might explode.

A bunny. Another one.

Someone across the table blinked. Another tried not to smile. Bucky cleared his throat, calmly placed the pin back into his pocket, and continued as if nothing happened but the tips of his ears flushed red.

Embarrassed? Maybe. But under that? A tiny, dangerous smirk.

Later, tucked away in the quiet corner of his office between stacked folders and closed blinds, he pulled out his phone.

Bucky | 4:36 PM

Come to my office after I’m done with my meetings. We have to talk

No emoji. No bunny mention. Classic serious boyfriend tone but you knew that tone. That wasn’t anger. That was danger.

Your phone buzzed again.

Bucky | 4:37 PM

Wear a dress. The one I like.

You didn’t knock.

You never did, not when he texted you like that. You just walked in, heels soft against the polished floors of Congressman Barnes’ private office. The lights were low. The building mostly empty. Evening sun poured through the blinds in long golden stripes.

He was at his desk, still in his full suit. Tie slightly loosened. Jacket still buttoned. The bunny — your bunny — barely visible in the fold of his pocket.

His eyes dragged over you the second the door clicked shut.

And God, you’d worn it — the dress he loved. Deep purple, thin straps, silk clinging to your curves like it was made to be peeled off. No bra. He could tell. And you’d pulled your hair back just the way he liked it, too, like a gift waiting to be unwrapped.

“You wore it,” he said quietly, pushing back from his chair.

You didn’t say anything, just smiled.

He stood. Slowly. Letting the silence stretch between you as he walked around the desk. His eyes didn’t leave yours, but you could feel the heat rising in his stare.

“I found the bunny,” he murmured, stopping in front of you. His hand rose, two fingers grazing the curve of your hip. “Inside my jacket. In a meeting. Surrounded by press and three senators who already hate me.”

You batted your lashes. “Did they think it was cute?”

“Think it’s cute to be disrespected in front of my colleagues?” His voice darkened, just enough to make your thighs press together. “Think it’s funny to act like my good girl and then pull stunts like that, bunny?”

Your breath caught. Your belly tightened.

He leaned in, lips brushing your ear. “Maybe I haven’t been clear enough with you.”

You whispered, “Then maybe you should teach me.”

Oh, he sure will.

Suddenly you were spun around, pressed face-first against the cool surface of his desk. His hand came down hard on your ass — once, twice, then rubbed the sting away with a low groan.

“You wanna act like a brat?” he growled, fingers slipping beneath your dress, hiking it up your thighs. “I’ll treat you like one.”

You moaned as his hand slid under your panties, knuckles grazing where you were already soaked for him. “So wet and you haven’t even said sorry yet.”

“I’m not sorry,” you breathed, hips rocking back.

Another slap. Harder.

“Then you’re gonna take everything I give you.” His voice was dangerous now—commanding, low, rough with arousal.

He dropped to his knees behind you like a man starved. Tore your panties down. His tongue was on you in seconds, hot and eager, licking long and deep until your knees nearly gave out. He loved eating you from behind, loved the sounds you made when your hands scrambled for purchase on his desk.

“God, you taste like fucking heaven,” he groaned into your folds, arms locked around your thighs to hold you open.

His tongue was relentless, flicking over your clit in steady strokes, then dipping inside you with low, hungry moans that vibrated straight through your core. You gasped, back arching, thighs trembling as he devoured you like a man with something to prove.

Like he wasn’t just your boyfriend. He was both your punishment and your reward.

“Bucky—” you choked out, your voice cracking when he flattened his tongue against you and dragged it up with aching slowness. “Oh my God, don’t stop—”

He didn’t. He couldn’t. His hands tightened on your thighs, pulling you back against his mouth with a low growl.

“You think you can get away with teasing me like that?” he muttered against you, voice dark and slick with heat. “Think you can put that little bunny in my pocket and walk away?”

You whimpered as his tongue circled your clit again—slow, deliberate, devastating. His nose brushed right where you needed him, and he knew it, because he did it again. And again.

“Answer me, bunny.”

Your knees buckled. “I—n-no, I was just—oh my God—”

He chuckled against you, lips slick. “Not so brave now, huh?”

And then he sucked.

Hard. Right on your clit.

Your whole body shuddered, mouth open in a silent cry as your orgasm slammed through you, blinding and desperate. Your hands clutched the desk for dear life, back arching as he held you down, tongue never stopping, dragging every last wave out of you until you were trembling and panting and utterly ruined.

Only then did he pull back. Wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, he stood slowly — towering behind you, one hand sliding up your spine.

He stood up, chest heaving. You turned just in time to see him unbuckle his belt, undo his slacks just enough to pull his cock free. Hard. Thick. Already leaking at the tip with precum.

“Bend over the desk. Hands flat. Don’t move.”

You obeyed instantly. The desk was cool under your palms, your breath fogging the polished wood. Behind you, you heard the rustle of fabric, the soft clink of his belt sliding loose, the quiet growl of a man holding himself back.

And then his hand was on you again, palm sliding up the back of your thigh, over your ass, thumb hooking beneath the band of your ruined panties.

“You really think I’m gonna fuck you without making sure this little pussy’s ready for me?” he murmured, low and dark in your ear.

You shivered, whimpering as he dragged the already ripped panties down your legs and tossed it aside. The air hit you sharp and cool, and then his fingers were parting you — spreading your slick folds with reverent care.

“Jesus,” he groaned behind you. “So fucking wet. You want it that bad, huh? Got off on teasing me?”

You whimpered, rocking back toward his touch.

“I asked you a question.”

“Yes,” you breathed. “I wanted you to get mad.”

“Oh, bunny…” he chuckled, fingers pressing gently at your entrance. “You’re gonna regret that.”

He slipped one finger inside — slow and steady, knuckle-deep. You gasped, walls clenching around the thick digit. Then two. He didn’t rush, didn’t fuck you with them yet. Just held them inside, spreading them a little. Letting you feel him. Letting you want more.

“You feel that?” he whispered. “How tight you still are? I could split you open right now and it still wouldn’t be enough.”

He curled them just slightly, finding that soft, tender spot inside you. Your mouth dropped open with a choked sound as he pressed into it.

“Ohhh—f-fuck—Bucky—”

“Yeah,” he growled, thrusting his fingers deeper now, slow but firm, like he wanted to feel every squeeze of your cunt around him. “That’s it. Let me stretch you, baby. Gotta make room for me.”

You were panting now, hands gripping the desk, legs quivering with every push of his fingers. He scissored them just a little, fucking you slow and deliberate, wet sounds filling the space between your moans.

“You’re perfect like this,” he muttered, mouth brushing your shoulder. “Bent over my desk. Dripping for me. So fucking good for me.”

One of his hands slid around your hip, pressing on your lower belly, holding you steady as his fingers picked up speed — thrusting now, curling with purpose, until your knees were buckling and your eyes were rolling back.

“Please,” you gasped. “Please, Bucky—need it—”

“Need what, baby?”

“You—inside me—please, I’m ready—”

He pulled his fingers out with a wet pop, and you nearly sobbed at the loss.

“Oh, you’re ready all right, I get it…” he said, dragging his cock through your slick folds teasingly. “So ready I could’ve walked in here, bent you over and fuck you hard without a word.”

You whimpered, looking back over your shoulder.

He caught your eyes. Smirked.

“But where’s the fun in that, Miss Rabbit?”

With one hand gripping your hip, the other steadying himself against the desk, he pressed the thick head of his cock to your entrance and he slid into you slow, letting you feel every inch as he filled you up.

You moaned — loud, louder than you meant to —but the sound was barely out before his palm was over your mouth, hot and firm.

“Shhh,” he rasped against your ear, voice barely held together. “You want the whole building hearing how desperate you are for me?”

You whimpered against his hand, walls fluttering around his cock as he bottomed out—so deep you felt him in your belly. His hips were flush against yours, and still, somehow, it felt like he was buried too far.

“Fuck,” he groaned, eyes fluttering shut as he held himself inside you. “You feel that? Feel how tight you are around me?”

He gave a slow, punishing thrust, just once. Just enough to make you feel it.

“That’s it, baby,” he growled. “Take it.”

You moaned again, body arching. He fucked into you again — deep and steady, rhythm slow and full, each thrust leaving you more breathless than the last.

“Take it like my good girl.”

Your body jerked at those words. He felt the way you clenched around him — tight and greedy — and he grunted low in your ear.

“Ohh, you love that, huh?” he whispered, hand slipping from your mouth to your throat. Not squeezing — just holding. Claiming. “Love when I fuck you like this?”

You nodded — barely. Couldn’t do anything else with the way he was ruining you. Every inch of him dragged against your walls, pushing so deep it felt like he was fucking the air from your lungs.

The desk creaked beneath you, hips slamming into yours again and again until all you could hear was the slap of skin, his breath in your ear, and the filthy wet sounds of your cunt taking every inch he gave.

His grip tightened. His thrusts got rougher.

And his voice dropped lower.

“You know what happens to brats who leave bunnies in my pocket?”

You tried to answer. Failed.

He chuckled darkly.

“They get stuffed full until they can’t walk straight.”

His rhythm picked up — deep and punishing — and your moans turned to gasps. Desk creaking beneath you, his belt jingling faintly with every thrust, the bunny still tucked neatly in his pocket while he fucked you like he’d lost all political control.

You were close, so close. Every thrust hit deep, dragging moans from your throat as his hand curled tighter around your throat, your body trembling beneath him.

“Bucky—fuck—I’m gonna—”

“Uh uh,” he growled. “Not like this.”

You barely had time to whine before he pulled out completely, your cunt clenching desperately around nothing.

“No—!” you gasped, writhing, reaching back for him.

But he was already moving — rough hands on your hips, flipping you onto your back like you weighed nothing. Your hair fanned out against the desk, chest heaving, dress bunched around your waist.

He didn’t give you time to think.

He stepped between your spread thighs, dragged you to the edge by the backs of your knees, and stared down at you with that look — like he was savoring the sight of you wrecked and needy, your pussy dripping for him, your lips parted in disbelief.

“Look at you,” he murmured, stroking his cock slowly with one hand. “Such a pretty mess. Thought you were being cute, huh?”

You whined, trying to rock your hips toward him.

“Uh uh,” he scolded, catching your throat in his hand again — gentle, but firm enough to still you. “You don’t come until I say. You understand me?”

You nodded, breath catching as his eyes dropped to where you were soaked and waiting.

“I already told you — You wanna be a brat?” he whispered, leaning in close, eyes locked on yours. “Then I’ll treat you like one.”

And then — just to be cruel — he dragged the head of his cock through your slick folds again… and still didn’t push in.

You sobbed.

“Bucky—please—I was so close—”

“I know you were,” he smirked. “Felt this pretty pussy squeezing the hell outta me. But maybe now you’ll think twice before sneaking bunnies into my damn suit.”

His cockhead nudged your entrance again — hot, hard, right there.

You arched toward him, desperate.

“Please,” you gasped, “I’ll be good, I swear—”

“Oh, bunny,” he murmured, finally letting his tip press just barely inside.

“Now beg.”

“Please,” you whispered, then louder, needy. “Please, Bucky, I need it—need you inside me, I’ll be good, I swear, I’ll be so good—”

He smirked, stroking himself over your slick folds, cock twitching in his fist.

“You’ll be good, huh?”

“Yes, yes—Bucky, please, I—fuck, I need you—”

His smirk faded into something darker. He gripped your thighs, shoved them up and apart, exposing you completely. His tip pressed to your entrance.

“Then take it,” he growled.

And he slammed into you — Hard. Deep.

You cried out, back arching off the desk as he bottomed out in one brutal thrust. No teasing. No holding back. Just his cock stretching you open and filling you to the brim.

“Oh my—fuck—”

“That what you needed, bunny?” he gritted, already moving, hips pistoning into you with raw, desperate power. “That what you were begging for?”

All you could do was moan — loud, shameless.

His hand slid down to your belly, pressing firmly as his thrusts pounded against it.

“Feel me right here,” he hissed. “So deep you can’t even think straight.”

You were gone — wrecked, toes curling as his cock hit every perfect spot, hips slamming against your ass in punishing rhythm. The desk creaked with every thrust, your body jolting with each one.

“That’s it, baby. Take it… Such a good girl.”

You gasped at the praise — shattered from it. He knew it. Knew what those words did to you. And he gave them right when you were unraveling.

“Fuck, look at you,” he groaned, eyes locked on yours. “Pretty little bunny, soaking my cock, begging for it like you’re mine.”

“I am,” you cried, voice breaking. “Yours, Bucky—always—”

That did it.

He grunted — feral — and drove into you even harder, like he was trying to fuck your soul into the damn desk. Your thighs trembled. Orgasm built fast, high, dangerous.

“I’m—I’m gonna—”

“Come for me,” he growled, bending over you, hand sliding back to your throat. “Be my good girl and fucking come for me.”

And you did.

It hit you hard — a sobbing, shaking, back-arching mess of a climax as he kept fucking you through it. You clenched around him so tight he growled, low and filthy, before burying himself to the hilt with a broken groan.

“Fuck—fuck—fuck—” he gasped, voice cracking as he came — cock twitching, filling you up in thick, hot spurts until you felt it drip out around him.

He didn’t move for a long moment. Just stayed inside, breathing hard, one hand still cupping your throat gently, the other gripping your thigh like he’d fall if he let go.

His cum spilled from between your thighs. He watched it with a proud, dangerous glint.

Then he looked up at you and smiled lazily. He didn’t pull out. Not right away.

Instead, he stayed where he was — buried deep, body pressed over yours, chest rising and falling. His hand stroked gently down your spine, grounding you. You were trembling beneath him, legs limp, breath stuttering.

“You okay, bunny?” he murmured, voice low and warm. “Talk to me.”

You nodded slowly. “Y-Yeah. Just sensitive.”

He kissed your shoulder. “Too much?”

A pause. And then — quietly — you whispered:

“No… not if it’s with you.”

That pulled a low groan from his throat. “Fuck. You know what that does to me, don’t you?”

You smiled, weak and bliss-drunk, still catching your breath.

He shifted, pulling your hips back just slightly — and you gasped when his cock dragged inside you, every inch too much and still perfect.

“God, you’re still so tight,” he breathed, voice reverent. “You wanna give me one more, sweetheart? Let me take care of you?”

You hesitated — just a beat. Then nodded again. “Yeah. Want you. Want more.”

His hand slid beneath your body, palm splayed over your lower belly as he began to move — slow, careful thrusts, deep and steady, every one making you moan helplessly into the crook of your arm.

He watched your face, your lashes fluttering, lips parted in shaky little gasps.

“You’re doing so good, baby,” he whispered, kissing the side of your neck. “Taking me so sweet. So perfect.”

You whimpered. “So full…”

“You love it, don’t you?” he murmured. “Being full of me like this? With my cum still inside you?”

“Mhm…” you breathed.

“That’s right.” Another thrust, deeper. “You’re my good girl. My beautiful bunny.”

Your body jolted when he hit that spot again — over and over, his rhythm never faltering, not even when your thighs trembled and your whimpers turned to sobs.

“I can’t—I’m close—”

“Give it to me,” he urged, hand sliding to your clit, rubbing slow tight circles. “Let go for me, bunny. Just one more.”

And you shattered.

You came with a sob, your whole body curling, clenching tight around him as the orgasm crashed through you like a wave. Bucky groaned loud, burying himself deep as he spilled inside you a second time — slow, drawn-out pleasure, his head dropping to your shoulder as he moaned your name like a prayer.

This time, he stayed pressed to you, both of you shaking. His hand never stopped stroking your belly, grounding you, murmuring soft nothings into your skin.

“I got you,” he whispered, brushing kisses along your shoulder. “You’re safe. So good for me. So perfect.”

You weren’t sure how long you lay there, boneless and warm, cradled between the polished wood of his desk and the solid heat of his body.

Eventually, Bucky stirred.

“Okay, sweetheart,” he whispered against your temple, “c’mon. Let me take care of you.”

You made a little noise of protest — half whimper, half pout — but he was already scooping you up, strong arms holding you close as he carried you across the room. He set you gently on the leather couch in the corner of his office, murmuring soft praise as he tucked a throw blanket around your bare legs.

“I’ll be right back,” he said, pressing a kiss to your hairline.

A few moments later, he returned — warm towel in hand, a bottle of water, one of his dress shirts draped over his arm. You blinked up at him, still floaty, and he smiled as he knelt between your knees.

“Let me clean you up, bunny.”

You nodded, and he was so careful with you — dabbing between your thighs, soothing the sensitivity with tender strokes and quiet apologies. When you winced, he paused instantly.

“Too much?”

You shook your head. “No… just sensitive. But it’s okay. Feels nice.”

His eyes softened. “You’re such a good girl for me.”

Once he was done, he helped you into his shirt, buttoning it slowly over your chest with hands that had just been ruthless to your body — now gentle, reverent. You nestled into him as he sat beside you, pulling you into his lap like you weighed nothing at all.

His hand found your thigh under the blanket. The other cradled the back of your head.

“You really okay?” he murmured into your hair.

You nodded, cheek resting on his chest. “More than okay. You?”

He chuckled, low and warm. “I just had you screaming my name over my desk, bunny.“

You giggled against his neck.

“Don’t tempt me,” you whispered. “I’ll put another bunny in your pocket tomorrow.”

He groaned dramatically. “You’re gonna kill me.”

“You love it.”

He didn’t deny it.

divider credit: @bernardsbendystraws !! big thanks xx

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suguann · 1 year ago

Text

PRETTIEST BABY—JJK MEN. * ˚ ✦

✎. they can't help it, they're kind of obsessed with you. | wc. 2k+

tags. fem!reader, thigh riding, slight food play, unprotected sex, mating press, spit play, object insertion, oral sex, threesome, spit roasting, rough sex, degradation, praise kink, pet names [18+ only]

featuring. nanami, sukuna, choso, gojo & geto

an. dividers by @/hitobaby | masterlist

↬ NANAMI

You don’t hear him when he walks in, too busy dancing around his kitchen to a song playing on the radio in that short sundress that always makes his pants feel tight. But at the sound of him setting his keys and briefcase down on the counter, you turn and give him a pretty little smile.

“Hey, I just put the kids down for a nap.” You pop a dollop of cream into your mouth from the bowl you’re holding. “How was work?”

Nanami can’t think straight enough to answer, too busy staring at your cheeks, how they suck in around your finger, and the sound of your hum when the sugar hits your tongue. The sound has him thinking about you humming like that around his cock, or wondering if you’d tease the purpling head the way you’re licking your finger.

He shouldn’t be thinking it at all—not when the babysitter should be here any minute to watch the boys.

But he can’t help it.

When you pull your finger out of your mouth, you have just enough time to squeak before his hand is palming the back of your head, and his lips come crashing down against yours.

He groans into your mouth, his hands carding down your sides before finding purchase at your hips to bunch in the skirt of your dress. You release the most adorable gasp when he picks you up, carrying you across the kitchen to sit in one of the dining chairs; his hold keeps you from falling off his lap as your legs drop from behind his back to around his thighs clumsily.

Nanami’s hands slide up from the swell of your hips until they cup your breasts, his thumb circling a nipple reverently.

“Prettiest tits,” he mumbles to himself.

You moan louder than you should with the kids right down the hall, your fingers flexing around his shoulders. “Oh!”

“Shh, honey,” he smiles faintly, pressing kisses against your open, panting mouth. “Don’t want to wake the kids.”

His thumbs brush against your nipples through your dress, his hands spanning almost the entire width of your rib cage. You shiver from how the fabric of your bralette and dress rub against sensitive, pebbling skin, creating an electric pulse with every pass that travels down to where you’re aching and empty.

You bury your face in his neck, rolling your hips over the hardness in his neatly pressed dress pants.

“Do you think you cum for me like this, sweetheart?” His lips move along your jaw, a distraction that makes your head fuzzy. But you still hear him, and your thighs clench around him in anticipation—a delicious sort of ache tingling up your spine with a subtle thrust of his hips against yours.

“I—ah—don’t think—not like this.”

“I think you can,” he coos, nosing at your neck, pressing another kiss there. “Come on, be a good little wife and cum for me.”

Oh, god. You’re going to cum from this—maybe from the filth dripping from your husband’s tongue alone.

Your thighs are slippery. You can feel it every time Nanami helps you roll your hips against him, and a sticky-hot heat swirls in your abdomen, moving all the way down to your curling toes. Your heart stutters in your chest to keep up with your rapid puffs of breath into his mouth.

You’re going to…You’re really going to—

His fingers twist your nipple, and like a switch, your mouth falls open in a silent scream, and you’re shaking in his lap. Nanami helps you move against him to ease you through it, whispering tiny indiscernible praises through the fog of syrupy bliss.

“So good for me.” You hear a zipper coming undone as your head slowly clears. “You can be good for me a little longer, and try to give me another, okay?”

↬ SUKUNA

He asks you to stay the night after he gets home late from a busy day at the gym—his clothes rumpled and hair sticking every which way. You get a little flustered at the thought of sleeping under the same roof as the stupidly attractive father to the kid you babysit, and you try to politely decline by saying, “I shouldn’t.”

“I can’t let you walk home in the dark,” he says, sounding just a tad tired as he heats up leftovers in the microwave. “Plus, Hana was disappointed when she found out you leave every night.”

“Really?” Hesitant, safe.

A little grin spreads across his face, making your breath stutter in your chest. “Yeah. Imagine how excited she’ll be when she finds you here in the morning.”

You bite your lip, already thinking about it. She is a sweet kid…

“If it’s…If it’s not too much trouble.”

“Cross my heart,” he tells you.

It’s surreal to think saying yes leads to him fucking you into his super soft king-sized mattress an hour later—you and Sukuna were never supposed to be a sweet mix of limbs and hot pants into each other’s mouths, and yet, here you are. If you’d known this would happen from wearing his clothes, you would have done it months ago.

He has two thick fingers pressed against your tongue to muffle your moans, the way you slightly gag around them sounding so much louder in your ears than the noises he’s trying to keep quiet. Your cunt feels swollen and sensitive just from him notching the head of his cock inside, only aided by the rough swipe of his thumb against your clit.

It’s already the most you’ve ever let any man do—no condom, nothing but slick skin—reasonable, responsible words turning to smoke with another inch inside you.

“Look at you,” he groans, a large hand covering the small impression of his dick pressing up against your belly. “So fucking tiny, I hardly fit.”

But he does fit, slipping in the last half inch, his thighs touching the back of yours, his fingers sliding a little deeper down your throat. The sudden need to get air into your lungs distracts you from the uncomfortable stretch between your thighs.

“Fuck, baby. Took me—ah—took me like a champ.” His breathing is labored, his voice rough. “How about a little more, okay?”

All you can do is nod, teary-eyed, whimpering.

When his fingers leave your mouth to palm the back of your thighs, you can’t control the too-loud whine that escapes your raw throat—high-pitched and surely reaching beyond his bedroom door. His shoulders press your legs further into your chest, making you feel smaller than you already are underneath his broad shoulders, and he brings his hand back up to your mouth to cover the moans you can’t hold in.

“Be quiet—so fucking tight, needed this—and let me fuck this toy cunt.”

↬ CHOSO

“Come on, baby, you can do it,” you tell the little boy, trying to make his way from the back steps to you sitting in the grass.

Choso watches from the porch, sucking on a lollipop as you play in the yard with his son. You hadn’t expected him to come home for a few more hours, and it’s hard not to look over at him, your cheeks hot from the amount of attention on you.

Neither of you spends much time together outside of a few pleasantries before and after work, asking about each other's day, him asking if Yuji was good for you—he always is—before you go home.

Then, one drunken night, you’d ruined everything by accidentally sending a nude to him (your boss, no less). Now, he hardly says a word to you; no, you leave in a rush—hair in your face, coat hanging off an arm—before he can open his mouth.

But Choso coming home right around Yuji’s naptime (he’s never home this early) is about to change that.

“So,” you start to say after setting the baby monitor down and curling up on the couch, “have you gone to that new Thai place down the street?”

“It’s down the street. Of course, I have.” He crosses the room, almost looking like a predator with the way he stalks towards you.

“Oh—”

In a matter of seconds, Choso easily has you pinned underneath him like a butterfly, the skirt of your dress pooling up around your waist. Your head spins from the proximity, chest heaving when he moves down, down—-

He lays on his stomach between your legs, carefully wrenching your soaked panties to the side to expose your cunt. Drenched and vulnerable on his couch, your thighs tremble as he parts your folds with his thumbs to reveal the wet, clenching part of you that’s suddenly desperate for his touch.

“You’re messy down here,” he hums, popping his sucker out of his mouth to spit against your folds. “Drippy.”

The melted red sugary confection drips from his mouth onto your clit before ducking his head to swipe his tongue through your slit, slurping up the mess he made.

“Choso—oh!”

Your hands fly to his hair, messing up the bun he has it in, and he groans into your cunt. It makes the muscles in your stomach jump, and you tip your head back against the arm of the couch. The noises he pulls from your throat are embarrassing, whimpers and moans that make you sound as desperate as you feel.

“Knew you’d taste sweet ever since you sent that picture of this pretty pussy.”

Another cry flies from your lips when he pushes the sucker inside you, and one of your hands comes up to cover your mouth, trying not to wake the baby—you don’t want this to end before it’s even really started.

“You look so cute spread out like this, letting me play with you like you’re mine.”

Then he suctions his soft lips over your clit, and your vision goes white.

↬ GOJO & GETO

You hadn't meant to interrupt your husband while he was in a meeting with Gojo. But it’d been important at the time—a reminder of an upcoming appointment that he forgot to mark on the calendar. Your daughter needed it for school.

Now you’re wondering if it could have waited—and at the same time, you’re glad you didn’t.

"Look at you, taking cock like a bitch in heat," Geto sneers down at you where you're sprawled out against the expensive leather couch in his office, mean fingers roughly tweaking your sensitive nipples raw through your sheer bra. "Couldn't wait for me to come home, huh?”

You whine around Gojo’s cock that’s currently stealing the air from your chest, his grip tight in your hair to keep you from pulling away.

“Fuck,” he mumbles, a grin on his lips. “Didn’t think your wife would be a good little cocksucker?”

You’re tacky-wet and sticky between your legs, staining Geto’s expensive pants, creating a large dark spot on the fabric below where his hips kiss the back of yours with every harsh thrust into you.

A distressed mewl leaves your lips when he reaches down to thumb at your clit. "Please," your voice cracks, garbled consonants, and vowels barely making sense on your tongue—overstimulated tears leaking past your hairline and onto the cushion under you.

“Shit, baby—” Gojo groans, practically fucking your face—a stark contrast from how Geto steadily presses in you. It makes you dizzy. “You keep whining like that, and you’re going to make me cum.”

Sweaty strands of hair cling to your temples as you writh underneath the two imposing men determined to ruin you. You feel like an exposed nerve—a tender bruise before it blooms—desperately chasing a release just out of your reach because Geto refuses to give it to you.

You don't stop yourself from bringing your fingers down to where he sinks into your slippery heat, hoping he'd just give in and fuck you how you want.

He scoffs but doesn't push your hand away. "Did I say you could touch my cock?"

You try moaning a response, only to have Gojo’s hips stutter into your mouth, a guttural sound releasing from his throat.

"But you're a slut for my cock, aren't you? Can't keep your—fuck—hands off it." You don't even answer, can't when the feeling of sticky ropes of cum paint your throat, making all the words stick to the back of your tongue—your mouth quivering as you remember to inhale through your nose.

Geto’s resolve slowly crumbles when you clench around his cock, his hips needily pressing into yours with a grunt. "Shit, princess, just like that. My messy, drooling slut."

Just when Gojo slips from your mouth, Geto starts pounding into you, making you squeal hoarsely and arch up into his firm chest. "Aah, yes! F-feels good!"

He brings the wide pad of his thumb up to your hot cheeks and wipes away the fresh set of tears collecting along your lash line. "C'mon, baby. Stop your crying and cum. Milk my cock with this greedy pussy of yours."

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amorwrld · 18 days ago

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trouble after a while - javier peña

-> summary: almost three years after javier leaves cali, he returns to bogota for a visit. what he doesn’t expect is to see you, in the open, sun kissed and holding a tiny child’s hand…

-> word count: 4k this is part one out of two!

-> (tags and warnings): spanish translations will be in parentheses at end of paragraph, flashbacks with be in bold and italics, uses of y/n, pregnancy related talks, some minor violence, uses of faint language, reader is and lives in colombia, pregnancy trope, angst and fluff, small insecurity, cigarettes and alcohol, if i missed any let me know! pls reblog, and give us author’s feedback! ❤︎

-> (credits): all pictures from pinterest!

———————————— ❦. ————————————

“congratulations peña! it’s good to have you back!” javier offered a small smile shaking a old friends hand as he passed the exit doors from the u.s. embassy. while he no longer worked there, he still needed verification and safety from them.

his reputation was still something a few didn’t forget in colombia. from escobar to taking down the cali cartel, he was involved in the good and bad. saw the real good up close and also the fucking bad from colombia. they were ruthless but nonetheless it got him the credentials one way or another.

colombia was always a rough and rocky topic for javier. it didn’t start well, and it wasn’t a pleasant journey through the years. the focus for him was to get the job done, no matter how clean or dirty it got to. and that’s what keeps him up at night.

javier had arrived early around 7am to bogota, he had left laredo late the night before and took a red eye flight to colombia. carrying a small suitcase and his infamous briefcase that he never left behind. he was exhausted and needed a cigarette before his nerves combusted. the rush of the familiar humidity, the smell, the people, it was a fever rush that he didn’t anticipate so soon.

javier looks down at his watch, just around noon. he sees old cars and motorcycles pass by, a few people walking or others joining each other in waves of laughter as they converse. he fixes his suit and walks down the familiar path to the market he once and always visited when he was here with steve.

he was here for a week max, needed for aid and help for a small mission that would take place just outside bogota. they needed his knowledge and strength, and javier couldn’t resist saying no. he never said no, no matter the consequences it left behind.

“javier! mijo! pero mira que guapo estás!” margarita, an old lady whom he knows, recognized him almost immediately. javier leaned down, hugging her tight, appreciating the warmth and motherly love she had. “como está? porque estás aquí?” (darling! look how handsome you are! how are you? how come you’re here?)

“estoy muy bien margarita! vengo por una semana a hacer un pequeño trabajo fuera de la ciudad, me necesitaban aquí, y aquí estoy,” javier explained, margarita holding his middle as she looked at him proudly and happily. “y usted? como está, se mira bella y elegante como siempre,” javier winked at her, seeing her cheeks grow pink as she stuttered. (i am doing well, margarita! i’m here for a week to do a small job just outside the city, they needed me so here i am. and you? how are you doing? you look beautiful and elegant as always)

“como siempre javi, viviendo la vida y estar en mi tiendita, ahorrando plata para mi muchacho porque pronto se gradúa y va ir a la universidad!” javier listened attentively, nodding along as margarita spoke about her life over the past years. she made him feel welcomed, and he loved to hear her small stories. she offered him fruits and a few empanadas for later in the evening, gushing over and over at how she was delighted to see him again. (like always javi, living the life and being here in my store, saving money because my son graduates soon and he will attend uni!)

after promising her he would comeback, he made a quick few stops for a few items. a toothbrush that he had forgotten, some 3in1 bottle of shampoo conditioner and body wash, a few cases of waters, a needed pack of cigarettes and a rich old bottle of whiskey. “will that be all?” the cashier asked, javier nodded handing him the cash as he picked up the brown bag and walked off.

he looked around at the familiar apartments he once stayed in, a quick race in his pulse as he walked into his temporary home, and set down the stuff. the ac air was still the same, new and more modern furniture then the one he used to have, new wallpaper, and better functioning appliances. he unloaded everything he had just bought and returned back to the rental car for his personal bags, throwing them into his room not caring.

he sat on the couch grumpy, taking out a cigarette and lighting it up, inhaling a huge amount before exhaling. he looked out the window, the skies now orange and golden colored, his fingers brushed his forehead where a small layer of sweat covered his skin, already knowing that it was a bad idea coming back here.

———————————— ❦. ————————————

“mateo porfavor! ven acá porque ya vamos tarde,” you slightly raised your voice at your moody toddler, who stomped his little foot and pouted. “si te apuras pasamos comprando un helado,” you offered, seeing his little legs run into your arms. you laughed and kissed his head fixing the curls he had and put his shoes on. (mateo please! come here because we’re already running late! if you hurry we can get a ice cream.)

you packed your purse with your wallet and gum, enough diapers and baby wipes, a change of clothes, and plenty of water and snacks for him, throwing in a small bottle of medicine just incase. you didn’t care how heavy your bag was, you were a first time mom and you wanted to be prepared for anything that could happened. you quickly placed your heeled sandals on, grabbing mateo’s hand and locked the door to your house.

the immediate colombian humid air hit your skin, your beige sundress flowing around and hair going everywhere as you walked to mateo’s daycare. he would only be there for a few hours during when you worked. not trusting anyone or any other places with him. you had seen and experienced the bad things and you never wanted your baby to go and experience the same.

for him to walk around with fear everywhere he went, to be unable to look at people or even trust them for their actions or words, for his heart to race when he heard familiar sounds and cries for help. your brushed the bad memories away, greeting the front desk receptionist and saying goodbye to mateo. “te prometo que cuando regrese, vamos por un helado en donde margarita. te amo mucho mucho bebé,” you say to him, mateo’s brown eyes looking into yours with a hint of sadness knowing you were leaving him. but he somehow always managed and understood. your smart baby. (i promise when i come back, we will go to margaritas for your ice cream, i love you so so much my baby.)

“cuídamelo porfavor,” you smiled nervously but with thanks to the caregiver, she hugged you and walked you out. you sigh deeply, a unease feeling spreading across your chest for an unknown reason. you hated feeling that way. not knowing what it could mean or what could happen. your intuition never lied, and you always went with your gut. how could you not after everything you suffered… (please take care of him.)

you wanted to make sure that mateo always had what he needed and desired. but it came with a price, it always did. it meant you wouldn’t see him as much as you desired, that you had to play both mom and dad roles. that you worried you weren’t doing enough or that you were overdoing it. that you would fear his resentment later on because you were constantly working. you were alone in this, and although you were proud of the little life you had built, the future scared you.

mateo was almost 2. he was healthy and the spitting image of his father. the soft brown eyes, his curls, the tan, the way he walked, and even stared. he had his father's attitude and the same ways of always wanting to help people. even at his little age, he already showed so many signs of wanting to help others. you felt so incredibly happy no matter what the circumstances were.

the positive pregnancy tests felt heavy in your purse, the breakfast wanting to make its way back up as you waited patiently in the lobby. you kept thinking and rehearsing what you would say to him. stressing how his reaction or what he would say. how he would take the news you were expecting his baby. but you couldn’t take it anymore, walking straight up to the desk and refusing to leave without seeing him.

“are you sure he isn’t here? i need to talk to agent peña please,” you pleaded, the soft thump in your chest growing by the second. cassandra, the receptionist shook her head, “i am sorry ma’am but he really isn’t here. javier peña left a week ago back to the united states.” you went deaf, staring at her in-disbelief, your eyes wide as your eyes burned with tears. “what?” you said softly.

“agent peña went back to texas a week ago ma’am… he placed his transfer about two weeks ago and left without saying why. i wish i could let you see him but he’s no longer here in colombia…” she said gently in a soft voice, noticing your state and body language. a small hand went to your belly as an instinct. “is there anyway i can talk to him over the phone it’s really important-” you tried coming up with different solutions refusing to give up.

“we’re not authorized to give any personal details about any of our staff. i sincerely apologize but there’s really nothing you can do,” you shook your head at her words, tears running down your face as you felt time slowly give up on you. “please i’ll do anything i just need to speak to him again, i-i was a informant for him and murphy, i worked with them, you can trust me!” you explained but she refused.

“i’m sorry but i really can’t help you,” cassandra frowned, you let out a sob, sniffling as you felt your body give up on you, legs and arm’s shaky, your blood running cold as you cried uncontrollably. the only thought in your head was how you were going to face this alone. without javier.

you kept thinking about your last interaction and how it ended so terribly. he had dragged you out to a mission by a finca, just outside cali. it went so sideways that it put you, javi, and other agents at a death risk. once you were back in bogota, harsh words and a heated argument tormented your head.

“you used me! i gave myself to you, and you used me javi! do you not know what that means? what it makes me feel? you had no right, not a single right to lie to my face like that. i’ve been nothing but kind and sincere to you, i told you things no one knows about, and for what? for information?” you yelled loudly, pushing his chest as he tried approaching.

“i swear it was only going to be a first time, but the agency needed you for escobar-”

“are you fucking serious?” you saw red, “this is all you care about? estas obesionado con el! he’s ruined you, javi, completely ruined you, are you hearing yourself? what if i had died out there? what if carillo or murphy died out there? you put me into such a high risk over an exchange of information?” you spat harshly. “i’m no longer safe, thanks to you…” (you’re obsessed with him!)

“please just listen to me. the u.s. will keep you safe, they can’t touch you. not escobar, not any of the cartels. you’ll be safe. i feel like a coward for using you, believe me, i didn’t want to, but you were so important. you were a key for us to be able to take down those organizations. you helped us! ” javi explained, seeing your teary eyes betray you over and over.

“but at what cost? i can’t trust you anymore javi, you broke me, you broke my heart. this whole time i thought we had something real… that it wasn’t just in my head, but it’s all a lie. you used me for revenge, and i can’t forgive you for that,” you said broken. your chin wobbled, your chest hurting with pain as javi looked at you defeated. “y/n please try to understand-”

“no. please just leave. i never want to see you again…”

you shook away the painful memory, walking to your workplace. you owned a small building that was a flower and plant shop as well as a cafe just close to where an animal sanctuary was. it made you good money and provided for both you and mateo. you loved your place, the windows and doors, the green colors, giving the place a telenovela style.

“buenos dias! ya llegue,” you joked, hugging your coworkers and clocking in for your shift. setting the tables, finishing up a catering order, placing the freshly baked pastries in the showing cabinet, placing new pots of coffee, and your favorite step was to water and fix your plants. they brought you a sense of peace and comfort, admiring how pretty and gorgeous they were, making sure they felt beautiful as they looked. (good morning! i’m here!)

days like today meant a lot to you. when you were busy, your mind didn’t drift off to him. it was hectic, tourists coming in and out, ordering your infamous coffee, conversing, laughing, buying your plants and flowers. it meant good income not only for you but also for your employees as well. when you had first opened you had feared that in a few months it wouldn’t bloom, but luck was on your side, and now you’re here.

“where are we going y/n?” javier chuckled, your hand tightening his by the second as you marched up eagerly. “i want to show my place, well, it’s not mine but it will be.” he and steve had just came from a mission in the city. one that didn’t go to plan, and had made javi feel uneasy and worried. the first thing he did was call you, quickly picking you up and asking to take his mind away from there.

a small building in the corner came to his view, it looked beat up, and needed a clear makeover. it was surrounded by a garden patch, flyers of missing people or events, and graffiti. “i want to show you a place i have walked by everyday, that now has become my dream…” you said shyly, javi kissing your knuckles and nodded.

“here it is! it’s a bit small but i already have so many ideas how to remodel and make everything fit. the doors for the entrance an windows will be green, the walls a being color, and the frames brown,” javier looked down at you, seeing your bright smile as you rambled off.

“have you signed the lease?” javier asked, seeing your lips frown to the side. “not quite, i still need a bit more money for the down payment,” you had saved up so much over the years, but you weren’t ready to quit easily. this place was yours, and you’d do anything to have it under your name.

“javi no-”

“you don’t even know what i’m going to say!”

“yo te conozco javi… no me puedes engañar,” you kissed his lips, his hand immediately grasping your waist and pulling you into his chest. “why don’t you ever let me help you. you know i can and will do it princesa,” he spoke gently across your lips. “because you’ve done more than enough the past few months, i can’t also accept your money,” you reasoned. (i know you javi… you can’t fool me.)

“haria y podria darte todo en el mundo hermosa, te mercedes todo lo mejor,” javier said, his heart pumping fast as his eyes connected with your. when he was with you, he could be anyone, didn’t feel the pain and hurt, rather just love and happiness. security. you made him forget the cruelty in the world, showing him how caring and loving it was. (i would and can give you everything in the world, you deserve the best.)

“tell me more about your cafe, will you also sell your plants and flowers?”

“su total es 23.34,” you smiled sweetly at the alex, margaritas son, who handed you the total. he was one of your frequent customers since his high school was close to your cafe. he always got a dark roast coffee and a piece of arequipe. “pasarás donde mi mami hoy? siempre se queja que ya no vas a visitarla,” he laughed. “de hecho, le prometí a mateo que íbamos a comprar un helado después que lo recogiera,” you explained, falling into a small conversation with him to check how he was doing. (your total is 23.34. will you pass by my mom’s today? she always complains that you don’t visit her anymore. actually, i promised mateo i would take him to buy an ice cream after i picked him up.)

the rest of the afternoon flew by quicker than you anticipated, quickly cleaning up the place, stacking the chairs, turning off all heat sources, and putting away any food left in the fridge. you grabbed the reusable bags for groceries, needing to buy the necessary items after running out on a few foods. margarita and other small market owners would have what you needed.

“mami!” mateo squealed, running wobbly into your arms and immediately digging his head into your neck, his tight hold ushering you with love. you melted instantly, so relieved to have your baby boy back into your arms, kissing his head and rubbing his back. “te extrañe mucho papito, te divertiste?” you asked, feeling him nod, his words all jambled in a mess as he attempted to explain what he had done and ate. you thanked the workers, placing the small box of pastries onto their table before saying goodbye. (mommy! I missed you so much baby, did you have fun?)

“marga, marga!” mateo ran to margarita, ‘marga’ was the nickname he called her since he couldn’t fully pronounce full words or names yet. it just stuck and she loved hearing it. “mi amorcito! llegaste! mm, mm, mm, porque no has venido,” she picked up mateo, hugging him tight before scolding playfully at you. she set him down kissing both your cheeks and hugged you. “mi cafe ha estado super ocupado últimamente, pero aquí estoy y con el niño,” you explained. (my love! you’re here! nuh uh uh, why haven’t you came. my cafe has been super busy lately, but i’m here and with the baby.)

“i have to tell you something, and it’s important because i’m speaking english so they wont hear…” margarita ushers you into her section, you quickly grab mateo, peeling a small orange for him to eat. “so who won’t hear? is everything okay?,” your head began to race with different scenarios. hating the uneasiness in your conscience.

“no matter how long it has been, there is still people who watch and listen carefully around here…” she pointed with her eyes to the other side by the corner where two men in silk shirts with tight pants looked out. you immediately knew and understood they worked in a cartel and did dirty work. “who are they? how long have they been here? are you okay, do you need anything?” you worry for her. she has no one but her husband, who fell ill last year, and her son alex.

“i am okay mija, thank you for asking. we have no clue, but it must be some sort of new crime group because we’ve never seen them here, they stand there all day waiting for someone or something. at first we thought they were undercover, but a shooting broke out the other day, and well…” she tilted her head to the side.

“do you think it’s me?” you ask, terrified, mateo sensing right away and hugging your leg, looking up.

“no, but just be careful, especially with mateo. one can forgive the past, but they won’t forget,” margarita stated, sighing deeply. you knew what she was referring to, just shortly after you found out you were expecting, a dangerous encounter had you fearing for your life.

your breath was ragged and short, his grip getting tighter around your neck. you felt the trickle of blood against your temple, watching with blurry eyes as he stuck out his gun and waved it around. “you don’t realize the damage your boyfriend put you in, huh? you lied to me, to us…”

“please i didn’t mean too!” you said staggeredly, seeing black dots.

“that’s what they always say. but its always too late, you’re going to be paying the price till your last breath. I fucking hate traitors, i let you into my family, pay you, give you a roof and this is how you treat me? you’re a disgrace!” he slaps you hard, the sting immediately burning your cheek, the impact so strong it knocked you down to your knees.

“please i’m-”

“i don’t care for your apologies or mercy. you made your choice the day you walked into my house. i wish i could kill you, make you feel just how angry i am with you, but you’re lucky since your dea property… you fucking whore, javier always gets the good ones…”

you didn’t leave your apartment for a month after that, fearing your life would be taken away. you had to provide and care for two. margarita always visited you, consoled you, and stayed till you fell asleep. you wish you could feel safe again, but every day was a reminder you were a ticking bomb. all because you messed with the wrong people and with javi.

“there’s another thing,” margarita pinched her finger, nervously shifting her weight. “someone came by yesterday… it was-” you shook your head in disbelief. “no, no, no, no! you’re lying to me,” you said shakily, tears already threatening your eyes. “he’s back for a week, he doesn’t know, i would never betray you like that-” she stopped speaking a loud gasp escaping her lips, making you squint your eyes confused before you heard him.

“y/n?”

you froze, unable to move in the slightest way possible. the blood had drained from your face, hands shaky, and unsteady breaths passing your lips. you could feel him, his eyes watching you as you morphed into a frightened person. it wasn’t till he was in front that you looked at him from down to up.

———————————— ❦. ————————————

there were only two times before now when javi forgot how to breathe. the first was when he saw you for the first time, innocent yet spirited, drinking from a glass cup filled with ice and whiskey. the second was when you kicked him out of your life almost three years ago, javi waiting outside your door, recollecting himself, and trying to tame what went wrong. the third was now, your dress hugging your curves in all the right places, your natural hair, your perfume, but mostly the small child that held your hand.

he tried so hard to forget you, but he couldn’t. he couldn’t after what he did. he couldn’t because you haunted him from the early day to night when he woke up shaking. he thought if he’d ever see you, have the chance to hold and speak to you. fix how things were left before he went back home to laredo.

but all he could feel was confusion. a mix of that, and a feeling of home.

“javi-” you said broken, your eyes scared yet filled with hope, he immediately knew.

“i can’t believe it, it’s really you my love, you’re really here,” one hand held you by the waist and the other coddled your cheek where he brushed away a small tear. margarita stood confounded and confused on what she should do. she couldn’t believe the sight in front of her, the family that was meant to be together but wasn’t due to lies and secrets.

you pushed him off of you gently, creating a barrier with him. as much as you wanted and craved his touch, for him to wish everything was okay, you needed a moment to figure out what would happen and be said next. javi immediately missed you warmth, his eyes roaming everywhere for signs but he looked down at the little boy with curls and honey brown eyes.

“javi-”

“who’s this?”

“mami? amonos,” javi couldn’t stop staring at him. at the small boy who immediately caught your attention, the small boy who you now held and looked at with pure love and happiness, promising him you would leave as soon as you were done here. the little boy who was your son. javi couldn’t mutter another word. he needed confirmation, he needed to know. (mom? let’s go.)

“javi… meet my son mateo,” you smiled painfully, your eyes teary as javi’s face softened, the small boy reaching out to him, where javi couldn’t refuse. mateo looked at him with a sweet grin, his nose scrunching, already loving being held by him. javi kissed his forehead, his lips lingering for a few seconds as he closed his eyes, wanting to keep him safe even if he wasn’t his.

he felt a connection. a bond. which made him even more and more confused with his thoughts and feelings.

“javi there’s a lot i need to talk to you about,” you muttered softly, grabbing mateo back. javi continued to stand silent, unable to tear away his eyes from you and mateo. “i want to explain everything,” you both said at the same time, locking eyes, feeling the old butterflies resurfacing after so long.

but before you could even reach that stage, the two men from earlier, who were standing in the corner, now stood behind him, their smiles sinister and up to no good. you tucked mateo’s head into your neck, not wanting him to see and remember them, your hands and feet shaky because they were here for you. you and javi knew this was trouble.

———————————— ❦. ————————————

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cameronsbabydoll · 3 months ago

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SUGAR-COATED CHAINS — THE EPILOGUE

WARNINGS — “trophy life” lifestyle, subtle (?) sexism and traditionalism, possessiveness, pregnancy, possible inaccurate description of pregnancy and doctor appointments / medical appointments

The morning light pours through the massive windows of your home, golden rays spilling over the pristine marble countertops, glinting off the stainless-steel appliances that gleam without a single fingerprint. Everything in this house is perfect—meticulously curated, carefully arranged, and exactly as Rafe envisioned it would be.

Including you.

You move through the space with quiet efficiency, the silk of your robe rubbing against your skin as you plate breakfast. Fresh fruit, eggs, crisp bacon, toast cut into neat halves. Black coffee, just how Rafe likes it, the way you’ve been making it since you moved in. Since you became his wife.

The scent of cedar and expensive cologne tells you he’s here before you even see him.

A strong arm curls around your waist, warm lips pressing into your temple. “Morning, angel,” Rafe murmurs, voice thick with satisfaction. His other hand trails down, fingers grazing over your stomach before coming to rest on the knot of your robe. His thumb strokes the fabric, slow, deliberate, and possessive.

You hum in response, serving his plate as he takes a seat at the head of the table, unfolding the morning paper like a husband out of a picture-perfect 1950s ad.

Two sets of smaller feet echo down the hallway, filling the quiet morning with giggles and tiny voices. Your children bounce into the kitchen, your youngest reaching for you instantly, little arms wrapping around your leg. You scoop them up, pressing a kiss to their cheek before they wriggle free and rush to the table.

Rafe watches, his eyes half-lidded with something unreadable.

It isn’t love, at least not in the way most people mean it.

It’s ownership. Completion.

Because this is his—the life he built, the wife he shaped, the children he created.

Rafe barely looks at his food before eating, trusting that you’ve done everything exactly how he likes. He doesn’t thank you, not because he’s ungrateful, but because this is your role. This is what he’s always excepted.

After breakfast, he stands, brushing a hand over the head of your eldest before pressing a slow, lingering kiss to your lips. His hand drifts to your hip, squeezing once before pulling away.

“Be good today,” he murmurs, voice low enough that only you hear. It’s not a suggestion. It’s a quiet demand, a reminder.

You nod obediently, smiling as he grabs his keys and strides toward the door.

The kids bid their goodbyes, waving as the sleek black car hums to life and disappears down the long driveway.

And just like that, the morning continues.

The private school parking lot is filled with luxury cars, engines purring as nannies and mothers usher their children inside. The goodbye routine is always the same—kisses to their soft faces, straightening their collars, and words of encouragement before they run off to their classrooms.

You linger for a moment, watching how other mothers slip into their workday routines—briefcases clicking open, phone calls beginning before they even pull out of the lot. But not you.

Your day is already set.

You drive to your first stop: the upscale nail salon, tucked into the corner of an exclusive shopping plaza. The receptionist greets you by name, already knowing your usual color. You sit back, sipping on a matcha latte while the technician works, overhearing the other women discuss their upcoming vacations, their husbands’ business ventures, and the trivial things that fill their curated lives.

Brunch comes next.

The restaurant is bright and modern, with floor-to-ceiling windows that overlook the ocean. The women you meet here every week are polished and poised, draped in designer labels and the scent of wealth.

You settle into your chair, your diamond ring catching the light as you fold your hands in your lap.

The conversation flows easily—talk of school fundraisers, of charity events, of husbands whisking them away on luxury vacations. You nod along, adding comments when necessary, but mostly, you listen.

And then, the woman sitting beside you—older, poised, with a practiced smile—leans in slightly.

“Are you happy?”

The question shouldn’t make your stomach tighten, but it does.

For a moment, you hesitate.

Because happiness is a complicated thing, isn’t it?

It’s in the mornings, when Rafe’s touch lingers a little too long. It’s in the whispers, the possessive You’re mine against your skin. It’s in the control, the security, the safety of being kept, of being his.

Your hand flutters to your thigh. You can almost feel the ghost of his grip there, warm and firm, the way he always holds you in public.

So you smile.

“Of course.”

And just like that, the moment passes. The conversation shifts, and you stir your coffee, watching the cream swirl and disappear into the dark.

Everything is perfect.

Just like it’s supposed to be.

The afternoon sun filters through the car windows as you pull up to the pristine driveway of your children’s private school. The other mothers are already there—polished, graceful, their designer bags slung over their arms as they lean against their sleek SUVs. You recognize them, even if you don’t quite fit in with them.

They exchange pleasantries, casual smiles masking sharp eyes as they wait for their children. Some of them work—lawyers, businesswomen, doctors—balancing careers and their curated domestic lives.

And then there’s you.

Your Birkin bag rests in the passenger seat, a symbol of the life you live. You check your manicured nails and adjust the diamond bracelet on your wrist. The role you play is different—the perfect housewife, Rafe’s wife.

Your thoughts scatter as your children rush toward you, their backpacks bouncing against their small frames.

"Mommy!" Your son beams, climbing into the backseat of the car. "Today we learned about astronauts!"

"And I painted a flower!" Your daughter holds up a crinkled piece of paper, her artwork smudged but bright.

You buckle them in, their chatter filling the car. Their voices are innocent, light, but then—

"Mommy, what did you do today?"

The question catches you off guard.

You hesitate.

What did you do?

You had your nails done. You had brunch with other housewives. You shopped for things you didn’t need, paid for with Rafe’s money. And you waited for him to come home.

"My friend’s mom is a doctor," your son continues. "She helps sick people."

Your daughter nods. "And my friend’s mom is a teacher!"

You grip the steering wheel a little tighter than usual.

"What about you, Mommy? What did you do today?"

You force a smile. "I had a nice day, sweetheart, I ran some errands, cleaned the house… the usual.”

But something lingers in your chest—a feeling you don’t let yourself name.

The house is clean when you get home, the staff having already cleaned. The smell of fresh flowers and polished wood lingers in the air.

Your daughter runs to her playroom, digging through your old toys and dolls you once loved before you were his. She brushes their hair carefully, dressing them in their tiny outfits.

Your son, mirroring his father more than he realizes, sits at the kitchen island, stacking his wooden blocks with quiet concentration. His brows furrow, the same way Rafe’s do when he’s working.

You move to the kitchen, tying the soft strings of your sundress behind your back. The delicate silk fabric drapes against your skin as you prepare dinner—steak, roasted vegetables, fresh pasta. You do it because it’s expected. Because it keeps things calm.

By the time you finish setting the table, you hear the familiar sound of tires rolling into the driveway.

The door opens, and there he is—tall, commanding, his suit crisp, tie loosened just enough to make him look effortlessly powerful. His presence consumes the space immediately.

"Daddy!" The kids run to him, clinging to his legs. He greets them with low chuckles, ruffling their hair, his affection is as always effortless.

But then his eyes lift, searching for you.

You swallow, wiping your hands on a towel as he strides over. His palm is warm when it slides over your hip, his fingers squeezing in a silent reminder.

"Hi, angel," he murmurs.

"Dinner’s ready," you reply softly.

"Good girl," he mutters before pressing a firm kiss to your lips, his other hand dipping low enough to make you shiver. A subtle claim. A message.

Dinner is filled with your children’s chatter. Rafe listens, nodding as they tell him about their day, his attention divided between them and the way his hand remains firm on your thigh beneath the table.

Then—

"Mommy, Daddy, how did you meet?"

The question makes you freeze.

Your fork hovers over your plate.

Because you know how it happened.

The country club. The way Rafe had decided before you even knew what was happening. The way he pulled you into his world, his control tightening around you like silk ribbons, soft but unbreakable.

Before you can answer, Rafe speaks.

"Mommy was the prettiest girl I’d ever seen," he says smoothly, reaching over to twirl a lock of your hair. His wedding band glints under the chandelier’s soft glow. "I knew I had to make her mine."

Your daughter giggles. "Like a fairytale!"

You force a soft laugh. "Y-Yeah just like that."

Rafe leans back, satisfied.

And the conversation moves on.

Later, you wash the dishes, listening to the quiet murmurs from the living room.

Rafe is in his home office talking with your son,"You have to be in control," Rafe says. His voice is low and steady. "You take care of what’s yours."

"Like you take care of Mommy?"

A slow chuckle comes from Rafe. "Exactly."

Your stomach immediately knots as you overhear them talk.

After you finish washing the dishes, you tuck the kids in, pressing soft kisses to their foreheads. But when you step into the hallway, Rafe is there, waiting.

His grip is firm as he pulls you against him.

"You were quiet at dinner," he murmurs.

You swallow. "Just tired."

He hums, his fingers tracing lazy patterns over your hip. "You know you belong here, don’t you?"

It’s not a question.

It’s a confirmation.

You nod. "Yes."

His lips press against your forehead. "Good girl."

That night, the silk sheets feel too soft, too perfect as you shift beneath them. The room is grand, elegant, yet suffocating in its perfection. Rafe sleeps soundly beside you, his arm draped over your waist, holding you in place even in sleep.

But you feel off.

Your stomach twists, nausea curling in your throat.

Slipping out of bed, you pad barefoot into the en-suite bathroom, the marble floor cool against your skin. The mirror reflects your own tired eyes, your silk nightgown delicate against your frame.

A deep breath. And then another.

And then the realization dawns.

Your hands tremble slightly as they press over your stomach.

You already know, even before you confirm it.

You’re pregnant.

The weight of it settles over you like a heavy, invisible chain.

And when you step back into the bedroom, Rafe shifts, his sleepy gaze cracking open.

"Angel?" His voice is thick with sleep, but even half-awake, his presence is commanding. "What’re you doin’?"

You hesitate.

But then, you smile.

"Nothing, Rafe. Go back to sleep."

Because you already know how this will go.

You already know that your life—the one Rafe built for you, the one you live so perfectly—has just been sealed even tighter.

And when you crawl back into bed, Rafe’s arm curls around you again, his grip firm, final.

A perfect life.

A perfect wife.

A perfect picture.

And there’s no way out.

—

The morning sun filters through the grand windows of your bedroom, casting golden light across the silk sheets. Rafe is already up, dressed in a crisp suit, leaning over you with a hand pressed to your waist.

“Wake up, angel,” he murmurs, his lips brushing your forehead.

You blink sleepily, the weight of last night settling over you like a heavy fog.

You were pregnant.

You force a smile as you sit up, clutching the sheet to your chest. “Morning.”

He watches you for a beat, his sharp blue eyes scanning your face. “Are you okay?”

You nod quickly. “Just tired.”

He smirks, tilting your chin up. “I bet you are.” His voice is low, teasing, and possessive. He presses a firm kiss to your lips before pulling away, straightening his cuffs. “I have meetings all day. Pick the kids up after school. I'll be home late.”

And then, he’s gone.

The house is quiet. Too quiet.

The maids are already moving through the halls, dusting, cleaning, and making sure everything remains perfect. You follow the routine like you always do—breakfast, a long bath, slipping into one of your many designer dresses.

Normally, you’d go shopping. Maybe meet the other wives for brunch; let them fawn over your handbag, your jewelry, your life.

But today, you make a different choice.

Instead of heading to the luxury boutiques, you drive downtown to a private doctor’s office.

The waiting room is cold and sterile, a far cry from the lavish comfort of your home. You sit with your hands in your lap, fingers twisting together as the nurse calls your name.

Everything happens quickly. A test. A few questions. And then, “Congratulations,” the doctor says, a polite smile on her face. “You’re pregnant.”

The words hit you harder than they should.

You knew.

You knew before you came here. But hearing it aloud makes it real.

“Thank you,” you murmur, voice hollow.

The doctor hands you some paperwork and tells you about prenatal vitamins, the usual precautions. You nod along, barely listening.

Pregnant. Again.

Another tie to Rafe. Another piece of yourself is lost in this perfectly curated life.

—

You don’t go home right away.

Instead, you find yourself at a small café on the quieter side of town. The scent of fresh bread and coffee fills the air, grounding you in a way you didn’t expect. You sit by the window, staring out at the people passing by—women your age with strollers, college students with laptops, people who exist outside the gilded cage that you live in.

“Sweetheart, are you alright?”

The voice is gentle, and when you glance up, an older woman stands near your table, her eyes kind but curious.

You blink, realizing you must have been staring into space.

“Oh,” you say quickly. “I’m fine. Just… thinking.”

She nods, settling into the seat across from you without asking. “First baby?”

You shake your head. “Third.”

Her brows lift. “Oh my. You’re so young.”

You manage a small smile. “I’ve been married for a while.”

The woman hums, studying you. “That’s a lot for someone your age.”

Something about the way she says it sticks in your chest.

You look down at your hands, the diamonds on your wedding ring catching the light.

It is a lot.

But this is your life.

This is what Rafe made your life.

You clear your throat, forcing another smile. “I should get going.”

The woman nods, but as you stand, she reaches out and pats your hand gently. “Take care of yourself, dear.”

You don’t respond as you leave but her words linger in your head.

—

By the time you arrive at the private school, your children are already waiting. They rush to the car, full of stories about their day, their voices filling the space as you drive home.

You keep smiling. Keep nodding. Keep playing your role.

But when you pull into the driveway, something feels… off.

Rafe’s car is already there.

Your stomach tightens as you step inside. The kids run off, their laughter echoing through the halls, but you barely hear them. Your heart pounds as you move toward his office, your hands trembling.

The door is slightly ajar. He’s at his desk, leaning back in his chair, his fingers tapping idly against the wood.

When he looks up, his eyes lock onto yours immediately.

“Angel,” he drawls. “Come here.”

You step inside, shutting the door behind you. Your breath feels unsteady as you walk toward him, stopping just in front of his desk.

For a moment, he just watches you.

Then, his brows furrow slightly. “What’s wrong?”

The question is enough to break you.

Tears well up in your eyes before you can stop them. Your chest tightens, and suddenly, it’s too much.

“Rafe,” you whisper, voice shaking. “I’m pregnant.”

His expression is unreadable. He stands slowly, rounding the desk until he’s in front of you. His hands come up to cup your face, thumbs brushing over your cheeks.

“You’re crying,” he murmurs.

You sniffle, trying to hold it together. “I just… I wasn’t expecting it.”

He studies you, his grip firm but gentle. Then, his lips curve into something unreadable but close to a smirk.

“Come here,” he murmurs. Before you can protest, he’s pulling you against his chest, arms wrapping around you tightly. “Shh, angel. It’s okay.”

Your body melts against him, even as your mind screams.

Because you know what this means.

Another child. Another piece of yourself tied to him forever.

And as his hands slide down your back, his touch both possessive and soothing, you realize—

There really is no way out.

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onceinablueberrymoon · 5 months ago

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special report | salesman (recruiter) x reporter!reader

next: (cheers) to the future (slight nsfw) | scavenger hunt | intermission (mild nsfw) scenario: ever wonder how the VIPs watch the games before they arrive on the island? reporter!reader delivers the highlights of each game to viewers around the world. and a certain someone is their biggest fan. setting: in seoul between the second game (dalgona) and the special game during season 1 warnings: reader can be any gender, but this was originally written with fem!reader in mind; reader also works for the games; they're both just not nice people lol (but we love them anyways!); no use of y/n; second person POV word count: 629 notes: someone in a reddit thread had a theory that the VIPs would watch highlight reels of the first few games and this story popped in my head. salesman is called recruiter here since that's his official title. i love this guy sm (˶ᵔ ᵕ ᵔ˶) please enjoy! borders by @strangergraphics-archive

“And that concludes our coverage for Day 2 of the Games. Please stay tuned for the Special Game, which will take place in two hours.”

You bowed to the camera, only straightening your back upon hearing the director yell “Cut!”. You shuffled the papers on the desk in front of you, then checked your phone.

Three missed calls.

You snorted, a small smile forming on your lips. You pressed on one of the missed calls, the number redialing on your screen. Bringing the phone to your ear, you waited for the recruiter to pick up. It didn’t even ring once before his smooth voice came through the speaker.

“Finally.”

You sighed, leaning forward to prop an elbow on the desk. “You know I’m at work. You of all people should know that.”

You could picture his cocky smirk.

“Care for a bite to eat? My treat,” he offered, which you accepted. There was still an hour and a half before you had to return to prepare for the Special Game.

You met at the tiny kimbap shop down the street. While you both could afford a fancier restaurant, a cheap, filling meal was all you needed right now.

“So,” you started, pouring hot barley tea into your teacups, “Did you catch any of the last game?”

He nodded, resting his chin on his hands with his elbows on the table. “Very entertaining, as always. You never cease to impress me,” he praised.

Taking a big sip of tea, you scoffed, “Oh please. I’m the least interesting part of the show.”

“Oh?” He cocked his head. “Why is that?”

Shooting him an unimpressed look, you spoke, “Did you not see the same footage I did? The utter fear when they had to carve out the dalgona?” You laughed, “And when that guy got shot and slid down the slide… You just can’t make this stuff up!"

Pouring some more tea into your cup, you continued, "Seriously though, watching those players carve out the umbrella shapes was priceless. They were so scared!” With a shake of your head, you sighed, “I can’t believe some of them actually passed.”

The recruiter chuckled, leaning closer to you. “While that was amusing, I found your performance to be far more enticing.”

A blush crossed your cheeks, but you quickly shook it off, clearing your throat.

“I try my best. By the way,” you motioned towards him, “You’ve outdone yourself with the players this time. A perfect mix of competent and woefully tragic players. I’m not sure which I like more.” You shot him a smile, which he returned.

“Oh, and the group with the Host? Hilarious,” you grinned. “I can’t believe that 218 and 456 were childhood friends.” You tapped your fingers against your teacup. “But I guess, at the end of the day, trash is still trash.”

The lady running the shop arrived with your food, and the two of you ate in comfortable silence. However, you couldn’t help but notice the recruiter’s intense gaze lingering on you.

Once the recruiter paid, the two of you left the restaurant, and he walked you back to the office.

“Same time tomorrow?” He asked, briefcase in hand.

You hummed, “Tomorrow is Tug of War, and there’s still lots to prepare before the final games.” You took a step towards him, a teasing smile on your face, “Why, miss me already?”

He huffed, “I can watch you any time.” Bringing his lips to your ear, he whispered, “But I prefer being near you instead.”

You tilted his head to look at you and kissed him on the cheek. Turning to enter your office, you looked back and called to him.

“Until next time, my dear recruiter!”

He flashed his signature smirk.

“Take care, my lovely reporter.”

#squid game #squid game season 2 #the salesman x reader #the recruiter x reader #the salesman x you #the salesman #the recruiter #squid game fanfic #squid game x reader #squid game x you #gong yoo x reader #reader insert

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akirasarchives · 6 months ago

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[00] Valuable Addition.

Summary: You wouldn’t say you’re in debt, but the dwindling money in your bank account is looking that way. Oh yeah, and a man in a suit won’t stop bothering you about playing a stupid child’s game.

— warnings: usual squid game behaviour, female reader

platonic squid game x reader, side romantic moments but it’s for the plot

[ 12TH, MONDAY, 08:47 ]

The subway station is busy. Businessmen, students and elderly passer-bys push past and shove into you as you stand clueless next to one of the big subway posters. Despite living in Seoul for so long, you barely know your way around and you’re at mercy to the beehive system. And it takes no prisoners.

You’ve been trying for the last 10 minutes to get the attention of anyone, but each person either ignores you or runs on to grab their train, but with each train passing your anxiety grows. It feels as if time has stopped around you as the vibrant chatter of people around you turns into mumbles and whispers as you attempt to understand the subway line. Even as you trace what you think is the blue line, it eventually turns into purple and now you’re on the other side of town!

With a heavy sigh, you turn to face the crowd once more. The crowd had thinned out in the last 10 minutes of your lone confusion and with a quick glance at your phone you see that it’s quickly approaching 9am.

It’s now or never.

“Excuse me, sir!” You tap the shoulder of the nearest well-dressed businessman. The man, seemingly in his 30s or early 40s turns and flashes you a charming smile. He dons a freshly pressed, steel grey suit made of soft, rich fabric. From a quick glance, you can tell the suit is made of expensive material as you spot tiny workings of the logo within the fabric itself. You feel as if you're staining the suit by touching it.

I just had to ask the good-looking one.

“May I help you?” He asks, using his free hand to smooth down his already wrinkle-free suit. His smile drops over time, yet he makes an effort to make it appear that it meets his eyes. Though, working in hospitality makes it easy to spot a false smile.

“I am sorry to bother you, but can you tell me which train takes me to Hannam-Dong?” You glance down at your phone. Foolishly, you forgot to check which train took you in the direction of the job interview you had scheduled today for a big company which would pretty much pay off the majority of your tuition fees in one wage. You practically burst into tears when the conductor told you that you purchased a ticket for the wrong line. The image of the money decreasing from your bank account due to a stupid purchase made you want to scream.

“Are there no ticket inspectors?” He hums, looking around. He looks around and almost comically turns in a circle before sighing. As if you couldn’t feel stupid enough for thinking you had to use a different line, the man in front of you had to make a theatrical out of it.

“I think it is this line.” He motions at the platform on the other side with the hand holding his expensive looking briefcase. You watch as it swings, seemingly empty.

“Thank you, sir!” You bow your head and smile, taking off before you finish the sentence. Soon enough you’re lost in the crowd again and hopefully not too late for the train.

[ 13TH, TUESDAY, 08:29 ]

Stupid nepotism. Yesterday, you arrived at the interview 10 minutes early despite the subway fiasco but you were informed that the role was filled that morning by an “experienced candidate who met the needs of the role”. Do you want to know who the candidate is? The CEOs nephew who just left high school and took a business class.

Now what? You’re at the same subway station waiting on the train to take you to your part-time cafe job 10 minutes away. Usually, you would walk it seeing as you don’t really like throwing away ₩1500 on a ticket that takes you 6 stops away but the torrential rain outside and your cheap umbrella were blocking you from walking 15 minutes.

The ticket crumbles in your hand as you fiddle with the flimsy paper. Maybe this was God’s sick way of telling you that you’re too ahead of yourself or that you’re destined to continue spending money that you don’t have. You trace over the price stamp, thinking over what you could’ve spent the money on.

Maybe a shitty cup of ramen?

“May I sit here?” A smooth voice breaks you from your trance. You glance up, straightening your posture. It’s the man from yesterday, gleaming down at you with the same formal smile. Again, it doesn’t reach his eyes yet you nod, shuffling to the right to allow him space on the bench.

“How was your interview?” He asks casually as he sets his briefcase beside him. He turns his back to you as he traces the cool metal edges of the case, popping it open with ease.

You gape, “How did you know I was going to an interview?”

“Well, you were dressed well and now you are in an apron. I assume you don’t go everywhere in a formal blazer.” He cracks open the briefcase as he casually explains. He’s weirdly observant, but his comment on the apron makes you glance down. Each wrinkle and subtle stain becomes more noticeable, but reminds you of each gruelling hour you put into the place. Each penny earned.

You can’t help but get lost in thought, barely processing as thick blue and red folded paper is passed into your eye-line.

“I am assuming you’re a café worker… That can’t pay much, no?” He motions at the cafe’s coffee bean logo on your black shirt. You nod, still dumbfounded by the paper squares.

His stare is so intense it leaves you a bit flustered so you naturally let out a nervous laugh, swapping your attention to the time on your phone. 10 minutes until your train...

“Um, no, I suppose not.” You reply, albeit awkwardly. He hums, satisfied with your late and short answer. Oddly, this is not one of the weirder conversations you’ve had at the subway station.

He shifts so that he’s facing you, “Let’s play a game, you know Ddakji, right?”

You glance between the paper and his face. He looks so sincere, but you can’t read his eyes. They’re deep, black almost and oddly… mischevious for a middle aged man. Honestly it’s quite disturbing.

“Each round you win, you’ll get ₩100,000. How about that?” The expression on your face coaxed him to continue. Perhaps you looked just as perplexed as you feel.

“Who are—“

“If I win, you pay with your body.”

… Is this man fucking crazy? You want to just leave the station but at the same time you’re so intrigued by what the fuck this man wants. Surely he has better things to do? Was he carrying the ddakji with him yesterday too?

The way he sits still as if he’s a mannequin is also quite disturbing. It’s as if he’s giving you time to process the question but you’re not debating the game, you’re debating just running out in the pouring rain.

“Well?”

“Railway line through Cheongpa-Dong is now boarding. Please board.”

You stand quickly, jolting the businessman with your speed.

“My train is here. Bye.”

[ 13TH, TUESDAY, 22:09 ]

The whole day the scenario played through your head. You were so caught up in thought that you burned yourself with the steamer and spent 10 minutes in the office running your hand until cool water. Even then, your mind wandered back.

It’s just so odd. You’ve never seen him before but now twice you’ve spoken to him. Has he always been there and it’s just more obvious now? Does he offer everyone this game? Is he following you? Does he know where you work?

You barely knew the time. Each drink passed by in seconds and each customer morphed into each other. Every time a man entered the shop in a suit, your heart pumped ferociously.

You can’t tell if you’re terrified of him or excited for the interaction. Maybe he’s just a fucking weirdo who walks around with ddakji in hopes of getting to slap people.

Plus, you could do with the money. Even if you win just one round, it could pay for your phone bill or electric meter.

The walk home isn’t exactly easy either. It’s dark and each corner turned, you’re expecting to see him waiting under a streetlight for you holding those red and blue squares.

“If I win, you pay with your body.”

Unbothered, he extends the squares towards you. It feels as if you’re sucked out of your body as you stare at him. Time slows and no one else is there. Did he just ask you to sleep with him? What in the world could that mean? Is this man a trafficker and he has his eyes set on you? The questions flurry through your brain in a span of mere seconds, yet you still feel the cool air pass over your skin as the train rails in beside you. Your hair falls into your eyesight as you gape at him.

“Well?” He motions towards the cards.

What in the fucking world.

[ 16TH, FRIDAY, 22:35 ]

The pile of unread emails grows in your inbox. Failure to attend lectures, the price increasing of your off campus housing, monthly payments that leave you with just under ₩145,000 to survive for a month. It’s unbearable. You’ve gotten used to the growl in your stomach and the lightheadedness that comes with the fatigue of hunger. Missing night outs with your friends, walking long distances until your feet ached and slaving away at work for nasty people while your eyes threatened to close. It’s all becoming a bit much, especially as your final year in University comes to a close.

The burn on your hand doesn’t help either. It’s right between the juncture of your thumb and index finger on your right hand and it aches when any sort of warmth meets it. You can’t afford to throw away money on soothing gels at the moment, so you bear with the pain. It’s already been a few days, so hopefully it disappears soon. You hope anyway.

Walking home in the dark used to scare you but as needs be, you’ve gotten used to it. Work looms over your head as your feet trudge through fallen leaves and debris kicked up by bikes and feet. The walk from work to home isn’t too bad, the area can be sketchy at times but you’ve learned to keep your head straight, don’t make eye contact and keep a hand on the box cutter you keep in your right side coat pocket.

Luckily, you’ve come across most of the same people. An older man always passes by, seemingly walking home from work and always flashes you a smile. A few students usually run by too and the occasional office worker. Most times however, it’s quiet.

Unlike tonight.

Faint sounds of slapping, cheering and grunting bounce off the walls of the buildings surrounding the dark streets. You can’t tell where it’s coming from, who it’s coming from or why but you prefer to keep it that way, but as you grow closer to a dimly lit side street, the noises become louder.

You sigh, hand grasping the box cutter. Your thumb presses onto the button, holding it steady in case you need to use it.

Keep your head straight, [y/n]. This doesn’t involve you.

You can’t help but flicker your eyes to your left as you walk past. A man lies cowering on the ground as he grasps his face with his hands. He’s whimpering, blabbing something to the taller, well-dressed man that hovers above him.

Is that the man from the subway station?

You quicken your pace. Your feet fall over each other as you attempt to walk away as naturally as possible, but you accidentally kick up some rocks as you scatter past. The suited man turns, casting his eyes on you. The pit in your stomach grows as you continue walking with urgency, daring not to look anyway but forward.

I am so fucked!

[ 22ND, THURSDAY, 12:09 ]

“Long-time, no see.” A shadow casts over your figure, effectively blocking your view of your phone screen. You glance up at the man that is effectively disturbing one of the only peaceful moments you’ve had lately.

He’s dressed in a black variant of the steel grey suit you saw the past couple times of meeting him, but he still carried the same stupid suitcase. You sigh, swiping your music app closed and locking your phone with a click as you use a hand to cover your eyes.

Always with the same fake smile.

“I don’t want to play your game, sir.” You try to reject as kindly as possible, but you’re kind of freaked out that he found you once more. He looks slightly disheveled, as if he’s been toying with his hair or the heat today had worn him down. Weirdly, he looks more human, though little emotion lingers behind his eyes.

“That’s unfortunate. I brought it with me.” He lifts his suitcase higher into view. You frown, glancing around at other patrons. You take the time to unplug your earphones from your ears as he seems to ground his feet into the pavement before you.

He’s hard to get rid of.

“You bring it everywhere with you.” You reply, a bit more harsh than you’d want to but he seems amused by it. Suddenly, the image of him hovering over the cowering man flashes in your head.

Don’t piss him off.

You grasp your iced coffee, ignoring how the condensation soaks your hand. The subtle clinking of the ice works to calm you down as your heart begins to race at the thought of being in the position of the cowering man.

“How did you—“

“Bread or lottery?”

You blink.

“What?”

He shakes his hands, “Bread or lottery?”

“I don’t want to choose.” He seems to hold back something as he sighs.

“No matter what you choose, nothing will happen.” He assures you.

He is determined.

“I won’t have to ‘pay with my body’?” You reiterate what he said at the station. He cocks a brow, but nods nonetheless. It’s odd, it’s the most emotion he’s ever shown and it’s because you threw his words back at him.

You don’t quite fancy the idea of taking food off of him, despite its packaging being intact, so you motion for the lottery ticket silently. He hands you it quickly, fetching a spare penny from his blazer pocket. His hand lingers on your own as he passes you the coin, causing you to stare at him. His lips curl at the corners and you feel as if you just fell into a trap.

“Go ahead.” He almost sings, shuffling to stand over you.

The weight of the coin in your hand is replaced by a ton of bricks. Since when do scratch cards look so intimidating?

The lapels of the salesman’s blazer graze against your back as he stares at the blue sheet with you. You’re effectively caged against the bench that you're sitting at as he extends over your left shoulder and rests against the table.

A shaky exhale passes your lips as you stare at the sheet. The coin shakes in your hold as you begin to scratch, revealing a seven.

“Just three sevens, easy, right?” He chimes in, leaning closer to your face. The smell of his clean, fresh and most likely expensive fragrance wafts past your nose, reminding you just how close he is.

Each scratch feels like it’s taking a lifetime to reveal, but you eventually reach a second seven. You dare to glance to your left, marvelling at how close he is. You can see each fine detail across this enigma of a man’s face. In the short few seconds, you notice his asymmetrical eyes, the whisper of facial hair around his mouth and the dark excitement lingering within his eyes.

Eventually, you scratch away the last box.

“Congratulations, Miss.” The salesman hums, as he stands back straight. The hand he used to rest against the table slips up your arm to press firmly against your shoulder.

You’re astonished. I won? Seriously?

“No way.” You whisper, staring at the sheet. ₩500,000! It’s not the largest amount offered in the lottery but it’s a damn good amount for you. You can pay off a bit more of your loans and maybe afford a half-decent meal tonight.

You barely take notice as the suited man lifts his briefcase once more, and turns to look back at the park. The homeless people he once targeted are still filing through the bread he stomped on and destroyed, bar the one he left over for you. He grasps it in his hands, mulling over his options.

“Excuse me!” He yells out, tossing the bread in the air and catching it. The small crowd of people scattered around the pile of bread and some passer-by’s stop.

You gape, staring at his back.

“You can thank this young lady here for the bread!” He tosses the bread into the pile of people with a sharp throw. You watch as the homeless crowd revenge against each other, shouting and yelling their demands for the food.

You stand from the table, slipping the winning sheet in your handbag and grasping your mostly melted coffee.

I should cash in and go home.

“Hey, did she win?” A gruff voice yells out. You freeze, staring at the businessman. Anyone with any sort of wit would say no, right?

“Of course.” He smiles, standing to the side so the crowd peeps a better view at you.

He’s just fed you to a pack of very hungry wolves.

You want to say something, but the sight of about 10 people suddenly rushing towards you causes the words to die in your throat. You clutch your bag strap and almost drop your coffee as you scramble over the bench you were sitting on.

However, a barrier is formed before you. The crowd stops, staring at the swinging briefcase that blocks their path to you.

“Hey! We deserve that money!”

“You deserve nothing.” The salesman spits back. The disheveled man looks astonished, glancing between you and your new bodyguard.

“You got your card and she got hers. Play fair, weren’t you taught that in school?”

The homeless man is visibly rattled, mumbling and spewing out insults.

“I am not the one who made that decision. You are the one who threw it away!” He shouts. Suddenly, he steps forward and swings his case out, causing the crowd to fall back. Some fall over themselves and create a domino for the ones at the front.

As he revels in the chaos he creates, he misses how you slip away into the crowd.

[ 25TH, SUNDAY, 10:57 ]

“Miss, I understand you are a student but I am also a landlord, I can only wait so long without payment.” Your landlady frowns as she stands outside your door. You scramble around, picking up the last remaining notes you earned from the lottery ticket.

“I am sorry, Mrs. Kwon! Please, take this ₩300,000 I have. I promise I will get you the rest on Friday! I get paid then!” You plead, passing the money into the woman’s hands. She’s quite frazzled, pulling back her hands as you grab them to slot the notes into. Usually, the money would come out of your bank account but you locked your card as you can’t afford for her to take the last of your money.

She splutters, backing up as the money falls to her feet. You scramble to pick up the notes.

“Miss, your rent is ₩900,000 a month. You missed out a part of last month too! Where did you get this money from?” She quizzes, watching as you recount your notes. She wasn’t wrong, you were short about ₩250,000 last month and you were damn lucky she let you off on it.

“I understand, please take this to cover some of the money I missed out on.” She takes the money, sighing as she flicks the notes between her fingers and passes you back ₩150,000. You try to refuse but she uses your previous tactic on yourself.

“Take this. Listen, my granddaughter is in a place like you so I understand, but you cannot keep living like this. What happened to your last job interview? You told me you would never be short on money again!”

Your gaze drops to the floor at this point. Again, you’re forced to remember how the opportunity was practically ripped from your hands before you had a chance to even try.

“He gave it to his nephew.” You reply.

Mrs. Kwon sighs, glancing at the other tenants' doors. None of the neighbours ever cause her as much trouble as you do, yet she finds it hard to evict you. Even now, you look like her granddaughter, defeated and at the mercy of the world.

“Just pay me what you can on Friday. I will give you until your graduation to sort this out, okay?” You nod, thanking her profusely.

Maybe I should play that game of ddakji…

[ 1ST, SATURDAY, 14:26 ]

“Are you crazy? Some man keeps asking you to play ddakji and you’re going to say yes?” Your coworker pales as he finishes mixing up some drinks. You nod, glancing back out at the glass doors. The café is quiet today despite the few regulars, so you find yourself able to fall into conversation with him quite easily.

“Ddakji?” Your other coworker, Junhee, pops her head out from the kitchen. You nod, expecting the same reaction from her but it never comes.

“I’m good at that. Try to hit it with the folded part down.” She smiles, popping back in.

“Hey! Why would you tell her to do that?” Yunho scolds, passing the drinks to the collection station. You can’t help but laugh as you round the corner to pass the cups to the customers. They are used to the usual bickering behind the counter so they pay no mind as the two talk back and forth. Most of your customers are students anyway, so they don’t care much as long as the drinks and food taste nice.

The fight continues into the night, even as Yunho is locking up and watching the shutters fall.

“Are you sure you don’t want a ride home?” He offers, but both you and Junhee decline. Yunho is nice, almost a bit too nice so you don’t want to feel like you’re taking advantage of him.

“Me and [y/n] will walk home together. Thank you, though.” Junhee answers. Truthfully, she doesn’t live far from you but she is closer to the café than you are. You know she’s struggling a bit with rent too and you’ve both discussed the possibility of moving in together, but she is having trouble with her boyfriend so you don’t want to pry and become the main reason she leaves him. She hasn’t told you much but it is financial and she fears she may be pregnant.

As you fall into pace together, Junhee begins to wring her hands nervously. You know she’s holding out on telling you something as it’s the same thing she did before she told you what Myunggi did.

“What’s wrong?” You ask, glancing at her shorter fame. Despite her hair hanging over her eyes, you can see the worry spread across her face,

“Listen, [y/n], I played ddakji with the same man.” Junhee stops in her path. You pause. He had played with her?

“The businessman?” You ask, to which she eagerly nods.

You step closer, looking around nervously. “Did you pay with your body?”

“Yes. He slapped me.”

“He what?”

Junhee throws her head back, “I won every time, but the last round I missed. He slaps you if you fail to flip the ddakji!”

As concerned as you should be, it feels as if a lightbulb blinks above your head.

“So what you’re saying is that I just have to be good at ddakji?”

“What I’m saying is to be careful! He gave me this card too…” She fumbles in her bag, pulling out a cream card with a circle, square and triangle printed onto it. She flips it, displaying an address.

“He said to go there in 3 days. He didn’t really explain it much but he said there were still some spots open.”

[ 3RD, MONDAY, 23:07 ]

“I can’t believe my eyes.” He muses, “I almost think you’ve been looking for me.”

“And what if I was?” Defiantly, you meet his dark gaze. As long as Junhee was telling the truth and he was only going to slap you, it would be easy. It’s not like he’s going to knock your tooth out.

Hopefully.

“Give me the blue one.” You hold your right hand out, requesting the brightly coloured square. He fumbles with his suitcase as he attempts to not look as excited as he is.

He sets the red square face down onto the pavement. Yes, pavement. You caught the fucker as he was stalking down the back alleys near your house as he was probably on his way to find another player.

“You know, you’re one of the first to ask me to play.” He hums, watching as you steady your two feet. Truthfully, you never played ddakji but the guise of the game was nothing too hard to grasp. Plus, you practised a little in your house.

“Try to hit with the folded part down.”

Junhee’s word echo throughout your head as you fling the card down with a bit of force. As told, the red square flips round.

“You’re good. Here you go.” The businessman passes you ₩100,000., the first of the night.

[ 3RD, MONDAY, 23:18 ]

“Alright, last round. You have almost emptied me out.” He motions to his discarded case. The last ₩100,000 sits pretty, almost beaconing you to take it straight from its place. But, you must play fair right? Even the businessman thinks so as you remember back at the park when he fed you to the crowd and saved you at the same time.

“I’m starting to think you’re a lucky charm for me.” You laugh, taking the blue square from his hand. Since he showed up, you’ve started to notice a stronger cash flow and hopefully the card he’s bound to give you continues the lucky streak.

But, instead of laughing or seeming amused, he flashes you a sinister smirk. You stare as he fixes himself. He had long abandoned his blazer, instead opting to roll his sleeves up and really give the game his all seeing as you had won 5 rounds. You have to admit, his disheveled state wasn’t the worst sight to look at.

“I think I’m quite the opposite.” He replies, hands smoothing down his waistcoat. You try to shake off his reply as he’s most likely trying to throw you off your game.

Maybe I shouldn’t be playing ddakji in a dark alleyway with him. Alone. At 11pm.

Tearing your gaze away, you return to the form that has won you five rounds. Steady feet, steady arms and steady breathing aided you in your last rounds and it’s almost as if it’s become second nature to you.

The square leaves your hands in a flash and you don’t bother to look as you stand proudly. A large thwack jumps off of the brick walls surrounding you both as you stare at him with nothing but pride on your face.

But…

Why is he coming at me?

Within a flash, the man’s left arm swings into your peripheral and you squawk as you jump back, throwing your arms out to push him away. Your eyes clench closed as your heartbeat thumps so loudly, it sounds as if there’s drums in your ears.

“You dodged me. That’s not fair.” You stare incredulously. The speed at which he swung at you would’ve landed you on your ass in a second flat. Junhee never told you that. With a dumbfounded expression, you look to the ground.

I missed.

“You tried to punch me. What the fuck?” You scatter, grasping your bag from the ground. You don’t need that damn card, what the fuck was Junhee on about? Is she crazy? Why is she going to that place tomorrow?

“I told you. If you lose, you pay with your body.” He explains casually, as if he didn’t just try to send you to the e.r. “Plus, I was going to slap you.”

“You would’ve knocked my fucking tooth out!”

“It was your choice to play, now stand still for me.”

You step back as he steps forward. Like Hell you’re letting him lay his hands on you.

“I don’t like people who don’t play fair. Please don’t make me hate you after we had so much fun.” He stresses, caging you against the brick wall. Your eyes flicker around, attempting to find a way to slip out. But, he’s read your mind, kicking a nearby bin over on its side.

“I never agreed to you hurting me.” You retaliate, flinching as he brings his right hand to your left cheek. Your eyes clench once again, but the delicate touch of his hand makes you gasp.

What is he doing? Is he seriously caressing my cheek?

The dim light from the nearby street lamps cast a soft light across his features, softening his appearance. If you weren’t so goddamn scared for your life and it was a man 20 years younger, maybe you wouldn’t mind this.

This is a textbook murder. What the fuck have I done?

He sighs, his fingerprints tracing a light pattern across your cheek. Each touch tingles, reminding you of where he’s touched. It’s similar to how your ex boyfriends would hold and touch you. It’s wrong, so wrong.

How can I think of Haejo right now!?

But, that’s until he gets rougher. Soon, he’s manhandling your face, using his thumb and fingers to hold your face in place by your chin. You spew complaints, twisting your body and using your hands to attempt to push him away.

“Didn’t anyone tell you to not talk to strange men on the street?” He sneers, disliking how you’re gradually dislodging yourself from his grasp. You ignore him, focusing on punching, shoving and kicking. You’re so distracted you don’t notice how his hand drops from your chin until it hits you.

He hits you.

You’re yelping, falling and scraping against the brick wall as tears cloud your vision. You’re crumbling, falling into yourself as you cry fat tears. Your ears are ringing and your face feels hot to the touch.

I’m reporting this fucker to the police.

“Fuck you!” You shout, looking up at his figure. Suddenly, you are the man you saw a few weeks ago. He stands unwavering, almost enjoying your crouched form. You can barely see between your tears and clumped lashes and you’re almost one hundred percent sure your mascara has streaked across your eyes, but you don’t care. You’re so fucking angry and scared, you’re shaking as you look at him.

“You agreed to play.” He’s right, but so obnoxious about it. He crouches to meet your form, staring at you as if you’re nothing but a scrawny child or animal. You might as well be.

Suddenly, he flicks a card between his index and middle finger, dropping it into your lap. It clatters and lands on the dirty ground, but you recognise the shapes Junhee told you about.

“Go to the address tomorrow. You’ll be the most valuable addition yet.”

With that, he leaves.

masterlist

#squid game #squid game x reader #squid game series #squid game fluff #squid game smut #gong yoo x reader #dae ho x reader #kang dae ho x reader

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muntitled · 6 months ago

Text

Protecting His Investment

Pairings: The Salesman x Fem!Reader

Summary: No one gets to hurt you except him.

Warnings: Dead Dove Do Not Eat, Language, Implied Violence, Age gap, God Complex, Brainwashing, Psychopathy, Murder, Blood, Gore, Codependency, Yandere!Salesman, Stalking, Smut (+18) mdni, Voyeurism, Blood Kink, Sadomasocism, Dom!Salesman, Sub!Reader, Choking, Rough Sex, Oral Sex, Blood Play, fingering, Massive Degradation Kink, Praise Kink, Sadism, Punishments, Dom/Sub Dynamics, Squirting, Overstimulation

A/n: I'm not responsible for the media you consume.

This can be read as a continuation of this fic but not strictly

“Shouldn't I be blindfolded?"

If it weren't for the silence simmering between you both, in this monotonous taxi drive, he might’ve not heard you at all and perhaps you should have been more careful with your choice of wording but you were feeling a tiny bit reckless this Wednesday afternoon. He hadn't ever offered to personally fetch you from campus, and you felt incredibly juvenile when you spotted him standing there like a dad, in his grown-up suit while his briefcase hung in his hands in front of him. You'd almost convinced yourself that you were imagining things. That somehow your obsession with the man who kidnaps you every Wednesday to fulfill all his messed up fantasies was truly taking a toll on your mental health.

Fortunately, or perhaps unfortunately, he was real. And he had come to pick you up and you were feeling awfully giddy as he ushered you both into a taxi while a few of your peers stood and stared.

By now he would've blindfolded you. Keeping you completely clueless to the location he brings you to every Wednesday. See, your Salesman had myriad deep rooted issues. Mania. Sociopathy. Sadism. But the issue that irked you the very most was his inability to trust. Before you know it, you're pouting up a storm as you ask him. "Why aren't we using the blindfold today?"

He slowly removes his gaze from the window, where he had been pondering like the old man he is. He quirks up an eyebrow, letting the intensity of his attention wash completely over you.

"Would you like to be blindfolded?" He asks playfully. His eyes are sparkling with amusement and his lips are quirked up like it usually is when he's being sardonic. Still, you remain cautious as you lean forward. You send one quick glance to the taxi driver, wondering if you were being led in some kind of hearse on the road to your death.

"A-Are you going to kill me?" For the first time, cold, white fear ices the warm blood rushing through your veins. Come to think of it, he did seem far chirpier than usual. Perhaps that should have been your first warning. The flags were blood red but you were wearing rose-tinted glasses.

He only snickers before placing a heavy hand on your head, patting it down.

He doesn't answer you for the duration of the taxi drive, causing you to slip more and more into your thoughts of morbidity and despair. Why else wouldn't he blindfold you if not to end your life once you got there? It seemed dreadfully logical and so on-brand for him. He'd get bored of you sooner or later and then he'd dispose of you. There'd be no need to blindfold you any longer while he took you to his place because you'd soon become a corpse and-

"Doll." The voice cuts through the chatter filling your brain. All at once, the car has stopped, and warm air rushes into the interior as he holds the door open for you. "Get out of the nice man's car." He jests politely, quickly prompting you to unbuckle your seatbelt and scramble out of the taxi.

The second you're out he walks ahead of you. The building that comes into focus before you have your brows crinkling.

You quickly catch up to him, gazing up at his monotonous face. "Why are we here? You never come to my house."

He doesn't respond as you both walk into the foyer. He walks briskly and powerfully, like a man on the move while you send a small wave to the security manning the front desk. You both enter an empty elevator and he presses a button without you ever having to tell him which floor.

"You're going to kill me, aren't you?"

He lowers his gaze to you, one eyebrow quirked up.

"You only die when you disappoint me and as of late," he stares directly ahead, "You haven't disappointed me."

The elevator dings and he steps out. You follow him like a puppy without a leash. "In fact I'd say your work ethic as of late has been-" he blows out a long sigh as he makes it your apartment door- recalling all the weeks you two have spent together in vivid kaleidoscopic images. All the pain you let him inflict on you and pleasure he'd offer as a reward.

"-nothing short of stellar. I'm proud of you." He punches in the code to your apartment and you both enter. The curtains are drawn shut because your roommate hates sunlight. You preferred it but there was no communicating with something like her.

He kicks off his shoes at the door.

"What are we doing here?" You ask nervously, "My roommate will be back soon and she isn't very nice."

"We won't be playing at my place today." He says finally meeting your wild and nervous eyes. He seems so lax and so in control. "We'll be playing here."

"B-But my roommate."

"Is that why you were crying?" His gaze keeps you rooted to the floors, unable to move even if you wanted to, "Because of your roommate?"

"Crying? I wasn't crying-"

"Back at the university," he says, casually removing a microscopic piece of lint from his grey blazer, "Your head was beant and you looked up at me with bloodshot eyes." His eyes shine with amusement as he says, "Usually with our sessions, the crying only comes later on." Then he quirks his head and asks, "What happened?" There's a bang somewhere in the apartment and your head snaps forward. Your eyes scan over the adjoining living room and kitchen but he seems unfazed.

"It's stupid-" you shake your head, "Like who even still gets bullied in uni?"

You laugh pitifully, leaning against the nearest wall. He stands tall before you. A brick wall.

"Your roommate's threatening to kick you out of this apartment to move her boyfriend in?" He asks before adding, "Again."

Your head snaps up to him, "H-How-"

In that moment, he turns rather robotically, making his way deeper into your home. It's clean. Thank God.

"You don't realize how chatty you get when you're about to orgasm." He says before stopping right outside your closed bedroom door.

"My roommate- she... decided last night that- well- she would really like her boyfriend to live here instead-"

"Without consulting you first?" He clarifies, staring blankly ahead at the door, listening very attentively.

"Y-Yes without consulting me." You bring your hand to the doorknob, on your way to open it but he stops you with an iron grip around your wrist. You wince.

“Continue talking.” He says and you do.

"This morning they both kinda sprung on me that they'd like to be living here now. She went behind my back and already placed the deposit down our landlord, well," you clear your throat. "I might be homeless soon." You laugh but then swallow very thickly as the gravity of the situation falls onto your shoulders.

"And still you decided to have our sessions today?"

"If you'll have me," you nod.

"Remarkable." He replies. "Well I've never been very fond of my things or my toys getting dirty." He begins mysteriously as he places his hand directly over yours on the doorknob.

"Pardon?"

"I can't have my favorite toy living out on the street. Who knows what kind of animals would try to rape you or drug you or fucking stick their slimey dicks inside you-" he turns the doorknob, clicking your room open.

You're not even sure when this started happening. These 'private sessions' with your Salesman that quickly bled into something much more concerning. Before you knew it, he was seeping into your brain, polluting you with obsession. There had never ever been anyone else involved.

"What the hell did you do?" You ask, slowly entering your room to find two chairs placed directly in front of your bed. As soon as you enter, you hear the blood curdling, muffled screams being ripped from the throat of the two people strapped to those chairs.

"I'm protecting my investment," Says your Salesman as he pushes the door closed behind you.

Your feet feel like lead as you watch them and their panic-stricken eyes. There in front of you, they sit opposite one another, both with a haggard countenance and tears streaming down their cheeks.

At the sight of you, your roommate screams something horrid but it's muffled by the gag placed in her mouth, a gag the shape of a dog bone.

He's there too. The boyfriend. He's not as loud or as frantic as she is but he's significantly startled. His eyes are wild and vacant. The same gag.

"Oh my god-" you begin but he cuts in front of you, making his way to the couple seated across from each other.

"We're all gonna play a game- a quick one," He says, "Can't play for too long because I've been dying to get inside you since I saw those pretty little bloodshot eyes."

"Sir- I"

If you knew his name you might've screamed it in this moment. 'Sir' is your only point of reference to address the manic man in front of you.

This isn't right.

Right?

You're so confused, you barely register than you've thought out loud. It hits you as he slowly shrugs his blazer off.

"What isn't right is them thinking they can rape this apartment from underneath you." He says, folding it and placing it meticulously over your desk.

"I- have neighbors!?" You begin but he has a plan for that too.

"I had your room soundproofed since our first session." You're pushed into even more confusion.

"WHAT!? When did you even-"

"While you were at school-" he says before uncovering a handgun from his briefcase. A handgun and a silencer.

"Point is, Doll, I'm going to need you to play a game for me, ok?"

"DOLL!?" Comes your roommates' mortified and muffled cries.

"I need you to make one tiny decision for me." He says, screwing on the silencer onto the barrel of the revolver. It strikes you then that even when the mask is off, and the worst workings of his personality are on display for all to gaze upon, you still find him breathtakingly attractive.

"If-" tears burn the back of your throat, "If this room is soundproof why-why do you need a silencer?"

"I'm nothing if not a cautious man, you know this." Then his expression turns very grave and very dark as he says. "Don't you?"

“Yes, Sir,” you reply almost automatically. Like your need to respond to him- to please him, greatly overpowered your moral compass. “You're extremely cautious.”

Your roommate releases a shrill noise from the very back of her throat, her eyes pleading with the humanity she desperately tries to find in yours.

“Out of these two, he's my least favourite,” Your Salesman says, standing beside you. Eyes wild as he points his gun to the boyfriend's head.

“But this isn't about me,” he turns to face you, slowly dragging you gaze away from the victims that had once been your tormentors. You look up at him with a broken sob slipping through your lips. “I need you to choose.”

There it is.

His words seem to detonate what little fate you had in his humanity. There is nothing in his eyes except hedonism and violence.

"I'm going to have you to choose very quickly, baby-”

You're already shaking your head as frazzled braids tickle your shoulders. Your eyes find theirs and you immediately say, “I'm not going to do it.”

When you look at him again, you're almost horrified to find the smile that had once been on his face, completely wiped away. His face is a shadow and it strikes you way more than anything ever has. Something in you scolds you. It gnaws at you to make things right.

“Don't do that.” He says darkly. “Don't disappoint me.”

His hands -one still holding a gun- moves to cup both your cheeks. He cranes your neck further back, gazing deeply. “I can't have you living on the street.”

“You don't have to kill anyone-”

His jaw ticks, “Pick.”

“Sir…”

“You're disappointing me.”

All it takes is those three words to have your world crashing to the floor. Tears blur your vision as you raise a trembling finger.

“Him. I pick him.”

It's the first time you realized that you were brimming with codependency

Or stupidity.

Or maybe both

“That's a good girl.” He coos, pressing a kiss to your forehead. The father you never had.

He lets his eyes meet that of the boyfriend who is shaking and writhing in seat.

“What a good fucking girl I have, wouldn't you agree?” He asks the boyfriend yet he only cries and cries and cries. Meanwhile, you're bathing in the warm, milky words of praise.

"I suppose you wouldn't be able to agree to much in a second-"

He raises the gun.

Wait-" but the trigger is already pulled, and the bullet slices through the air and the deed is done.

It's remarkable how fast it travels. The speed of the bullet. Like it's competing with light itself. One moment his head is there and his brain is inside it, functioning like usual and the next moment, it's splattered all across my bedroom wall, coating your stuffed animals and drenching your pink bedding.

“You killed someone…”

“We killed someone, and you did such a good job. Now we're real rich people-”

You shake your head.

“Oh my fucking god we killed someone-”

It's stupid, but the first thought that comes to mind is-

“How- How am I gonna get the stain out!?”

“I'll get you new sheets, Doll, I promise…”

Meanwhile the roommate is crying and screaming her throat hoarse. You watch gravely as vomit soaks her gag.

“That's fucking disgusting.” He says before turning back to you. A spray of blood scatters across the side of his handsome face. He'd just committed murder and yet you still describe him as handsome.

“You're not disgusting at all.” He says, “You're so clean and beautiful.” His large hands rub over your face. “And now this apartment's yours. Ours. Maybe.”

Ours.

That word somehow affects you more than the murder you'd just lay witness to. It has you staring up at him with grateful, love-filled eyes. You're still scared but, you were his. And that was a powerful feeling. You'd never belonged to anyone before. Certainly not any man as handsome or smart as this. This isn't rose-tinted glasses anymore, it's rose-tinted vision.

“We killed someone.” You say. Solidifying the fact that you were a couple.

Your heart rages in its cage when his eyes nearly roll to the back of his head.

“Fuck yes we did,” he moans before smashing his lips down onto yours. Confusion and discomfort wage a terrific and bloody war inside you as he kisses you absolutely dizzy. Your insides are swirling and your stomach is turning at the sight of the blood drenching your walls.

he tips your head up, forcing his tongue in and he moans when you let him. Your tongues touch and coax and he pulls you in close.

“You know how good you looked when I picked you up earlier, Doll? I loved seeing those bloodshot eyes of yours.” He mumbles, “I just hated not being the one to make you cry.”

You sob something awful. The sound escapes you while your lips are still plastered to his.

“But this is all me,” he says proudly, gazing down at your watery eyes as he pins you up against the wall. “This is all me.”

Your roommate sits in a daze. Over his wide shoulder, her eyes stare blankly into yours and you almost find yourself mouthing the words 'I'm sorry'.

Almost. But you never do.

Your brain is too clouded by feelings of fear, regret, pleasure and… satisfaction. In your defense her boyfriend really fucking sucked.

"Take this off." He groans, lowering his large build to the floor to shove your shorts and underwear down. Undressing you almost formally as he lifts your one leg out followed by the other.

Your eyes are still on her.

Every vile word she's said to you. Every occasion she'd bring her equally cruel friends over and they'd gossip about you loud enough for their words to carry through the walls.

You realize very gravely that your care is waning.

That humanity that was still left inside you is thinning.

And he's pressing wet kisses against your legs, worshipping the soft cellulite at your thighs.

A man in a suit at his knees for you and she's forced to watch.

It makes you feel so-

"Fucking beautiful, fuck." He groans.

The more riled up he is, the less care he gives to how crass his language becomes. As if trapped in a daze, with your eyes still on your tormentor -your bully- you hook your fingers into his hair. Parting your legs you lead his mouth to your exposed cunt and he slurps you up for all your worth.

Your eyes roll to the back of your head as he eats you out with vigor. He flattens his tongue and suctions his mouth against your clit, causing a deep and guttural moan to spill from your lips.

He pulls back, breathing raggedly, "Fuck my face," he commands, before placing both hands on your ass, enough to have your cunt riding his open mouth. It feels so fucking good your eyes are stinging with tears. You let them fall because you'd know he'd appreciate it. He appreciates every tear in your confidence. Every waver in your air-tight judgement. It undoes him completely to see you so fucking pathetic.

He looks up at you while you're riding him. Those morally black eyes are urging you to hump his face and you do.

At the sight of your tears falling his nails dig into your ass and you moan more. All the sounds you're able to make are in intelligible sounds of pleasure. But you force yourself to come to your senses. Just long enough to whisper

"Th-Thank you, Sir,"

He stills. Completely stunned.

You come. It crashes down on you all while your roommate tries to squeeze her crying eyes shut, shaking her head as if trying to delude herself into believing none of this is real.

"You are fucking fire, you know that?" He croaks, slowly rising. You're breathing oh so quickly and it only speeds up at the sight of your arousal casting his jaw.

“I wanna fucking hurt you so bad. I wanna eat you. I wanna fuck you. I wanna do so many unspeakable things to you- you're so perfect.”

He throws one more gaze over his shoulder. His almond eyes scan over the body, then the girl and he groans, furiously undoing his belt.

"How the fuck did I get so lucky?” he says, almost to himself.

"Answer me." He presses his body firmly against yours, until your spine is straight against the wall. "Fucking answer me when I talk to you."

He growls before bringing a hand up to your chin. It's painful the way he grabs you, but you're so used to pain. It lives here now. Between you both.

"I-I- don't know-" you really don't know and he melts at that.

"I'll tell you how, Princess. " he wraps your leg around his waist, "People like me- people we call crazy and evil-” His eyes are so wide, his smile too. -we get nice things. And people like that-" he quirks his head backwards, “The weak? Those people on the streets, they die.” He says, grinding his cock agaisnt your cunt, “And we don't die, yeah?"

"Oh fuck." You're seeing stars when his cock sinks into your cunt. It's hard and raging and he's already doing multiple shallow thrusts to force it deeper. "S-So big-" you can't talk, you hardly ever can when he's like this. Fucking you into an absolute frenzy.

"You gonna squirt for me, Doll?” he grits his teeth, hips stuttering as he ravages you against the wall. "F-Fuck." Some

“She's a really good squirter-” he turns his head to watch your roommate over his shoulder. Her head is slumped forward, she's fainted perhaps.

After weeks of trying to impress him, to show him that you were not the weak little thing he had first kidnapped- you realize it's paid off. He caveman grunts as he fucks you deeper and harder and a cry rips itself from your throat.

“Y-You want me?” You ask with trembling lips.

“Baby,” he breathes directly into your mouth. “I need you.”

"F-Fuck-" your orgasm sneaks up on you and he watches with immense gratification as you come undone on his cock.

“You're making a mess on my cock-” clear liquid streams out of hou, threatinging tk lush his cock out but he fucks you through it.

“Gonna fucking cum inside you, baby. You're gonna take it, aren't you? My good girl's gonna fucking take it,” he throws his head back as his eyes flutter closed and soon he's fucking spurts of warm cum into you.

It fills you completely until the mess is coating your thighs. Through your wave of endless euphoria you see stars, the planets and him in the very centre of it all, guiding you and coaxing you through the bountiful high.

Even when he's done, his cock is still nestled deep inside you, pushing you over the brink of stimulation.

"You're very promising.” He admits, “Always have been.”

#squid game #squid game x reader #squid game fanfic #squid game smut #the salesman #the salesman x reader #the salesman x you #the salesman fanfic #the salesman smut #salesman squid game #salesman x reader #salesman smut #gong yoo #dead dove do not eat

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kashverse · 5 months ago

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i can imagine babygirl sukuna getting new sonny angels after every doctors appointment or dressing up her labubus just to hang it on sukunas briefcase😭

and i would also like to add my own two cents :)

you’d think that with the vast amount of options sukuna presents to his little princess every time he asks what she wants—be it the most expensive toys, a pony, her own personal theme park—she would switch it up. kids are fickle, right? but no. every birthday. every holiday. every random tuesday where sukuna just felt like spoiling her. the little one sits, focuses hard—her tiny brows furrowing like she’s making the most important decision of her life—before wisely declaring:

"i want sonny angel."

or, sometimes:

"i want labubu."

but never anything else.

sukuna, for all his power, for all his wealth, for all his influence, is powerless against the sheer determination of his daughter’s love for small, beady-eyed figurines.

it all comes to a head one fateful morning. sukuna, a man of routine, wakes up early, stretches, and heads to his closet. he reaches for his socks, slides one on without a second thought—

—only for his foot to crunch.

he freezes. slowly, cautiously, he lifts his socked foot and shakes it.

a sonny angel falls out. sukuna yells.

not just any yell. a battle cry of terror. his daughter, still half-asleep in bed, peeks out from under the covers, blinking groggily.

"…papa?"

"there was a thing in my sock," he hisses, gripping the offending figurine like it personally insulted him. she gasps. "angel!"

"yeah, well, this angel nearly gave me a heart attack!"

his daughter frowns, marching over and snatching the sonny angel from his grasp. she cradles it in her tiny hands, scandalized. "papa," she scolds. "he was cold."

sukuna pinches the bridge of his nose. "oh, for fuck’s sake—"

"bad word!" she yells.

he sighs, long and suffering. "fine. go put your little demon back with the others."

but as his daughter scurries away to return the sock angel to its rightful home, he realizes something. where, exactly, are the others?

"'kuna," you call from your room a few minutes later, "why are my sephora products in a military standoff?"

sukuna walks in to find your vanity under siege.

dozens—dozens—of sonny angels and labubu figures have been arranged in an army formation around your makeup collection, as if fiercely guarding it from intruders. his daughter stands proudly in front of them, arms crossed. "they keep mama safe," she explains.

you nod slowly. "right. and the one in my drawer?"

"he’s a spy," she says, dead serious.

sukuna snorts. but before he can make a joke, she turns to him, narrowing her eyes.

"papa."

he quirks a brow. "what?"

"say sorry to angel."

he groans. "are you—"

"say sorry."

he stares at her. then at the beady-eyed sonny angel she’s holding up expectantly. he exhales through his nose.

"…sorry."

his daughter beams. "good papa." you pat his shoulder. "proud of you, babe."

he grumbles under his breath as he leaves the room, only to find choso standing in the hallway, having witnessed everything. choso simply nods. "they are kinda cute," he mutters.

sukuna slams the door in his face.

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ssahotchnerr · 2 years ago

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Aaron having to bring his daughter with him to work for whatever reason? She’s tiny enough to not be running around and mainly just sleep on his chest all day. It’s fall outside and she’s in a warm teddy bear outfit so it’s literally like a stuffed animal on his chest as he works. She wouldn’t remember anything she saw in files but he makes sure her head is never near anything bad. Makes his heart warm and happy when the others realize that she’s there and coo over her and the outfit. Penelope takes pictures of them to send to you too 😭🖤

soak it in

i'm going to CRY cw; fem!reader, girl dad!aaron, small foyet reference

aaron's entrance into the bullpen piqued the interest of several, as it was different from any other, usual morning. not only was his briefcase in hand, but also a carseat, and a diaper bag was slung proudly over his shoulder. there were smiles from the team, some small nudges to look amongst the other units, as today's visitor was easily welcomed.

during breakfast, you had been notified your dentist appointment had been moved up, due to the office closing earlier within the day for whatever reason. with such short notice and jessica being unavailable, aaron was the obvious solution, and your daughter came to work with him - until you were done running a few errands and could drop by to retrieve her.

for the meantime - as she was there - aaron opted to work strictly on the no-pictures-included files. while she was never in close proximity to a file regardless, and today's onesie's hood happened to shield her eyes, and her little mind wouldn't process or remember anything - aaron didn't want to take any chances. he yearned to keep his daughter as far away from that, all the horrors the world possessed, for as long as he possibly could. jack had gained the knowledge - that monsters were real, just in human form - sooner than he would have liked. sadly.

currently baby girl was tucked into his chest, her right cheek smushed against him. she dozed off not too long ago; she had gotten a bit antsy and luckily his swivel desk chair allowed him to slowly rock her as he worked, in addition to soothingly shushing her, whispering that it's okay; ultimately calming her down. her little fingers found a near death grip on his shirt, clinging onto him as she slept.

when he had felt the pull of fabric, he gazed down and couldn't help but smile. aaron also took a moment, to soak it all in. the window of time where this was possible, was limited; her against his chest, small enough to be cradled in one arm, quiet and secure in the comfort of his office. all in too fast progression would aaron blink, and she would be way more interested in exploring and bouncing off the walls.

the thought immediately snapped his heart into two. if only she could stay that tiny, forever.

as he wrote, flipped a page, switched files, aaron was extremely careful to his movements. he tried not to rustle her, despite her being comfortably laid in his not-preoccupied-by-writing arm.

the sudden creak of his door lifts his eyes, penelope entering. the quietest of aw’s leaves her as she approaches, with an extra spring in her step at the sight before her. in addition, she doesn't hesitate to whisk out her phone.

"i didn't know this cutie was here today." the words leave her in a gentle, yet high, pitched tone, giddiness laced within. her jaw fully drops as she catches sight of the cozy onesie the littlest hotchner inhabits, "oh my god look at her outfit!"

“garcia.” aaron lightly warns as her volume heightens, his eyes flicking back up to her from his paperwork, his pen slowing.

“i know sorry sorry, i just neeeed to share the cuteness with the mrs.," penelope grins, aiming her camera at baby girl, and aaron, snapping a few pictures. "this is just, too dang adorable. she needs a copy, i need a copy, and i'll make you a copy too, sir."

that tugs aaron's lips into a smile, a small chuckle leaving him. "she's cute, huh?"

"um hello? cute doesn't even begin to cover it. please tell me you're the one who dressed her today. if yes, i might have to scream. just might."

"not today." aaron admitted, dropping his pen and fixing the small hood, which had fallen a bit too much in front of baby girl's face. again, his lips couldn’t help but pull into a smile. god, he loved being a girl dad, and a dad in general. "but, i may have picked it out."

"i was right. i'm going to scream." quick to realize what she said, penelope held out her hands in defense - before aaron even had the opportunity to open his mouth - clarifying with wide eyes. "internally! i'm screaming internally."

aaron took a slight pause, before speaking. “actually, about the copies - ”

penelope’s shoulders dropped in defeat, her lips pulling to the side - an equivalent to an ‘eek’. “was i too enthusiastic?”

“on the contrary,” aaron’s expression softened, laughing gently as to again, not rouse baby girl. “would you mind bringing me two? i’ll need one for in here, and for my wallet.”

#aaron hotchner x reader #aaron hotchner #aaron hotchner fluff #aaron hotchner x you #aaron hotchner x fem!reader #aaron hotch x reader #aaron hotchner imagine #criminal minds #criminal minds x reader #criminal minds x you #criminal minds drabble #aaron hotchner drabble #criminal minds imagine #criminal minds fanfiction #hotch imagine #criminal minds x fem!reader

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miyakiwiii · 6 months ago

Text

GUESS NO ONE EVER TAUGHT YOU HOW TO BE A REAL MAN...。o○ [1]

-KANG DAE HO X FEM!READER

WOOOO SECOND DAE HO FIC OF MINEEE(ilhsm) HOPE U ENJOY!

TAGS

Reader and dae ho are both in squid game... uh no warnings except swearing and player EUGH 100

NOTE:

This is really long, since i made this while rewatching squid game s2 lmao. Also your kinda like sae-byeok but more chalant also this is really longU^ェ^U (did not expect this to turn into a series)

WORD COUNT:2,15k!

NEXT PART..

MASTERLIST

The debt was passed to you when eventually one of your only remaining family members were missing.

It was always because that family member always had to go to loan sharks, to get money, and to use for what? The common answer: Gambling.

The debt that was passed to you was... 320 million won.

Your dad, when he was alive.. you were inspired by him, after all, he was in the ROK Airforce before.

You wanted to be like him, but he didnt want that for you, you were his precious jewel.

"Pa! I wanna be like you when i grow up! All strong!" Younger you said as you flexed your tiny arms, flashing a big grin. Your father chuckles as he puts a hand in your head and starts patting you, messing up your dolled up hair.

"Now now kiddo, Being one of us is really difficult, i dont want my sweetie to be hurt." He says, kneeling down to face you as you pouted.

"Nuh uh! Im still going to become an air enforcer like you!" You said as you crossed your arms.

"Im warning you kiddo." He stops kneeling down.

Well, that dream never came true.

Sitting in one of the benches, it was dark. Now why would a woman stand in the dark all by herself? Isnt that dangerous?

Not at all for you- okay that was cringe.

You fought for yourself always, learning to survive and such.

"Need to go home now.." you sigh, standing up from the bench and fixing your jacket, putting your hands in the pocket, whew it sure is chilly.

"Now now... whats a pretty girl like you doing all alone in the dark?" A creep asks, you could tell it wants something for you, so you kept walking, fastening your steps even more.

"He-Hey! I was talking to you! Come back here!" The creep yelled out.

"Get the fuck away from me." You said, the man finally quiet down and just stood there, watching you walk, and dissapear in the distance.

Finally, arrived to your home... or small apartment, you searched for the keys in one of the pockets you put your hands on, now holding onto the small key, you took it out of your pockets and opened the door.

DAY 2.

You went into the subway for absoulutely no reason at all, going down the stairs on the subway station's tunnel entrance, now sitting in one of the chairs to relax,you saw a... man in a suit, smiling weirdly with a briefcase approaching you, Guess he was a scammer?

The man smiles at you and sits beside you at the bench.

"Hello maam, may i talk to you?" He says, looking at you strangely.

You ignore him and just look at the ground of the subway station.

"Would you like to play a game with me?" He says, looking at you, eugh that stare kinda creeps you out(ik some of yall be simping)

"Eh... who even are you to begin with? Some kind of buisness man exactly?" You say, looking at the man.

You find him, his suitcase opened, finding a red and blue folded paper, along with... won.

He holds out both of the folded paper, and asks. "So, which color do you want to play as?" He says.

"...Blue." You say.

A FEW ROUNDS LATER.

He had explained the round, basically, the two of his slaps were decreasing of the 100k won, but instead, we pay with our... body? That sounds like prostitution but its done anyways.

He looks at you as you stood silent, looking at the man.

"Here's your won." The man says, the man's slap still aching.

"You can make money after playing game's like this do you know that miss?" He says, as you held the money.

"Would you like to try it out?" He said, the hint of mischieoveness achived in his voice.

You thinked, looked at the man. "Huh? Are you trying to fool me sir?" You say monotonely.

"Miss [Reader]." He said as he stood up. You went quiet as you looked at him, how did he know your name?

After that, he said everything, every information you had, school, work- whatever else, even your fathers name.

"As now, one of your family members passed a debt to you about.. 230 million won due to loan sharks."

"Wha- what are you..?" You said, looking at him terrified.

He pulls out a card from his coat pocket, holding it out to show to you.

"We have many spots left." He says, you took the card fastly from his hand, basically snatching it.

"Give me a call." He says as he walked away, you were left there, standing.

DAY 3.

You wake up, in a strange place. Looking around, you held your head as you sighed. Rubbing your temples.

"Fucking hell... my head hurts. You sat up, and took off the duvet that was covering you. Realizing that you had new clothes, you decided to unzip the zipper of the greenish blue jacket, you saw that something was written on your shirt.

238.

"What the... fuck." You stood up and went to the center, as someone accidentally bumped into you.

"Hey-! Watch where your going!" You say, the music that was coming from the speakers finally stopped as the man spoke to you "You watch ou- oh.. i apologize miss."

"Yeah, you better." You said, looking at the man.

You observed the man as you saw that he had a hair length that was reaching his neck a little bit, he had a strong jawline, and a part of his hair was tied to the back, he kinda looked cute whatsoever, but you didnt pay mind to that.

You looked at his jumper, the jumper has a number.. '388.'

The front door opened as three men with masks, the middle one has a square mask, the other two? Both circle.

"Thats strange, this isnt a costume party at all." You say, hand on your waist.

The man was still beside's you, you didnt notice him looking at you, and then he looked back at the guards.

Murmur's filled the room, as you stayed silent, the man beside you tried talking to you.

"Real- ehem, real strange for sure." Yet you still ignored him.

TIME SKIP OF THE SQUARE TALKING.

"Excuse me." A voice said from afar, you turned around to see, it appears to be a transgender woman, you respected her of course. She stepped down some few steps and said..

"You said i'd be playing games, but you practically kidnapped me." She said, looking at the guard.

"I apologize." The man in the square soldier says. "Please understand it was necessary to maintain the game's security."

"... I agree, we didnt consent to this at all." You spoke out, looking at the guards as people leaned their head torwards you.

"So how can we believe that?" She says.

"Whats with the mask then? Is your face also a secret?" A random female says.

"Yeah! Why are you hiding your face? Is this some kind of illegal gambling house?" A random man says.

"Even the dealers dont cover their faces in those place's!" The random woman says.

Murmur's build up as i listened to some of them.

"To ensure fair gameplay and confilentiality, it is our policy not to reveal the face's and identities of staff please understand." The square says.

"... i dont really give a shit about all this talking.. except taking us to some- some place else." i sigh, crossing my arms.

A diva- i mean a girl holds out the jacket given and holds it up. "Did you take off my clothes and put these on me?" The girl says.

"My shoes are limited fucking edition." A forked up- i mean a purple haired guy says, rotating the shoes. "They're hard to find, you goin' to replace em if they get" RUINED?!"

"These dont fit and the color sucks... can i just have what your wearing instead? I like pink" the girl says.

I sigh, looking at the girl from afar, hands now in my pocket's.

TIME SKIP WHEN THEY ANNOUNCE THE PPL W/ DEBTS CUS IM LAZY..

(sorry chat)

"Hah, a crypto scammer in this game...? Noted." I say as i scoff, after hearing the mans words.

"Player 333, llee myung-gi." As the square presses something, the tv that was placed up the screen showed something, the ddakji game..!

"Age 30, Used to run a Youtube channel called MG coin. After Convincing subscribers to invest in a new crypto coin called dalmatian, causing losses of approximately 15.2 billion won. You shut down and dissapeared. Your wanted for fraud, and for violating telecom,and financial investment laws. Current debt level, 1.8 billion won."

"Player 196, Kang Mi-na, 45 million won in debt."

"Player 120, Cho hyun-ju, 330 million won in debt."

"Player 238, [READER FULL NAME]. 230 million won in debt."

'What a fucker..' i stay silent looking at the side.

"Player 230, Choi Su-bong 1.19 billion won in debt."

"Player 198, Jang do-yeong 1.4 billion won in debt."

"Player 226, Kim Yeong-san 1.9 billion won in debt."

"Player 444, Kim Nam-du, 2.02 billion won in debt"

"Player 343, Sim Jae-Seok 2.89 billion won in debt."

"Player 006, Park Mi-hwa, 3.1 billion won in debt."

"Player 283, Lee Eun-jun, 4.02 billion won in debt."

"Player 100, Im Jeong-dae, ten billion won in debt."

"One more game!" The screen's speakers yell out.

"What a greedy old grandpa, huh?" You tried talking to the taller man beside you.

"Uhuh.. totally.. haha.." he says, scratching his nape.

"Who is that? Who is he?" Some people say.

"WHAT ARE YOU LOOKING AT!?" it yells out. "DO YOU THINK- BLAH BLAH BLAH blah blah..."

'Yeah we dont really care whatsoever.' You rolled your eyes, murmurs still surrounding him.

"All of you in this room, Have crippling debts, and now on a cliff-edge. When we first came to you, you did not trust us either. But as you know, we played a game, and gave you money as promised, And so you trusted us and volunteered to participate according to your own free will. You have one last chance to decide, Do you want to live in a piece of trash running for creditors? Or will you seize the last opportunity we are offering?" The square finishes.

I listened carefully (finally) to its words, processing all of it inside my head.

The light's suddenly darken- and now there was a golden glow emitting from above.

"Is heaven taking- woaah... never mind i guess." I look up and above, a piggy bank, not just any ordinary piggy bank, a fucking. Huge. One.

The music that appeared fastened up when the piggy bank was going down.

"Whoa, thats huge yanno'..?" The man beside's you says.

"What you see now, is the piggy bank where your valuable prize money will be stored. After each of the six games you will play, the prizs money will be accumalated in this piggy bank." The square says.

A mama's boy- i mean a man speaks up and asks "how much is the prize money?"

The square answers the man's question. "The prize money for the game is 45.6 billion won in total."

Shocked gasps and sounds build up.

"45.6 billion... won..." i say, my eyes blinking "thats insane."

"And one of us will get it?" The man asks.

"We will give you the detail's about the distribution of the price money after the first game. For these games, you will be given a special new advantage." The square says.

"What is it?" The old bit- i mean man says.

"After each game, you will be given a chance to vote on whether to continue the game or not. If the majority votes to stop the games, you can leave with the prize money accumalated up to that point." The square says.

"Are you saying.." a man says from behind,not in the crowd, but in the sides of the bed- whatever its called

"We'll receive the money after we leave the first game?"

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goorgeousz · 2 months ago

Text

devoted | aaron hotchner

18+

pairing: aaron hotchner x wife!reader summary: hotch comes home tired from another draining case. luckily, you’re always there to greet him with a drink and the tiniest dress you own. content/tw: unprotected sex, (p in v) sex, oral sex (male receiving), foreplay, assplay (nothing much), dom!hotch, sub!reader, word count: 3k a/n: I was so excited to write this one, it was one of my first hotch x reader ideas, long before I started to write here! I ended up loving wifey!reader so much more than I thought, I want to write more about her if you guys want me to <3 truly hope you love her as much as I do. main masterlist

The closer he got home, the more his heartbeat rose.

It had been an exhausting case, physically and emotionally. The team spent almost a week in that small city, not knowing who to trust and what to do. A typical series of homicides turned out to be the work of the city’s police enforcement corruption. They were working side by side with their enemies without even knowing. Every passing day they were alive was a win.

So now, days with barely two meals a day and little to no sleep, he was finally getting to rest. He could feel his own body tensed, the grip on the steering wheel almost deathly.

It was surprising, really. Even after years together, coming back home was always that big of a deal. Suddenly he felt every knot of tension on his back, the weight of the lack of sleep and the fact that his latest meals were bbq flavored chips and the cheap coffee they had on the plane.

With his car perfectly parallel-parked, Hotch steps towards the doorway so hurried it almost seemed like he was late for something. Some very important deal that had to be made at exactly 10:24 p.m.

And when he unlocked the door, there you were.

His work-scowl instantly melted at the sight. You were heading towards the entrance with your teeny tiny slip dress, covered with its matching robe, the expensive fabric adorning your curves like you were a sculpture. Your hair falling like a halo around your face, bouncing hypnotizingly as you moved around the room.

He lived for that ear-to-ear smile of yours, the glint in your eyes ever so endearing as you walked to him with a perfectly made glass of scotch. Yes, life could be worse.

“Baby!” you greeted, coming closer to hand him his glass and give him a peck on the lips — as you always did.

His features were softer but still serious and urgent when he took the scotch glass off your hands and placed it on the little wooden table by the door, together with his leather briefcase and go-bag. You gave him a puzzled look, which vanished as soon as he placed his hand on your face and pulled you in for a kiss.

You melted on his arms, hugging him by the neck and pulling him even closer to you. He deepened the kiss and roamed his hands down to your waist under the robe, firmly keeping you flushed against him.

His tongue was warm and demanding, like he wanted to inspect every single inch of you from inside out. You hummed against him, relieved, passionate and eager.

The kiss went on until both of you ran out of breath, pulling apart but still pecking each other’s lips, still not ready to be separated.

Your heavy breathing matched his as he pulled back completely, but kept his arms around you on a tight hug. His features completely relaxed now, an adoring smile dancing on his lips and his eyes glistening in devotion while he took in the sight of you. Your swollen lips, slightly blushing cheeks and glossy eyes being his favorite sight.

You never got used to the way he looked at you. Hotch was a busy man, you knew from the start where you were getting yourself into, but whenever you were together, you had his full and undivided attention. It could be kind of overwhelming. You loved every second of it.

“Hi” you whispered sheepishly, biting your lip to contain your giddy smile.

“Hi, Love” he whispered back, his smile matching yours. You quickly scanned his face, feeling relieved that it didn’t have any apparent scars.

“Are you hungry?” you asked, forcing your voice to not come out as needy and whiny as you felt. His gaze dropped to your chest, where your short white nightgown did a poor job at covering your breasts.

“Very.” he murmured, opposingly to you, not trying to mask the desire in his voice.

You felt your face burn more in desire than in shyness. Shaking your head slightly to sober up, you detangled yourself from his embrace, giggling at his flirting “First of all, get your hands off of me.” you joked in amusement.

“My least favorite words” he groaned, rolling his eyes, but letting you go. You reached his glass again and waited for him to go back and lock the door properly.

“Go get yourself comfortable,” you handed him his glass “ and I'll finish off dinner.”

“You shouldn’t have waited for me.” he pointed, following suit behind you.

“And miss the little moaning you do when you taste my food? Not a chance.” you teased, and he just rolled his eyes.

“You look mesmerizing.” he said, stepping closer and sneaking his arms around you again. You blushed — again, like a schoolgirl.

“Stop it, Aaron.”

“Complementing my wife? Over my dead body. You look beautiful, honey. Like always.” he said, looking at you deeply the way he knew it only made you shyer.

You leaned in and gave him a little peck on the lips, pushing away from him again “Stop distracting me, we need to eat. You taste like burnt coffee and I know that was your lunch.” you pointed your perfectly done nail at him. He rolled his eyes again.

“So after we’re done can you please let me put my hands back on you?” he pleaded with his mock-serious tone.

“Oh, baby, after we’re done I’ll expect you to put much more than your hands back on me.” you winked, heading towards the kitchen and leaving a stunned Hotchner trailing behind you like a lost puppy. “By the way, you’ll pick up Jack on Sunday at ten and take him to brunch.” you said, already deep in your cooking.

“Yes ma’am.” he decided not to comment on how you used his son — who was safely and innocently spending a weekend at his friend’s lake house — as a shield to his teasing.

You chuckled at his response “I wish all those bad guys you hunt down could see you when you get home. Which reminds me,” you pointed the silver spoon you were holding towards him, who sat on the stool in front of the kitchen’s balcony, suit jacket off, drinking his scotch and watching you roam around the kitchen “You barely told me anything about the case, you know I love to hear it.”

He chuckled and said “You’ll see just why” before he started to get into the whole long story, filled with every detail he could remember – just how you liked it – just stopping to help you get the food and go to the dining room.

You listened attentively, asking all the right questions and gasping exactly how he expected you too, like he always did after a case. He spoke so passionately about his job, you eventually started falling in love with it too – as much as one can – and relished with his stories like you were there right by his side.

“Hmm, this tastes heavenly” he said right after the first bite, and you laughed, bumping your knee against his. You kept the conversation going at the dining table, seated the same way you always did, since day one: Hotch seated by your side, never in front of you. It was silly, but it made you so happy and giddy that he couldn’t find it in himself to sit anywhere else. And he got to touch your thigh much more easily, which was always a benefit.

You kept talking during the whole meal. After he told you his case, you told him about the last few days. A long time ago you used to feel ashamed about how uneventful your life was, especially compared to his. But Hotch always made sure to engage in your stories just as much as you engaged in his, asking you details and listening attentively at every word, pause and expression you gave him.

You watch him roll up his sleeves after dinner, not letting you touch a single dish filling up the dishwasher perfectly. With everything in its place, you headed towards the couch, not wanting to spend a second apart from him.

As his wife, you understood his obligations on his job – you had to – and respected just fine all the time he had to spend away. But one could only do so much. As soon as he got home, free from his obligations – never for long enough – you wanted to be with him in any and every possible way.

So that’s how you found yourself seated comfortably on your husband’s lap, facing him and brushing your nails through his hair, while his hands roamed up and down your thighs, hips and waist in a repetitive pattern.

“Do we have any plans for this weekend?”

“Oh yes, we have a very busy weekend.” he nodded mockingly-seriously, mimicking the playful tone you used.

“I wouldn’t expect anything else. Tell me.”

“We’re turning off our alarms, first of all. We’re not leaving our bed until you get at least eight hours of sleep. That’s not up to debate. We’ll have all meals on the dining table, together. There will be some naps here and there. Maybe watch a movie? Read a book? That’s up to debate. Oh, and we’re having sex too. A lot of it.”

He stopped his fingers on your knees and glanced up at you, his eyes darkening almost immediately “A lot, you said?”

“Mhmm.” you leaned in, your nose only one inch away from him “A l-o-t.” and then leaned back, shrugging in fake dismissiveness “Well, at least the much you can handle with all that age of yours.”

“Yeah?” he asked, leaning back on the couch and looking up at you with boredom and annoyance.

“I mean, I always knew what I was getting into when I married someone that much older than me. Those years are catching up with you and it’s normal that you can’t fully match my young energy and stamina levels, and we…” your voice failed when his hands slid under your dress, tracing the edge of your underwear.

“You were saying…” he insisted, arching an eyebrow with an amused expression.

“Uh. What?” you muttered, your brain only focused on the feeling of his fingers tracing patterns on the top of your clothered center, too close yet too distant from where you really wanted him.

“Tell me about how I can’t handle you. I really want to hear it.” he demanded, his smirk teasing but his eyes completely darken in desire.

“Aaron, baby. I don’t want to. Please.” you managed to say, starting to move your hips to get more pressure against his fingers than his feather-like touches.

“You’re going to keep talking. And I don’t want to see you stutter until I make you come. Understood?” his smirk completely vanished now.

“No, Aaron, please.” you whined, and he withdrew his fingers immediately.

“Still won’t say it?” his voice didn’t give you space to argue.

“I was saying that I have more stamina than… Oh, yes!” he touched you again, now with more pressure “And that we should maybe take it easy bec… because… oh!” you gasped as he pushed your panties to the side, his fingers played with your bare core, finally giving you some relief.

“So wet already. Good girl. But stop stuttering.” he commanded as you rolled your hips with his praise.

“Because you can’t… oh shit. Can’t hurt your back. Fuck, yes. I’m just taking… taking care of you.” you panted, rolling your hips as he trusted his fingers in and out of you, his heel pressing directly on your clit making you almost see stars.

“Hmm. You always take such good care of me, right, honey?”

“Yes! Su..uch good ca… care.”

“Bet you knew from the start I would thirst over that little dress. Didn’t you?”

“Mhm. Put it on just for you.” you whispered, not trusting your voice to speak louder without it cracking.

“So beautiful, greeting me back like that. Did you miss me?”

“Yes, Aaron. God, I missed you so much.”

“Did you touch yourself while I was gone?”

“No! I didn’t. I promise.” he nodded, believing you.

“Such a devoted wife I got. Do you think you deserve to come now? I can feel you’re close.” you looked desperately at him with heavy eyes, your movements starting to get sloppy and uncoordinated.

“Yes, I do. I’ve been good.” you begged, your eyes starting to water. “Please.”

“Go on, honey. Come for me.” not even a second after he finished saying it you started to come, the 6 days build-up intensifying your orgasm to the point your vision went blurry and your feet cramped. He rode out your climax, his fingers moving in you until he felt you relax completely.

You rested your forehead on his chest trying to steady your breathing. You felt his torso shake, and you glanced up just to see him chuckling at you. “You good?”

The rush of desire and love you felt towards him almost took you out at the sight. He leaned back on the couch, his face a few inches from yours. His hair already disheveled from your fingers, his dark circles being enough evidence of how tired he really was. His cheeks slightly pink from arousal combined with the gleam of adoration in his eyes being your favorite look on him. No matter what happened at his job, whenever he came back home he was all and entirely yours.

So, instead of chiming in with his teasing, you gripped on the collar of his shirt and met him with a kiss even hungrier than before. He hummed inside your mouth, instantly matching your pace and intensity. Even though you were on top of him, his tongue still managed to keep control of you, invading your mouth and skillfully tearing you apart.

You only pulled back when you were out of breath, your nose still touching his “God, I love you so much.” he grinned “If I knew that was all you needed, I would’ve done it as soon as I walked in.” he reveled on the giggled you let out in response “You always take such good care of me, Aaron” you managed to say so out of breath your voice started to give out.

He gulped, his hands gripping tightly your hips to try and restrain himself from fucking you senseless. You knew how much he loved to feel you at his mercy. “Please, let me repay you. I need you so much.” you begged, not even trying to mask the desperation in your voice.

“Do you have something in mind?” he asked, his voice already hoarse with desire. You bit your lip and rolled your hips forward, humming when you felt his hard on against your core. He groaned with the feeling, tilting his head back. “I had a few days to think about it.” you said, lowering your hands down to his pants and avidly taking off his belt and unbuttoning his pants.

You didn’t waste any time in pulling his pants down just enough to free his hardened cock and lower yourself on him, earning a hiss from him “Eager, aren’t we?” he smirked, his chest rising and falling “Fuck, I’ve missed being inside you.” you moaned in response, feeling his thick veiny cock stretch you open.

He took off your robe while you bounced up and down on him, watching in awe your cheeks flushed and your glossy eyes, he bit back a smirk knowing you would soon be too tired to keep riding him on yourself “Keep going.” he teased, and you rolled your eyes, but didn’t say anything back. The effort would be too much.

Hotch gripped the hem of your slip dress, and you raised your arms for him to pull it off of you. But before he could take it all the way out he stopped, bunching the silky fabric around your neck like a collar, and kept it there, leaning back again on the couch to watch you struggle while keeping his grip on your makeshift collar.

You bit your lower lip at that, loving the control he had over you “Aaron…” you started, the ache on your legs starting to be too much. He pretended to not understand “Hm?” “Please.” “Anything, beautiful. Just name it.” you groaned, sweat glowing on your forehead “My legs… I can’t.” “Can’t what?” he asked, his tone less teasing and more commanding, and it was all you needed to just give it to him “Aaron, my legs are too tired. Help me, please.” you whined, stopping completely your movements.

His mouth twitched in an evil and mischievous smirk, “Figured. I got you, honey.” and let go of your dress, both his hands sliding down to your hips, spreading your asscheks in a tight grip and raising you up, his thrusting meeting you halfway in a desperate pace. You moan loudly at his force, each of his thrusts making him go deeper and hitting you stop deliciously “Stop fucking clenching.” he commanded through grittet teeth, his eyes closing with pleasure.

“I can’t… fuck… too close.” you cried between moans and whines, and he groaned in response “Wanna feel you coming around me. I know just what you need” his hand reached back around you, his thumb pressing tightly on your butthole. Not properly fingering you, just pressing down on it. Your legs trembled instantly at the feeling, and it didn’t take any long until you were coming again, your vision backed out and babbling nonsense “I’m coming, shit.” he muttered and you whispered with your lips glued to his ear, still riding your orgasm “Please, baby, feel me up. I need it so back. Fuck”.

He came inside of you with a long and dragged moan, the sound and the feeling of his cock twitching inside of you making your eyes flutter close. As both of you rode out your orgasms, you laid with your head on his chest, listening to his loud and strong heartbeat, a smile creeping upon your face.

You were home. And so was he.

364 notes · View notes

bakubrattt · 3 months ago

Text

Cake After Sex

-Zayne x reader

After a grueling week of overtime at Akso Hospital, Zayne comes home to find you waiting up for him on Friday night. Exhaustion melts into longing as your usual teasing turns into something deeper, more desperate. In the quiet intimacy of his bedroom, he makes up for every second you’ve spent apart.

word count: 13k

genre/warnings: 18+ explicit content--no minors!--fluff, smut, domestic, multiple orgasms, doggystyle, Zayne has post-sex munchies

🩵My Zayne Masterlist🩵AO3 link🩵

The evening had long since faded into a quiet, snowy night. You lounged comfortably on Zayne’s couch, wrapped snugly in your favorite plush blanket, the gentle buzz of wine warming your limbs. The large flatscreen flickered brightly with your paused video game casting colorful reflections onto the polished wooden floors of his cozy living room. You glanced toward the clock, anticipation building softly in your chest as it ticked closer to the hour Zayne usually arrived home from his longest shifts at Akso Hospital. You had already showered, changed into underwear and one of his giant shirts, and made yourself dinner. Now you were simply indulging yourself while you patiently waited for him to step through the door. It was a miracle you managed to stay up so late. But tomorrow was Saturday, and you’d been missing Zayne terribly. You figured you could wait up for him tonight.

The sound of keys jingling outside snapped your attention to the entryway, sending a delightful flutter through your heart. Moments later, the door eased open, and Zayne stepped in, a sigh of relief escaping him as he crossed the threshold. His black hair, usually neat, was slightly tousled, tiny snowflakes melting into his dark strands, glistening softly in the warm, golden lamplight. The fatigue from his day lingered briefly on his handsome features, shoulders visibly relaxing beneath his thick winter coat now that he was finally home.

“Zayne!” You exclaimed with a wide, affectionate grin. In your excitement, you nearly toppled your glass of wine, catching it just in time before eagerly tossing your blanket aside to rise from the couch, “you’re home!”

“Careful,” Zayne chided gently, his voice warm with quiet amusement as he loosened the wooly scarf around his neck.

He slid off his heavy coat, neatly hanging it on the hook beside the door. With practiced ease, he placed his polished shoes onto the rack, leaving his briefcase on the small entrance table—right beside the snow-globe he’d won for you at the holiday carnival, and the framed photograph from your first Christmas together—a cherished memory only a month old.

His mild reprimand hardly registered. You swiftly crossed the distance between you, practically throwing yourself into the comforting strength of his embrace, arms winding securely around his waist. You buried your face against the solid warmth of his chest, inhaling deeply, savoring the familiar scent of his cologne mixed faintly with antiseptic from his day at the hospital.

“I missed you,” you murmured softly, your voice muffled against the fabric of his dark button up.

Zayne’s chest rose and fell beneath your alcohol-warmed cheek as he sighed, deeply and tenderly, wrapping you more tightly in his arms. His hand came up to cradle the back of your head, gently threading his fingers through your hair as he crooned down to your level and pressed a lingering, affectionate kiss onto the crown of your head.

“I missed you too, darling,” he whispered, his voice deep and filled with genuine warmth, the quiet reverence of his words making your heart flutter softly against him, “so much…”

He held you close, his arms tightening subtly as though he feared you’d slip away if he loosened his grip even a fraction. You felt his lips brush your hair again, gentle and affectionate, his breath warm and reassuring against your scalp as he inhaled your calming scent at long last. The tenderness of his touch made your heart ache a little. God, you missed him.

You knew the week had been especially grueling for Zayne. Each day seemed to bring a new wave of wanderer victims into Akso Hospital, a relentless, heartbreaking parade of trauma that demanded every ounce of his attention. Every night since Monday, he’d come home drained, silent exhaustion lining his handsome face, leaving only enough strength to kiss you gently on your temple before collapsing into bed beside you. It was no wonder he’d been holding you like this now, as if you were precious and breakable, as if you were his only relief after an endless storm.

Your thoughts wandered back through the lonely moments of the past week. Zayne had insisted you stay at his place so that he could see you as much as possible, even if it was just to glimpse your sleeping half-naked form as he came and went in darkness. Every morning you’d stir slightly at the soft pressure of his lips, his quiet whisper of apology at having to leave you again so soon. You’d whine softly, clinging to the hazy warmth of his touch, feeling his fingertips linger just a moment longer on your cheek, as if reluctant to leave the peaceful comfort of the bed he shared with you more often than not.

Yet, amidst the loneliness, you’d managed to keep each other close. Every morning, he’d leave little handwritten notes for you, scribbled in true physician form—loving reminders that made you smile even through the sleepiness, little traces of his heart scrawled carefully on sticky notes, tucked into your lunch bag he’d pack for you. In return, you’d made sure he always had something fresh and comforting waiting in the fridge when he’d get home: homemade dinners thoughtfully packaged, accompanied by a pastry or candy to satisfy his ever-present sweet tooth. Even in absence, you two had kept your love nurtured and tender.

But tonight marked the end of that exhausting pattern. Tomorrow was Saturday, and finally—finally—you had the promise of an uninterrupted weekend together, something you’d been desperately craving since Monday morning. The anticipation had left you restless, unable to sleep properly for the excitement of being truly with him again, not just ships passing in the night. You had imagined this moment all day at work, envisioned the warmth of his embrace, the sound of his heartbeat beneath your ear, the softness of his lips against your hair—all these small, treasured details that now enveloped you in reality.

You couldn’t let Zayne go by the door, and it seemed he shared the sentiment. A quiet chuckle rumbled gently from his chest as his fingers slid affectionately through your hair, guiding your head to tilt upward so your chin rested against his firm chest. He towered above you with a presence solid and reassuring in a way only he could ever truly manage. It was like snuggling a giant, warm snowman.

He looked down at you with weary happiness etched faintly into his features, relief easing the tension from his brows. The smallest, gentlest smile crossed his lips as his fingers delicately hooked beneath your chin, coaxing you a step back so he could examine you. His gaze carefully roamed your face, taking you in, checking, assessing as he always did after being apart—like he needed to be sure you were truly here, safe, unharmed. His eyes trailed down your figure next. You wore one of his pajama shirts—large and loose on your frame, falling low enough to hide your underwear, yet leaving your bare thighs exposed. Your hair was just barely damp from the shower you’d taken a couple of hours earlier, strands drying softly around your bare face, fresh and comfortable.

“I see someone helped herself to a drink or two while staying up past her bed time waiting for me,” he teased affectionately. His thumb brushed softly over your lower lip, sending a subtle shiver trailing through your skin. His eyes danced playfully across your warm cheeks before he glanced past you toward the couch, spotting the game controller you’d left abandoned amidst your blanket and wine glass, “and you’re…Playing something?” A quiet chuckle slipped from him, shaking his head gently, fondly amused, “have you eaten dinner?”

“Yeah,” you admitted, sighing slightly with a regretful smile, your voice quiet but warm as you confessed, “I was pretty hungry when I got home…”

Zayne’s laughter was soft, soothing, his fingers brushing affectionately behind your ear, touch lingering a moment longer than necessary. You felt your body melt slightly under his gentle affection, your arms dropping slowly back to your sides.

“You act as if I’m going to be upset with you for eating before I get home,” he murmured gently, warmth radiating from his words, from his fingertips as they traced softly along your cheek, “I want you to eat as soon as you can. You need to replenish yourself sooner rather than later—and at an appropriate time. Doctor’s orders.”

His caring reprimand was so perfectly Zayne, tenderly authoritative, just as protective and meticulous as ever.

“I know,” you reached up, fingers gently tugging at the ends of his scarf, slowly unwinding it from his neck. Your palm lingered against his chest, enjoying the steady rise and fall beneath your touch, “I just like eating with you…”

“I do too,” he agreed softly. He lifted the scarf away from his neck, letting out a quiet sigh followed by the audible crack of stiff joints. His voice grew lighter, comfortingly hopeful as he continued, “but that’s why we have tomorrow and Sunday together. We can eat together for every meal over the next two days…And don’t forget, we have a reservation for lunch tomorrow.”

“ I didn’t,” you grinned brightly, playfully tapping your palm against his chest, “are you gonna tell me where?”

“A surprise isn’t a surprise if I spoil it beforehand,” he replied, lowering his head slightly to fix you with that mock-serious look he often reserved for your mischief, “but nice try, I give you credit for your persistence.”

He reached out and ruffled your hair affectionately, stirring up the comforting scent of your shampoo. Then, with a faint chuckle, he eased past you, his tall silhouette retreating down the hallway into the comforting shadows of his home.

You lingered a moment. Your eyes traced the familiar slope of his broad shoulders and the tired sway of his stride, knowing exactly where he was headed. Bathroom first—always the bathroom—to brush his teeth, to cleanse the exhaustion of a long day at Akso Hospital from his bones beneath the steaming rush of hot water. You knew his routines by heart, each habit and each subtle gesture embedded deeply into your memory. Sometimes, it startled you to remember that you didn’t truly live here with Zayne; but his home felt seamlessly yours, filled with shared quiet moments and whispered laughter.

“Is it that restaurant Jenna was raving about last week?” You asked impulsively, quickly trotting after him down the hallway, unwilling to give up quite yet.

“My lips are sealed,” he murmured, voice echoing slightly as he flicked on the bathroom light. Bright illumination washed over the pristine white tiles and porcelain fixtures, casting a glow on his features that softened the sharp edges of fatigue, “looks like you’ll have to wait until tomorrow to-“

In a heartbeat, you reached out, gripping Zayne firmly by the silky fabric of his tie and the crisp collar of his black button-up. With a swift, playful tug, you spun him toward you and rose onto your toes, pulling his startled expression down to your waiting lips.

The first touch of his mouth was a stark, intoxicating contrast—his skin cool from winter’s bite, mingled with the soft scent of jasmine that always clung gently to him. A chill ghosted across your face from his frozen cheeks, but the warmth of his mouth instantly melted away any discomfort. His initial surprise faded fast, dissolving into the familiar heat of affection as his lips parted against yours, deepening the kiss without hesitation. Your breaths tangled softly, tongues brushing in tender exploration, the quiet smacking of lips amplified by the echo of the bathroom walls.

Zayne’s hands rose to cradle your face, his large palms enveloping your flushed cheeks with a gentleness that made your heart skip. His fingertips, cool to the touch, traced soothingly across your heated skin, leaving trails of electric tingles in their wake. God, this man—every touch from him unraveled you effortlessly, no match needed to ignite the flame already simmering beneath your skin.

As the moment stretched sweetly between you, you gently eased away, palms pressing softly against his chest. There was a fleeting second of resistance, Zayne’s body lingering instinctively toward yours. And then you saw it—a brief, unmistakable flicker of vulnerability and longing passing through the green-hazel depths of his eyes. Warmth bloomed deep in your stomach, a tender heat spreading downward, making your breath hitch ever so slightly.

“What was that about sealed lips, Zayne?” You teased softly, head tilted in playful affection. You reached up, gripping his jaw gently, giving it a little shake as your eyes settled on his inviting mouth.

He gave you a look of mock offense, his brows knitting together as he carefully took hold of your wrist, gently prying your hand away, “my defenses were down,” he murmured dryly, though amusement flickered clearly in his emerald gaze, “I wasn’t exactly expecting my girlfriend to attack my mouth while I’m in such a vulnerable position,” he punctuated his words by pressing a tender kiss to the inside of your palm, warm breath skimming lightly across your skin.

“Well,” you pinched his cheeks lightly, “don’t be so easy to prey on.”

Without warning, Zayne grasped your hips firmly, lifting you off the ground as effortlessly as if you weighed nothing. A pleasantly startled yelp escaped your lips, heart jumping into your throat as he swiftly set you down on the cold marble countertop behind you. A sharp squeal broke from your mouth as the icy surface met the sensitive warmth of your bare thighs, your hands instinctively gripping his shoulders for balance. Before you could gather your bearings, Zayne leaned in close into your personal space so swiftly that your head spun. Your breath caught sharply, pulse quickening when you found yourself pinned before him. His hand flattened against the wall behind you, effectively caging you in, while his other gently pressed against your knee, encouraging your legs apart just enough for him to slip comfortably between them.

Oh God. Ohhh, God.

Your stomach tightened into knots, adrenaline flooding your veins in a dizzying rush. Your senses became hyper-aware of every detail: the warmth radiating from his body so near yours, the subtle scent of jasmine mingling with the crisp freshness of winter air still clinging to him, the quiet, tantalizing proximity of his lips hovering mere inches away. Your eyes fluttered upward, meeting the dark sweep of his lashes, suddenly feeling unbearably exposed beneath the intensity of his gaze. A shaky exhale trembled past your lips as you stared while utterly defenseless. Your knees felt weak, incapable of supporting you even if you’d wanted to move. Slowly, deliberately, he reached for your chin, tilting your head gently away from him. His breath caressed the sensitive shell of your ear, voice dropping to a hushed whisper.

“Follow your own advice, dear,” he purred, the words a silky promise that sent heat cascading through your body, igniting every nerve ending and rendering you completely and deliciously helpless.

Good lord, you nearly fainted as he stepped back, the barest hint of a satisfied smirk ghosting across his lips. Your heart hammered violently in your chest, legs feeling more like jelly than limbs meant to hold you steady. You watched him carefully, breath shallow and quick, as he casually moved towards the laundry hamper tucked neatly in the corner of the bathroom. Just what did Zayne do to you? Was it him? Was it the wine? Whatever it was, you craved for more.

He loosened his tie with a practiced motion, tilting his chin up slightly as his long fingers deftly began unbuttoning his shirt. Each undone button revealed a little more of his toned chest, skin warm and smooth beneath the harsh bathroom lights. You squeezed your knees together subconsciously in an attempt to quiet the relentless tingling between your thighs. Your fingertips tugged nervously at your shirt collar, peeling it away from your neck as you released an airy, slightly embarrassed laugh.

“Phew!” You dramatically fanned your flushed face, eyes never leaving his figure as he shrugged the shirt effortlessly off his broad shoulders. Your gaze followed the gentle ripple of his back as the fabric slipped away, falling carelessly into the hamper, “not when you touch me like that… Kinda makes me wish I was one of those little lab bunnies right now.”

Zayne paused, confusion and amusement mingling on his features as he let out a low chuckle, “you’d want to be my lab rabbit?”

“Maybe,” you replied playfully, shrugging your shoulders and swinging your feet lightly over the cabinets beneath the counter. You twirled a strand of hair around your fingertip, your gaze drifting lower, following the tantalizing line of elastic as his briefs slid slowly down over the defined V of his pelvis. God. Zayne in black briefs was always a vision that stole your breath away, “and then maybe you’d sink your jowls into me or something. Like…A big, cuddly arctic wolf or something.”

Zayne laughed softly, shaking his head as he removed the last of his clothes, revealing himself completely, “that’s not what happens to lab rabbits,” he murmured, stepping gracefully toward the sink, turning the faucet handle as the water hissed gently into life. His reflection in the mirror was relaxed, calm, though you could catch the subtle gleam in his green eyes, “you, however…I could find better use for you.”

“Tell me,” you urged quietly, turning at the waist, fully facing him as anticipation sparked brightly within your chest.

“You’d be…” Zayne paused thoughtfully, genuinely mulling over your whimsical request. His expression softened, shifting from playful amusement to something far more gentle and sincere as he reached to turn on the sink.

You watched quietly as he began to wash his hands, falling into the meticulous routine ingrained into him by years of medical practice. Soap bubbles frothed over his skin as he scrubbed up to his elbows, just like the surgeon he was. Your gaze lingered on the graceful precision of his long fingers and the quiet strength in his movements as he carefully lathered his scarred forearms. Even now, in the mundane comfort of home, his discipline never faltered.

“…You’d be my personal assistant rabbit,” Zayne finally said, voice warm and gentle, as though the idea truly resonated with him. His eyes were fixed on the thorough scrub of his hands, a faint, almost tender smile gracing his lips, “I’d keep you tucked safely in my pocket during non-surgical hours, and set up a little personal seat for you outside the OR window so you could watch me work without getting lonely. I’d even bring you along with me to the café across the street for lunch.”

“You’re adorable,” you said with a genuinely bright smile, enjoying the unexpectedly sweet image he’d painted.

“Mm…” Zayne hummed softly in response as he dried his hands meticulously. He opened the medicine cabinet with a gentle nudge from his elbow, reaching for his contact lens case. He paused then, glancing at you with mock seriousness, his emerald gaze bright and playful “oh, and your most important job,” he added slowly, leaning forward slightly as if to emphasize the critical nature of this task, “would be to eat all of my carrots if there ever happen to be any in my food.”

Your laughter burst out suddenly, bright and loud, too big for the quiet intimacy of the bathroom. You bent forward, nearly doubling over, hand flying quickly to your mouth in a failed attempt to muffle the sound. Your shoulders shook with amusement as you looked back at him with incredulous delight, “Zayne! Are you serious right now?!”

“I’m entirely serious,” Zayne confirmed, nodding gravely as he leaned closer to the mirror. With careful precision, he widened his right eye, gently pinching the edge of his contact lens, “in fact, it would be your primary role as my assistant lab rabbit. Your entire life’s purpose would be eating all the carrots I don’t want.”

You chuckled softly, amused and slightly wistful at the gentle absurdity of his words. What an easy life it would have been—how strange and distant that felt, like an alternate universe drifting just beyond reach. Could it ever be that simple? The thought lingered, a gentle, fleeting pang of longing behind your laughter. Quietly, you watched as Zayne carefully removed his contacts one by one, placing them neatly into the little container before reaching for his toothbrush. Your gaze landed on your own toothbrush sitting comfortably next to his—both side by side, sharing the mundane intimacy of his space. You found a strange comfort in that simple detail.

He leaned over the sink, the soft, rhythmic sound of bristles against his teeth filling the silence. Something peaceful stirred within you then, a gentle contrast to the chaotic reality that you both shared. Zayne, the youngest and most talented cardiac surgeon in Linkon—constantly pressured, always exhausted—and you, balancing your life as a hunter amidst constant danger. But here, in his bathroom, stood an oasis of quiet routine. Domestic. Safe. A fragile haven you could both briefly escape into.

Gently, you eased yourself down from the counter, bare feet meeting cold, tiled flooring that made your skin prickle. Your thoughts felt hazy, a little softened from the alcohol as you moved toward the shower, turning on the water for him. Steam slowly drifted upward, swirling softly into the air.

“It’s not terribly far off,” Zayne spoke quietly, pausing in his brushing to gargle and rinse, spitting neatly into the sink. His gaze flickered toward you, reflection meeting yours in the mirror, “you are already my life companion…As a woman, not a rabbit.”

You smiled softly at his words, fingers trailing through the lukewarm spray of the shower as your thoughts drifted. Zayne’s voice was sincere—earnest and reassuring. But was that really how he saw his life? Could it truly feel so simple, despite all the heavy burdens he silently carried each day?

“You saying I make your life easier?” You asked softly, picking up on the subtle warmth behind his words.

Zayne put his toothbrush away next to your own. He stepped away from the sink, closing the small distance between you, hands gently claiming your hips from behind. Warmth spread from his touch, seeping gently through the thin fabric of your shirt. His breath brushed softly through your hair, comforting, familiar.

“Yes,” he whispered, his voice a tender murmur into the crown of your head, “happier, too.”

A gentle smile spread over your lips, your heart feeling impossibly light. You nestled comfortably into his embrace, your hand covering his arm as he tightened his hold around your waist. The warmth of his body enveloped you. Zayne’s other hand gently took your chin, guiding it around carefully to meet him halfway. Your eyes fluttered closed instinctively as he tilted your face upward, brushing your lips with a soft, lingering kiss.

“Same,” you breathed quietly into him, holding onto the kiss just a little longer, savoring every second.

He kissed you once more. It was gentle yet insistent as he squeezed you lovingly, pressing his body fully into yours. You became aware of a subtle firmness pressing at your lower back just before Zayne slowly pulled away, his touch slipping reluctantly from your skin as he stepped into the shower. Your curiosity piqued at that, so you stole a subtle glance in his direction, watching as water cascaded over his lean, pale frame, each rivulet accentuating every line and contour. The realization hit you quietly, a tender thrill blossoming low in your belly—he’d gotten a little hard just from holding you.

“Are you just going to stand there and watch?” Zayne’s voice sliced gently through your thoughts, startling you back to the present. A flush rose warmly into your cheeks. Straightening abruptly, you noticed he wasn’t even facing you, his back turned as water cascaded over broad, muscular shoulders, “or are you going to come join me?”

“…I showered when I got home,” you murmured, folding your arms loosely across your chest. Leaning comfortably against the cool tile wall, your gaze shamelessly traveled the length of his tall, lean form.

Truthfully, his invitation was tempting. More than tempting—especially now. You were tipsy, flushed from the wine, and his naked, glistening figure made your pulse flutter hot beneath your skin. He looked impossibly good under the shower’s warm spray, and your mouth watered slightly as your eyes lingered on the smooth lines of his body. He must have sensed your lingering hesitation because he cracked open an eye, glancing at you over one shoulder.

His dark lashes dripped with water, a playful challenge in the emerald gleam as he sighed simply, “fine, suit yourself.”

With a quiet huff, you padded over to the toilet, dropping the lid down and curling your feet up beneath you. Wrapping your arms around your knees, you settled into your perch comfortably.

“I made you grilled lemon pepper chicken and rice for dinner,” you said softly, resting your chin atop your knees, “and some veggies…No carrots.”

“Thank you,” he chuckled, amused warmth coloring his voice, “but I might not eat this late, it may worsen my insomnia. Although, I haven’t had anything since breakfast—I had to work straight through lunch today.”

Your brow furrowed slightly, sympathy tightening in your chest. His casual admission of such neglect made your heart ache a little. You knew how often he pushed himself past normal limits, sacrificing his own comfort for his patients.

“What happened?” You asked quietly, concern softly threading your voice.

“A patient came in with a Type A aortic dissection,” Zayne’s voice carried over the steady thrum of water. Through the steamy, fogged glass, you watched him lather firm, careful circles across his chest and shoulders, “essentially, the inner layer of his aorta tore, and blood was forcing its way into all the wrong places. By the time we got him into surgery, he was already deteriorating. The tear extended dangerously close to the coronary arteries. We had to replace a section of the aorta before it ruptured completely.”

You listened quietly, gaze tracing the path of water cascading down the sleek contours of his back. Muscles shifted gracefully beneath his skin, tension still evident in the taut lines of his shoulders. The scars around his arms—the reminders of his Evol’s fury—shimmered faintly beneath the steam. Zayne’s voice was steady, professional even now, but beneath the practiced calmness lingered a quiet exhaustion as he recounted his day.

“You saved him, though?” You asked hopefully.

“I did,” he answered simply. But there was a pause—a weighted, thoughtful silence before he continued, “if he’d arrived ten minutes later…” His voice trailed off heavily, shoulders dipping with a weary sigh. Raking a hand slowly down his face, he finally turned, looking at you through the veil of steam, “what about you?” He asked, voice shifting subtly, growing warmer and softer now, “how was your workday? Any trouble with wanderers?”

You stretched your legs forward, toes brushing softly over the cool tile beneath, “a couple close calls, nothing out of the ordinary. One got too close to the West Sector before we could take it down. I ended up chasing it half a block before I got a clear shot.”

“You weren’t hurt?” His voice sharpened, concern instantly overshadowing his fatigue.

“Nope. Just a little annoyed,” you made a face, half playful, half frustrated, “my coat got ripped again.”

Zayne made a quiet sound between amusement and exasperation. He tilted his head back beneath the water, letting it stream down his throat and chest, “I swear, you go through coats faster than I go through sutures.”

You grinned, mischief lighting your eyes, “maybe if you stitched them up for me with those expert hands of yours, Doctor Zayne…”

He let out a soft huff of laughter, gently shaking his head, “I’m not sure my surgical expertise would help much in that department. But I can try.”

A comfortable silence settled between you, softened only by the steady hush of the shower. It was peaceful. Domestic. Moments like these reminded you how deeply grounding his presence could be—how effortlessly he calmed the storm inside you. You weren’t sure how long the two of you lingered there, exchanging quiet words, savoring the intimacy of catching up. It felt timeless, safe. You cherished every second of the tranquility Zayne brought to your soul, the way his simple existence anchored you, easing every hidden worry you held beneath the surface.

Eventually, he broke the stillness, his voice gentle as he turned off the water, “are you going to keep playing your video game?” He asked softly, reaching for the white towel draped neatly over the shower door. He pulled it toward him, rubbing it briskly through his jet black hair, “it’s late, I shouldn’t eat dinner this time of night…”

You watched as he stepped out, your gaze tracing the careful, precise way he dried himself—first ruffling the towel through his hair, then patting down his arms and chest in slow, methodical movements. The sight was soothing, familiar. Yet beneath it, you noticed the quiet signs of hunger lining his tired face. He never complained openly, but you knew him better than that.

“But you’re hungry,” you pointed out gently, rising from your seat as you moved closer. Your eyes softened, meeting his weary, emerald gaze, “I can see it all over your face, hun…”

Zayne sighed softly, the sound barely audible as he finished patting dry his upper body. Quietly, he wrapped the towel around his hips, securing it in place before finally meeting your eyes with gentle surrender.

“I’ll just eat the pastry you texted me about earlier,” he conceded with a subtle warmth, his tone almost sheepish, “is it still in the fridge?”

You chuckled softly, shaking your head at him, “oh, it’s too late for chicken and vegetables, but not too late for Mister Chief Cardiac Surgeon to clog his arteries with some dessert at midnight…”

Zayne raised an eyebrow, a subtle smirk curving his lips as he pushed open the shower door, steam billowing out around him. His voice was gently playful, a teasing, matter-of-fact lilt carrying through the warm haze, “and this is exactly why I get regular exercise and make sure to have a balanced diet,” he said evenly, stepping closer. He paused, his expression calm yet undeniably mischievous, “so that I can indulge in my sweets without any guilt attached…”

Before you could respond, Zayne leaned down toward you, his presence enveloping your senses instantly. You felt his warm, minty breath brush your ear, sending a gentle thrill down your spine.

“Don’t be jealous,” he murmured softly, his palm tenderly cupping your face, thumb tracing gently over your cheek, “I didn’t just come home to find you awake without planning on indulging in you too…”

Warmth flooded your face, your cheeks flushing deeply at his whispered promise. Your heart quickened, beating erratically beneath your ribs as he brushed his lips softly against yours in a kiss that lingered just enough to tease.

A playful grin broke across your face, eyes sparkling with growing excitement, “so you want a second dessert before bed? Is that what you’re saying?”

Zayne pulled back just enough to meet your gaze, amusement dancing openly within his emerald eyes, his brows raised in mock surprise, “just second, before bed? Implying, what, that I’m only having you once?”

His hands settled on your hips, gentle yet commanding, pulling you flush against the heat of his damp skin. Steam rolled off his body, curling around both of you, wrapping you in a cloud of warmth that mirrored the fire already smoldering deep in your core. His fingertips traced slowly, leisurely beneath the hem of your shirt—his shirt—brushing tenderly against your skin as he found the delicate lace straps of your underwear. A quiet gasp escaped your lips when his touch lingered there, teasing, patient, awakening every nerve ending along the curve of your waist. Zayne always had a way of unraveling you with nothing but gentle dominance. Even before things intensified, even before his slow touches became deep strokes, before gentle kisses turned into fervent, hungry embraces—he had you aching. He had you trembling, ready to surrender, craving him desperately, to beg for him before he even truly began.

“Bold of you to assume I haven’t been starving since last weekend,” he murmured softly, his voice a low whisper vibrating warmly against your ear. His fingertips skimmed higher beneath your shirt, exploring the softness of your skin, pressing you even tighter against his still-damp body. The heat that radiated off him mingled deliciously with the warmth already flooding your veins, “and since when is just one serving of you enough for me…When it comes to eating?”

His words set fire to something deep in your core, a molten pulse pooling urgently between your thighs. Your breath stuttered, hitching on a sharp inhale, fingers curling instinctively around his broad shoulders. Zayne knew exactly how to tease you—he knew exactly how to stoke your flames until you were trembling, needing, begging for him to finish what he started. You felt a rush of heat rise to your cheeks, mingling embarrassment with exhilarating excitement.

“I’m not gonna let you actually have your dinner right now if you keep talking like that, Zayne,” you warned playfully, voice breathless, a half-hearted attempt at control, “don’t make me be cruel…”

He only smiled at your feigned threat, his eyes deepening with amusement and unmistakable desire as he gently lifted your chin to meet his gaze, “you can be cruel,” he whispered, brushing his thumb gently across your cheek, voice thick with affectionate teasing. His gaze dropped briefly to your lips before returning to your eyes, “my dinner can wait…But I think we’ve already waited long enough for each other, haven’t we? Five days is…Too long without you.”

He kissed you like he had all the time in the world. Slow, firm, hungry, but still in control—because he always was, even when desire pressed against the edges of his restraint, even when you could feel the heat simmering just beneath the surface. His lips molded against yours with a deliberate rhythm, deepening with every stolen breath, every slow press of his mouth against yours. And yet, you could feel it—the way his hands gripped you tighter, like he wanted more, like holding back was something he was forcing himself to do.

His fingertips dug into your hips, thumbs pressing into the soft flesh there as if anchoring himself. It wasn’t just need—it was possession, not in words, but in the way he chased your lips with fervent, open-mouthed kisses. The kind that made your head spin; made you unbearably needy for more. The kind that echoed off the walls, those quiet, wet sounds of urgency and heat, making warmth coil in the pit of your stomach.

You barely noticed the way he was walking you back—step by step, slow, unyielding. But then the edge of the counter pressed into your lower back, cool against your skin, and before you could think, Zayne was lifting you. Effortless. Certain. Like he had never considered not touching you this way. The air left you in a soft sigh as he settled you onto the surface, his mouth already finding your jaw, trailing heat down your neck with maddening patience. You let your head tilt back in his large hand, eyes fluttering closed, surrendering to the way his lips mapped you, explored you. Zayne didn’t rush. He never rushed. He liked to feed his addiction of you slowly, like every inch of your skin was a fresh rush to his brain.

“Why are you still in my shirt?” His voice was low, warm, hushed against the sensitive skin of your throat between indulgent kisses.

And then his hands were on you again, slipping beneath the fabric, fingers skimming the width of your hips, tracing the feminine curve of your waist, exploring the familiar terrain of your body like he was committing it to memory all over again. The soft pads of his thumbs brushed over your ribs and inched the oversized shirt higher—taking his time, like he enjoyed this more than anything. Like he enjoyed you more than anything.

A slow exhale slipped from your lips as you arched away from him, giving him space, letting him pull the shirt off over your head and toss it aside, forgotten before it even hit the floor. The moment you were bare in his warm embrace, Zayne sighed into the delicate dip of your collarbone, pressing into it as if tasting the skin there. Then he dragged his mouth along your neck, breathing you in, nuzzling so softly it made your stomach tighten. God. Zayne made gentle look devastating.

Your heart pounded against your ribs as he moved lower, lips ghosting over bare skin, painting heat down your body, one kiss at a time. His hand curled around the back of your shoulder blade, keeping you exactly where he wanted you as his sigh grazed the curve of your breast, warm and deliberate. You gasped softly when his lips grazed tenderly over your sensitive flesh. His breath, hot and slow, teased your skin until his tongue circled your nipple, drawing it gently into the wet heat of his mouth. Your fingers tightened reflexively in his damp hair, holding him closer, encouraging the way he carefully consumed you. Soft, hungry sounds echoed faintly through the bathroom, mixing seamlessly with your own quiet moans as impatient heat bombarded your senses.

“Why are you still in a towel?” The words barely came out, breathless and uneven as your free hand found his hip, fingertips trailing down damp skin, fumbling, tugging.

The towel barely made a sound as it slipped from Zayne’s hips and hit the floor, but the way his body sighed in relief was unmistakable. You felt it—the way his muscles loosened, the way his breath deepened, the way the heat of him radiated into the space between you. And then you touched him. Your fingers wrapped around the length of him, stiff and throbbing beneath the silk of his damp skin, and the sound that left his lips—a breath, a low hum, a barely restrained groan—was enough to send warmth curling in your stomach. He twitched with need as you dragged your thumb over the bead of arousal at the tip, spreading it, teasing, memorizing the way his hips pressed forward, as if chasing the friction you gave him. His fingertips dug into your thigh then like he was on the edge of cracking from that sweet touch.

You reached for him, fingers slipping into the damp strands of his hair, tugging, coaxing, needing him to look at you. And when he did—God. The sight alone sent another wave of heat rolling through your body. His cheeks were flushed, pink blooming across the sharp angles of his face, dusting the tops of his ears. His lips were swollen, wet, parted just slightly as he caught his breath, and his eyes—those beautiful, hazel-green eyes—looked at you like you were something to be worshipped. You knew that look anywhere. Zayne was drunk on you already.

“Come here,” he whispered, his voice soft, deep, warm in a way that made your chest tighten.

Then, you were moving, lifted effortlessly from the counter, wrapped around him, pulled into him like he never wanted to let you go.

“It’s time for bed,” Zayne’s voice was low, steady—final.

Every step toward the bedroom only heightened the anticipation, the warmth between you thickening, pressing into the space where your bodies met. His breath was measured, but you felt the restraint in it, the tension in the way his fingers curled slightly where they gripped you. And then—gravity shifted. The plush blankets welcomed you as Zayne lowered you onto the bed, the movement slow, deliberate, reverent. His weight followed, his presence enveloping you, his hands already seeking you out, slipping beneath your back, pulling you up the mattress with him, aligning you perfectly beneath him.

And then—his mouth was on you. The kiss was deep, consuming, stealing the breath from your lungs before you could even think to take another. His lips moved against yours with something hungry, something claiming, each kiss slow and thorough, as if he was memorizing the shape of you, as if he was making sure you felt this—felt him.

“God, Zayne—“ The words were barely a breath, swallowed between kisses, but he heard them, felt them in the way your fingers tangled into his hair, in the way your nails scraped lightly against his scalp, in the way your body arched into him, chasing the warmth, chasing him.

His lips trailed lower, down the curve of your jaw, down your throat, his breath coming hotter, heavier. The sound of it filled the air—every wet, lingering kiss, every slow, controlled inhale, every soft, needy sigh that slipped from his lips. It was intoxicating, the sheer intimacy of it, the way he took his time, the way he felt you, the way his mouth mapped the lines of your body like he had nowhere else to be, like he had all the time in the world to worship you properly.

“You’re making me crazy,” you whispered, breathless, wrecked, your fingers clutching at his back as he worked his way lower, “I need you—“

“—I know,” his voice was deep, low, thick with something indulgent, something dangerous. He sounded like he was unraveling, like he was barely keeping himself together, and God, that only made it worse.

His hands slid lower, gripping beneath your waist, lifting you slightly, shifting your body closer to his, pressing you into him as his mouth traced a slow, torturous path down your stomach.

“I need you too,” he murmured against your skin, his lips pressing a lingering kiss to the sharp curve of your hip bone.

“Then have me,” you whispered.

You tilted your hips up just slightly, giving him permission, inviting him to ruin you. A soft, ragged breath left him, his fingers tightening against your skin, as if those three words alone had completely wrecked him.

“You have no idea how much I want to,” he murmured, voice hoarse, his forehead briefly pressing into your stomach, his lips brushing against your skin, like he needed a moment to breathe, to compose himself, before he lost himself entirely.

But then—he moved. His fingers curled beneath the waistband of your underwear, peeling it down, slowly, his touch careful, deliberate, his breath hitching just slightly as more of you was revealed to him. And God, the way he looked at you when you lifted your head. His eyes were dark, blown wide, his pupils swallowing the green of his irises, his lips parted as if he was about to say something, but no words came. He just…Stared. You ached terribly for him, then.

“Zayne—“

He pressed a slow, lingering kiss against the inside of your knee as he lifted your legs and tossed your underwear. His hands grasped your hips firmly, possessively, drawing you closer, until there was no distance left to close.

“Let me take my time with you,” he whispered, voice low, heavy with longing, eyes locked onto yours. His words were both a request and a command—gentle yet undeniable, “please…”

Before you could even answer, he slowly lowered himself, enveloping you in warmth, lips grazing gently over the inside of your thigh. Your breath shivered out in a quiet, sharp sigh as you felt the slow brush of his mouth, careful yet intense, tracing warm kisses upward. Every touch sent pleasure fluttering through your nerves, your back arching softly, fingers tangling into the sheets beneath you. You were aching; head spinning as he inched maddeningly close to your core. You could feel the warmth of his breath graze over your slick, until finally, before you could beg, Zayne lowered himself completely.

The first stroke of his tongue was slow, deep, deliberate—dragging flat over your slick, swollen folds with a thoroughness that sent your entire body seizing beneath him. The moment he reached your clit, pleasure slammed through you, hot and consuming, a lightning bolt of sensation that had your spine arching off the mattress, your fingers clawing into the sheets.

“Oh my God-…!”

A deep, pleased hum vibrated against you, resonating through your core, making your thighs twitch into a deeper stretch apart. He felt your reaction, absorbed it fully, every tremor, every subtle jerk of your body beneath him, and God, he loved it. His fingers dug deeper into your hips, steadying you, anchoring you there, forcing you to take everything he was giving you.

“Y/n…” His breath came slow, reverent, his lips brushing against your soaked skin between words, his voice thick, wrecked, utterly ruined by you, “how are you this wet?”

A helpless whimper spilled from your lips as your hands fisted in the sheets. You could feel how wet you were, the sticky warmth of your arousal trailing with his saliva as his lips suctioned over your clit in a gentle, teasing pull before releasing it with a feather-light pop. Zayne sighed in delight, like he was savoring the finest dessert, like this was something precious to him, something he never wanted to take for granted.

“I didn’t know,” he murmured against you, his voice soft, almost apologetic. But his tongue betrayed the tenderness of his words, flicking out for another slow, devastating stroke that had your entire body tensing in response, “you’ll let me take care of you, now, won’t you, doll?”

“Yes,” you gasped, wrecked, completely undone beneath him, “God, yes-…!”

His grip tightened. His mouth pressed deeper, his tongue working in slow, thorough patterns, savoring you, worshiping you, coaxing every inch of pleasure from your body with precision that made your head spin. He kissed you with passion, with something deeper, something unshakable. His mouth was smothering, indulging, as if he couldn’t get enough, as if he was starving for you, as if he was feeding off the pleasure he was giving you.

And God, you felt it. Felt the heat rolling through your insides like a slow, consuming fire, felt it tighten in your stomach as he sucked you into his mouth again, his tongue pressing you against the inside of his lips, massaging you between both, flicking his tongue in a way that had your neck stretching back, your head digging into the blankets as your vision blurred into nothing but the dark ceiling above you.

“Zayne…!” His name fell from your lips, breathless, broken, as your fingers latched into his damp hair, your hips rolling instinctively against his grasp, against the slow devastation of his tongue, “that feels-…That feels incredible!”

His deep, pleased hum vibrated against you, another wave of pleasure crashing over you as he absorbed your words, as he basked in them, as if they only spurred him further.

“You love this,” he whispered against you, his voice so tender, so loving, as if this was something sacred, something far beyond just pleasure, “don’t you?”

“Yes!” The word came out as a cry, a breathless moan as your body shook beneath him, “yes, baby, I love it-…! Unf, I love it!”

Zayne let out a hot, shaky sigh, his hands tightening, his body trembling over yours, as if he was barely holding himself together, as if the way you broke beneath him was wrecking him just as much. His tongue moved faster, his lips sealing around your clit, his suction deep and deliberate, every calculated flick of his tongue dragging another sharp, helpless gasp from your throat.

“I love it even more,” he murmured, voice thick, his breath hot against you as he pulled back just slightly, just enough to watch you. His eyes were devouring, heavy-lidded, mesmerized, flicking over your body as his fingers smoothed up your trembling stomach, pressing into your skin with quiet, possessive reverence, “love making you feel this way…Love watching you like this.”

A violent shudder ripped through you at the sound of his voice like that—deep, intimate, thick with something wrecked. Your heels dug into the plush blankets, your pleasure peaking, rising too high, too deep, your walls fluttering beneath his mouth, pleading for release.

Then—his hands moved. Those large hands, those hands that had held you so carefully, that had touched you with such intent, such adoration, suddenly molded over your breasts, claiming them in his palms, his fingers spreading wide, testing the weight of them. Your jaw dropped, a silent hitch of breath escaping as you felt the squeeze, the way his fingers pressed firmly before pinching, rolling your nipples between his thumbs. You damn near lost your mind. The sensation shot through you, heat igniting through every nerve, your core already throbbing beneath his mouth, but now—the stimulation was everywhere. His tongue working your clit, his lips sealing around you, the firm heat of his hands rolling your nipples between his fingers, sending tingling pulses of pleasure shooting from your chest down through your stomach, through your entire body, tightening the coil that was already unbearably tense.

“I-I’m gonna cum-!” The words tore from you in a breathless, panicked heave, your hips jerking upward, pressing into his face, pleading for him to take you over that edge. Your hands flew to his wrists, gripping them desperately, as if holding on to him would somehow keep you grounded, “Zayne, I’m gonna cum! I-I’m! I’m gonna-!”

And then—he gave it to you. His rhythm snapped into something merciless, something that sent pure fire licking through your veins, his tongue flicking faster, more precise, destroying you in seconds. His face pressed into the heat of your core, smothering himself completely, as if he wanted to drown in you, as if he wanted to feel you come apart in every sense—against his lips, against his tongue, against the heat of his mouth as he took your pleasure and demanded more.

The coil snapped. A sharp, helpless scream ripped from your throat as you convulsed, as your body arched, as white-hot pleasure erupted inside you, spreading everywhere, consuming everything, setting your nerves alight. Zayne felt it. Felt the way you tightened around him, the way your legs tensed, the way your body shuddered violently as the orgasm slammed through you in waves, pulsing, dragging, never-ending. You were writhing beneath him, your body thrashing under the force of pleasure so intense it was borderline unbearable. It was beautiful. It was glorious. And heavens, it was too much.

Zayne’s mouth was still on you, still working, his lips mouthing over your clit between breathless, wet smooches, kissing you like he never wanted to stop, like he could live between your legs, feeding off your pleasure. But you couldn’t take it anymore. Your body was too sensitive, the overstimulation too much, making your legs jerk, making your breath stutter into a half-sob, half-moan as your hands reached for him, your fingers gripping into his damp hair.

“Stop-stop-stop,” you voice was desperate, breathless, pleading, your body twitching beneath him as you finally pushed that ravenous man away, forcing him to get a hold of himself before he pushed you past a point of no return.

And God, the look on his face when he finally pulled back—Flushed, panting, his lips shining, his pupils blown, his expression utterly wrecked— He looked like a man who had just worshiped at the altar of your pleasure. And would do it again in a heartbeat.

Your body was still trembling, shudders rolling through you in slow, uneven waves, your breath a soft, wrecked stammer as the aftershocks of your orgasm lingered in your limbs. You could still feel the heat pulsing between your thighs, still feel the remnants of pleasure humming in your veins, but Zayne—he didn’t rush you. He knew. He always knew. Instead of diving back in, instead of overwhelming you with too much, too soon, he let you breathe. His hands smoothed up and down your hips in slow, rhythmic strokes, grounding you, bringing you back, loving you through the haze of sensitivity. His fingers traced along your heated skin, worshiping the aftermath of what he had just done to you, soothing the overstimulated nerves with gentle, reverent care. His lips followed. Pressing soft, open-mouthed kisses against the insides of your thighs, lingering there, savoring the warmth of your skin beneath his lips. His breath came slow, measured, fanning over your sensitive core without touching, without taking more from you just yet.

“You did so well for me,” he murmured, voice low, velvety, filled with something deep and sated, something utterly mesmerized by how beautifully you had come apart for him. His words were slow, intentional, pressing into you like his touch, like his kisses, like the weight of his body between your legs, “so perfect, sweetheart. So perfect.”

You sighed, your fingers twitching weakly, your body still humming, still glowing from everything he had given you. His hands slid higher, tracing the curves of your waist, his thumbs stroking slow, affectionate lines into your skin, his lips pressing higher, pressing closer.

“I can still feel you shaking,” he whispered, his lips dragging along the crease where your thigh met your hip, his breath hot, his voice full of something devotional, something endless, “let me do it again…”

God help you, you wanted him to. Your fingers found their way to his hair again, tangling, holding onto him, pulling him closer.

“Please,” you whispered, your voice still shaky, still soft with the weight of your pleasure, with the deep, aching need that hadn’t faded.

Zayne let out a slow, indulgent sigh, his hands tightening against your hips, his lips pressing one last kiss against your inner thigh before finally—finally—his mouth found you again.

Time blurred. You lost count of how many times he made you come undone, how many times his mouth worked you to the brink, only to tip you over again, and again, and again. Each orgasm melted into the next, overlapping, rolling through you in an unbroken chain of pleasure so relentless, so thorough, that it left you shaking, your body wrecked, sensitized to the point of delirium. Every time you thought it was over, every time your breath staggered out in a weak, pleading whimper, his fingers would press inside you, curling deep, stroking that devastatingly sensitive spot with the expertise of a doctor who knew anatomy—but more than that, the devotion of a boyfriend who knew you.

And God, he knew you. He knew exactly how to touch you, how to build you up without letting you break, how to keep the pleasure simmering in your stomach, swelling just beneath the surface without letting it burst completely. He never let you go too far, never let you spill over into that final, uncontrollable release—never let you squirt when you came, never let you fully let go, limiting you to his mouth. And that was when you realized—he was saving that built up pressure in your tummy for sex. Your body ached with that fullness, your insides swollen with need, the pressure inside you taut, almost painful in its intensity. He had spent what felt like hours building it, stoking the tension, drawing out each orgasm only to keep liquid release just out of reach, winding you tighter and tighter until the desperation was borderline unbearable.

And that was when you couldn’t take it anymore. Your hands searched blindly through the haze, reaching, grasping, finding his arm, tugging him with what little strength you had left. It was needy, urgent, a silent plea. Zayne stilled, just for a moment, his lips parting from your soaked, aching core, his breath ragged against the heat of your skin. His pupils were blown, his lips glistening with evidence of his indulgence, his expression ruined—but lord, the way you were looking at him. The way your eyes pleaded for him. He knew. He knew what that meant.

And heavens, his body was aching for it, burning for it, the need to let go borderline painful now. He was heavy with it, so painfully hard it was exhausting, but he couldn’t help himself, couldn’t stop himself from feeding this indulgence, from losing himself in the pleasure of giving you everything. But now—Now you were begging him. And he was about to ruin you completely.

Zayne barely had time to breathe before you pulled him up, your hands clutching at his arms, his shoulders, anything you could reach as you dragged him toward you. Your body still trembled from the aftershocks of everything he’d given you, your muscles weak, spent, but your need for him burned through the exhaustion, fueled you, made your limbs work through the heavy, languid pleasure still rolling through you. The moment he was close enough, your arms wrapped around him, locking him in, pressing his weight against you, your lips colliding with his in something deep, needy, completely breathless.

He tasted like you. It sent another sharp pulse of heat through you, igniting something hotter, something hungrier, something that made your fingers tremble as they slid up to his face, to his jaw, gripping, clutching, trying to hold onto him as you kissed him deeper, as you let yourself drown in the feeling of his lips against yours. Zayne groaned into the kiss, his hands in your hair, his body still shaking from the sheer restraint he had forced himself to maintain. He was aching for you now, painfully hard, every muscle tensed with the need to finally, finally bury himself inside you—but then, God help him—You bit him. Not harsh, not rough, but sudden, just the sharp drag of your teeth along the plush of his lower lip before you released him, just enough to sting, to tease, to make him chase after you. A deep, throaty groan vibrated through his chest, his breath stuttering as his lips chased yours, as his hands tightened on you, as if instinct alone demanded that he take more, that he claim more. But before he could, before he could even think about positioning himself between your legs, you moved.

Zayne barely had time to process it before you were shifting, flipping over, your body still shaky, still wrecked from the relentless pleasure he had given you—but God, the way you moved, the way you offered yourself to him, the way you looked—His breath caught. You were on your hands and knees, spent but glowing, your thighs still trembling slightly, your back arching, your movements slow but purposeful. your skin was dewy, glowing under the slivers of moonlight cracking through his blinds, kissed by the sweat of pleasure still radiating from your body. Every curve of you gleamed soft in the pale blanket of night, a stunning contrast to the cooler light spilling into the bedroom from the bathroom across the hall, catching on the damp strands of his dark hair, on the faint sheen of perspiration along his collarbone, his chest—When you turned your head, when your eyes met his, half-lidded and smoldering as you looked back at him.

“From behind…”

It was barely a whisper, a breath of sound curling into the air between you, but hell, it destroyed him. Zayne swore he forgot how to breathe. His brain needed a second to catch up, to process what you were offering, what you were asking for. The sheer want radiating from you, the way your body curved, the way your legs squeezed together, plush thighs framing the beautiful, perfect shape of your ass as you arched deeper, waiting, ready—He didn’t need to be told twice. A sharp exhale ripped through him as he moved immediately, his knees hitting the mattress behind you, his hands spanning over your hips, adjusting, positioning, taking in the sight of you as if it was something holy. But before he could even think about taking you, he stopped. He let himself look. Let himself feel. His hands smoothed over your soft, heated skin, his palms dragging over the swell of your ass, squeezing, pressing slow, appreciative touches into you.

“Look at you...” The words were murmured soft, almost to himself, almost like a prayer, his fingers spanning over the shape of you, as if he needed to memorize the way you felt beneath his touch, as if he needed to commit this moment to memory.

Then—he dipped forward, his lips brushing against your skin, kissing you there, slow and reverent, his breath warm as it ghosted over the curve of your ass, as if he couldn’t help himself, as if he needed to show you just how much he adored you, just how much he cherished you. It made your skin pebble, the hairs on the back of your nape stand on end as you took in his love.

“Sweetheart…” His voice was low, thick with something heavy, something aching. He spread his hands over your thighs, coaxing them closer together, guiding you to squeeze tighter, the shift making your ass tilt higher, pressing back into his hips, framing the heat between your legs so perfectly it sent a violent shudder through him, “you’re going to kill me like this…”

His hands roamed, sliding up the soft, perfect curve of your backside, gripping, adjusting you exactly the way he needed to, aligning his height with yours, making sure you fit against him, making sure he could claim you completely. And God, the sight of you like this—He sighed, his head tilting forward as he crooned down, his forehead briefly pressing between your shoulder blades, his body shuddering as he breathed you in, as he let his hands stroke slow, appreciative lines over your back, over your arms, until his fingers found yours. He took them. Laced them with his. Pressed them down into the mattress, pinning you there beneath him, holding you, claiming you—not with force, but with something deeply tender, something unshakable, something that felt like pure, devotional love.

His breath fanned hot against the shell of your ear, his voice a low, reverent whisper, “let me love you properly…”

Zayne positioned himself, the thick, aching length of him pressing against your entrance, the heat of him heavy, throbbing, already leaking against your slick folds as he nudged forward. His breath shuddered, his chest expanding, his fingers tightening where they were still laced over yours, grounding himself, holding onto you, holding onto this moment. And then—he pushed in. The stretch was slow, deep, overwhelming, inch by inch, his cock sinking into you with a thick, deliberate glide, forcing your walls to part for him, forcing your body to take him, forcing you to feel every inch as he filled you. Your jaw dropped, lips parting in a silent gasp, your eyes fluttering back, vision blurring as the sheer fullness of him sent heat flooding through your core.

“Oh my God-…!” Your breath hitched, the words barely a whisper, barely coherent, your behind arching deeper into him as he stretched you further, the pleasure so sharp, so blinding that it stole the breath from your lungs.

And heavens, Zayne was feeling it too. Even through the haze, your eyes flickered open, catching the movement of the body mirror across the room—and there he was. His wrecked expression, the sheer pleasure contorting his face as he sank deeper, his brows furrowing, his eyes squeezing shut, his perfect teeth catching on his lower lip as he let out a low, broken groan, his entire body shuddering at the way your walls clenched tight around him, gripping him in silky, fluttering heat. The sight of him like that—so lost in you, so utterly wrecked by how you felt around him—made your body pulse around him, made your breath stutter into a gasp, made the pleasure double, stretching through every nerve. It was so much. So deep. So perfect.

Zayne let out another slow, shaky breath, his forehead dropping for a moment between your shoulder blades, his lips brushing against your damp skin as he felt you adjust to him. His hands tightened, his fingers flexing over yours, gripping so hard you saw the whiteness of his scarred knuckles, the tendons in his forearm standing out beneath his skin as he held himself still, indulging in the suffocating grip of your walls around him, in the way you squeezed down on him, pulsing in sharp, needy little flutters that sent another violent shudder through his body.

“You’re going to ruin me,” he breathed, his voice thick, wrecked, pressed into your shoulder as he tried to compose himself, tried to slow down, but hell, it was already too much.

You both knew this wasn’t going to last long. Not like this. Not after everything that had led to this. Not when Zayne was gripping your fingers so tightly, his entire body trembling with restraint, his cock throbbing inside you as he fought the urge to move, as he forced himself to hold still for just another second, just one more second—But then—He moved. A slow, deep, dragging withdrawal that made your entire body shudder, your walls clenching desperately to keep him, to hold onto the fullness of him, before he eased back in, pushing deeper, steadier, like he wanted you to feel every inch, like he wanted you to remember exactly how perfectly he fit inside you.

“It’s so good,” you breathed, voice breaking on a gasp, your fingers tightening beneath his, your entire body trembling as pleasure coiled inside you, thick and intense, radiating outward from where he was buried deep, where he was stretching you, filling you, “so deep…God, I missed you so much…Missed you inside of me…”

“Me too,” Zayne sighed, his forehead pressing into your shoulder, his breath hot and uneven against your skin, “you get even tighter when it’s been this long…Too long…I missed you terribly.”

His hands flexed around yours, his grip tightening, his hips rolling again, another slow, deliberate thrust that made your breath stutter, that made your back arch deeper into him, that made your thighs tremble beneath the weight of his body. You saw it all in the mirror. The way his jaw tensed, the way his brows twitched in that damp furrow beneath stubborn strands of his jet-black hair, the way his eyes fluttered shut as he sank deeper, as he felt the way you held him inside you, the way your walls clung to him, fluttering with every slow, aching grind of his hips. And Zayne—Zayne was losing it.

“Zayne!” Your voice was high, breathless, your body shaking beneath him, and God, the way you said his name, the way you gasped for him like that—He snapped.

His movements shifted, his hips snapping forward just a little harder, a little faster, the slow, agonizingly deep strokes making your stomach tighten, making the pleasure coil tighter, making your entire body tremble against his.

“You’re taking me so well,” he sighed, his teeth catching on his lower lip as he felt you squeeze around him, as he felt your body react to him so perfectly, “s-so tight, so warm, so beautiful-…!”

He rolled his hips again, grinding deeper, pressing his cock against that devastating spot inside you that made your vision blur, that sent white-hot heat coursing through every inch of you.

“Damn it—Zayne!”

Your fingers clawed at the sheets, your body helpless beneath him, your thighs quivering as the pleasure built, as he drove you toward the edge again, as he owned you in a way that made your entire body burn with need.

“That’s it, doll,” he murmured into your skin, his lips dragging over your shoulder, praising you, worshiping you, his voice thick and breathless with reverence, “take me, just like that-…! I love you like this, Y/n…”

You were already so close again. Zayne barely had a moment to breathe before your voice broke through the thick, heated air between you, high and desperate, trembling with something raw, something uncontained.

“Zayne, please! I-I need you to-…!” Your words hitched, breathless, unraveling into something close to a sob as your body pressed into his, your fingers clawing at the sheets, the pleasure too much, not enough, everything at once, “harder!” You gasped, voice weak, pleading, “faster—Zayne, just—just ruin me alre-“

But your sentence never finished. Because before you could even process what was happening, before the last syllable could leave your lips, Zayne’s fingers unlaced from yours. And then—he moved. His hands left yours, and for the briefest second, for one fleeting moment, the absence of his grip sent a sharp spike of adrenaline racing through your veins, your body tensing, your breath catching as realization struck—He was about to destroy you. And he did. His hands snapped down to your hips, gripping you tight, holding you steady, and then—you remembered how strong that gentle giant actually was. He thrust forward, his hips slamming into you , the impact sending a sharp, white-hot shockwave of pleasure ripping through you. Your breath snapped, a broken, helpless cry catching in your throat as his body met yours with a force that sent your thighs quivering, your entire body jerking forward under the sheer intensity of it.

The sounds—God, the sounds—filled the room. The deep, obscene squelch of your soaked, wrecked core stretching around him. The rhythmic smack of his hips meeting you , his groin clapping against your splayed lips, sending soft ripples through your flesh with every relentless thrust. Your gasping, pleading moans, breathy and helpless, tangled between the sharp exhales of his breath, between the ragged, deep groans being pulled from his lips.

“Zayne!” You screamed his name, your voice breaking as your body arched into him, your hands clawing at the sheets, fisting them so hard your knuckles ached.

He was gone. His voice dipped into something low, something husky, something that sent goosebumps racing down your spine, “is this what you want?” His breath shuddered as he snapped his hips forward again, sinking so deep that it sent a sharp pulse of heat curling up your spine, forcing another helpless moan from your lips, “you want me to go mad with desire, don’t you?”

The way he said it—the dark edge to his voice, the reverence woven into his tone, the undeniable possession in the way his fingers tightened against your skin—made something in your stomach tighten, made your pulse race, made the pleasure peak to an unbearable, blinding level.

You nodded, frantic, desperate, shaking in his grasp, “y-yes! Yes, please!”

Zayne let out a ragged groan, his body shuddering as he felt the way you responded to him, the way you gave yourself to him so completely, without hesitation, without fear. His hands tightened, his pace brutal, unrelenting, driving into you so deeply, so perfectly, each thrust hitting that devastatingly sensitive spot inside you, sending sparks of fire rippling through your core. You couldn’t take it anymore. The unbearable weight in your belly snapped. Your body convulsed, pleasure detonating out of you in pulsing waves of liquid heat, your walls clamping down around him, gripping him so tight he groaned, his voice breaking into something desperate, something completely lost. You could feel it—how wet you were, how slick you were making him, how each relentless thrust sent another sharp splash against his hips, coating him, soaking everything, the mess between you making each impact filthy, obscene, a testament to how utterly wrecked he had made you.

He groaned, his voice barely coherent, breathless with reverence, “say my name!”

And God, that did something to you.

The pleasure, the raw reverence in his voice, the way he worshiped you as you shattered in his hands—

“Zayne!” You gasped, barely able to think past the pleasure ripping through you.

“My good girl,” he breathed, voice low, deep, wrecked, his pace never slowing, his hips still pounding into you as if he never wanted this to end, “you’re so good, darling…!”

Your mind was gone, your words dissolving into incoherent gasps, your lips parting around his name in breathless, mindless chants, moaning it like it was the only thing that existed, like it was the only thing you knew. And heavens, that broke him. He was at the point of no return. His fingers dug into your hips, his breath coming faster, more uneven, his body trembling as he felt you around him, as he felt you falling apart, as he lost himself in the heat of your body, the slick mess between you, the way your walls were still fluttering, still gripping him so tightly.

“I-I’m going to cum,” voice was shaken, strained, his hands tightening, his hips snapping forward in sharp, deep thrusts that made your vision blur, that sent another pulse of pleasure rocketing through you.

And then—Your hand reached back, grabbing at his wrist, fingers squeezing, clutching, your voice cracking on a breathless, desperate plea, “cum for me! Cum inside me!”

Zayne’s head snapped up, his eyes flickering to the mirror, locking onto your wrecked reflection, onto your pleading gaze as you begged him for it. That was it. Hearing you say it—feeling you say it—completely broke him. His entire body seized, his mind blanking, dissolving into nothing but pure, overwhelming ecstasy. His breath shattered as his hips snapped flush against you, burying himself as deep as he could go.

“Y/n!” Your name tore from his lips, breathless, drawn out like a prayer as his body gave in, as the last thread of restraint snapped and he lost himself in you.

A violent shudder racked through him as his cock throbbed, spilling deep inside you, twitching with every slow, helpless pulse of release. His muscles locked, his jaw clenched, his entire body tensed against yours as hot, thick ropes of his climax filled you, as he emptied himself completely, his mind spinning, his senses overloaded. And then—he collapsed. His chest pressed into your sweat-slicked back, his lips falling against your shoulder, his breath shuddering, uneven, warm against your damp skin. His hands trembled where they came to cover yours, holding on, like he needed you to keep him there to keep him from falling apart completely. His heart thundered against your spine, erratic, pounding so hard you could feel it, matching your own in its desperate, spent rhythm.

Zayne made the sweetest sound, then. A soft, helpless whimper slipped from his lips, fragile, barely there before it dissolved into slow, shaky panting, his breath hot and damp against the crook of your neck. Neither of you moved. Neither of you could. You stayed like that, wrapped in each other, drenched in sweat, in heat, in the heady, breathless aftermath. His body covered you, warm and heavy, his skin sticking to yours, his weight pressing you into the mattress as you both gave into exhaustion, keeping you grounded, keeping you in the moment. Neither of you spoke. There was no need. There was only the feeling of his lips softening against your shoulder, of his hands still gripping yours, of the slow, intimate rise and fall of your bodies pressed together, existing in the same perfect space.

“I love you,” it was a whisper, barely audible, hoarse, shaken, but so deeply felt, “more than anything…”

You smiled, your eyes still closed, your fingers squeezing his as you breathed, “and I love you…”

Zayne sighed, slow and content, nuzzling into your skin, absorbing the moment, cherishing the way it felt to have you beneath him, to be so completely entangled with you. And then, finally, with a deep, shuddering inhale, he slowly pulled out, his body spent, his limbs heavy with exhaustion. You barely had time to react before he pulled you into him, rolling you into his arms, gathering you completely against his chest. A slow, sated silence stretched between you, both of you still catching your breath, still feeling the moment, still existing in the warm, intimate haze of what you had just shared. Minutes passed—long, lazy, quiet minutes where neither of you moved, where neither of you wanted to move. And God, it was so warm. So perfect.

Zayne’s fingers threaded through your damp hair, his lips pressing slow, lingering kisses to your forehead as he whispered, “let me clean you up and bring you water…”

You barely managed a response, just nodding against his chest, too blissed out to form words. It took a long moment for either of you to move, limbs heavy, breaths still slowing, but eventually, he sighed and forced himself up, trembling slightly as he dragged himself off the bed. Before stepping away, he took your hand, bringing your knuckles to his lips in a soft, affectionate kiss before heading toward the bathroom. The loss of his warmth left a chill in the air, but you welcomed the moment of stillness, letting yourself sink into the mattress, still floating in the afterglow. When he returned, he was careful, warm towel in hand, his movements gentle as he wiped you down, cleaning the mess between your thighs, soothing your sensitive skin with soft, deliberate touches. He didn’t rush, didn’t say anything—just took care of you, the way he always did.

Once you were both cleaned up, he grabbed a fresh pair of briefs from his dresser, slipping them on with a slight wince, his muscles aching, his body spent. You forced yourself upright as well, and he was already there, steadying you with his hands as you stood, making sure you weren’t too shaky on your feet before guiding you toward the bathroom. While you took your time, he made his way to the kitchen, the cool air blissful against his overheated skin, finally offering relief from the burning flush still clinging to his body. He filled a glass of water, taking a long gulp before carrying another back to the bedroom for you.

When he didn’t see you, he called through the bathroom door, “I’m setting it on the counter. I’ll be right back.”

“Okay,” you murmured, voice soft, tired.

After using the restroom, you lingered at the sink, running cool water over your hands before pressing them to your face, cooling down, trying to ease the lingering flush that still warmed your skin. You were a mess—your body tingling happily, muscles sore in the best way, your legs still unsteady beneath you. Padding back to the bedroom, you reached for the glass of water Zayne had left for you, gulping it down in deep, greedy sips, the ice-cold relief soothing the dryness in your throat, calming the heat still simmering under your skin. You made your way to the dresser, pulling open a drawer—his dresser, but half of it filled with your clothes. Fishing out a fresh pair of underwear, you slid them up your sore legs, sighing at the feel of soft cotton against your skin before heading to his closet. You didn’t even think about it before reaching for one of his many black button-ups, pulling it from the hanger and slipping it on over your shoulders. The fabric was soft, cool, hanging loose over your body, unbuttoned, draping down past your thighs in a way that felt so natural it made you smile to yourself.

But then—Zayne still hadn’t returned. You frowned slightly, wondering what was taking him so long, but then—you felt it. A quiet knowing, a flicker of amusement tugging at the edges of your exhausted mind as you turned toward the doorway, a suspicion already forming as you stepped into the hall. You yawned, stretching your sore limbs as you padded toward the kitchen, following some instinct, some pull, and when you finally reached the light—

You found him. Zayne, in nothing but his briefs, sitting on the floor in front of the fridge, the dim glow of the light spilling over his flushed skin, his back leaning against the inside of the appliance like it was the coolest, most relieving thing in the world. And in his hand? A fork. And in the other? The pastry you had bought him earlier. Your lips parted slightly in pure delight at the sight—Zayne, so composed, so controlled in every other aspect of his life, now sitting cross-legged on the kitchen floor, indulging in his late-night craving like it was the best thing he had ever tasted. His cheeks were still flushed, his damp hair mussed from your fingers, his chest rising and falling in slow, sated breaths as he brought another bite to his mouth, eyes momentarily blissed out.

He looked like he was in heaven. The sight was so adorably ridiculous, so completely unlike the brilliant, highly esteemed cardiac surgeon the rest of the world saw, that you couldn’t help it—You laughed, a soft, breathy chuckle that immediately caught his attention. Zayne blinked up at you, mid-bite, fork still raised, his pupils heavy with exhaustion, but his lips curled slightly at the corners, like he knew exactly why you were laughing.

Without a word, you made your way over, sinking onto the cool tile floor beside him, letting the chill of it soothe your overheated skin. He didn’t move at first, just let his eyes drift over you, taking in the way his own shirt draped over your body, the lazy, satisfied warmth in your gaze, the quiet fondness in your smile. Then, after another bite, he carefully stabbed the fork into the pastry, lifting it toward you. Wordlessly. An offering. An invitation.

And as you leaned in, lips parting to take the bite he fed you, your fingers lightly brushing against his scarred forearm—You couldn’t help but think, God, I hope to marry this man one day.

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