#he’s so much more vulnerable than he’s ever let on before

[its-avalon-08]

it all fell down (ln4)

part11

multipart story! part1 part2 part3 part4 part5 part6 part7 part8 part9 part10

✦ pairing - lando norris x female reader

very important note at the end - pls read it

summary : lando norris and y/n were friends for 20 years, fell in love and dated for five. until it all fell down. they left each others lives abruptly and never spoke again, until they met again in the most unexpected way. can they find their way back or will certain scars never heal?

Y/N and Lando walked back to her apartment in silence, the cool rain still falling lightly around them. Their hands were entwined, the contact grounding them as they made their way through the quiet streets. Every step felt like a promise, every glance a reassurance that they were finally on the same page, ready to confront the past that had haunted them for so long.

As they entered Y/N’s apartment, the familiar warmth of the space enveloped them. She flicked on the lights, casting a soft glow over the room, and dropped her keys on the counter. For a moment, they just stood there, the weight of what had happened between them settling in the air.

Lando took a deep breath, breaking the silence. “We should talk.”

Y/N nodded, her heart pounding. “Yeah, we should.”

They moved to the couch, sitting down with a cautious distance between them, the tension from before replaced with a more vulnerable kind of anticipation. The kind that came from knowing that the next few minutes could either heal them or break them all over again.

Y/N was the first to speak, her voice trembling with emotion. “I never wanted things to end the way they did. I was just… scared, Lando. Scared of how much you meant to me, scared of losing myself in you. I didn’t know how to handle it.”

Lando’s eyes softened as he looked at her, the pain of their breakup still fresh in his memory. “I get it, Y/N. I was scared too. But the way we both handled it… the things we said…”

His voice broke slightly, and Y/N reached out, her hand finding his. “We hurt each other so badly,” she whispered, tears welling up in her eyes. “I’ve never regretted anything more than the way I treated you. I thought pushing you away would make it easier, but it just… destroyed us.”

Lando squeezed her hand, his own eyes glistening with tears. “You said dating me was a mistake, and it killed me, Y/N. I kept hearing those words over and over, wondering if you ever really loved me at all.”

Tears spilled down Y/N’s cheeks as she shook her head, her voice cracking. “I didn’t mean it, Lando. I was so angry, and I just wanted to hurt you because I was hurting. But I never, ever believed that. You were the best thing that ever happened to me.”

Lando’s breath hitched, his own tears now falling freely. “It wasn’t just you, though. I said things too, things I can’t take back. I was so hurt by what you said, I wanted you to feel the same pain I was feeling. But all it did was tear us apart.”

Y/N leaned closer, her voice breaking with emotion. “I hated myself for letting you go, for saying those things. Every day, I missed you, Lando. But I was too proud, too scared to admit that I was wrong.”

Lando’s hand came up to cup her cheek, his thumb gently wiping away her tears. “I missed you too, more than I can even explain. But I was so angry at you, and at myself. I felt like I wasn’t enough for you, like I couldn’t make you happy.”

Y/N shook her head, more tears falling. “You were everything to me, Lando. I was just too blind to see it at the time. I let my fear control me, and I lost the most important person in my life because of it.”

Lando’s voice was thick with emotion as he spoke. “I felt the same way, Y/N. I lost myself in the anger, in the pain of losing you. I started acting out, trying to forget, but nothing worked. Nothing made me feel better.”

The air between them was heavy with all the unsaid words, all the pain that had been bottled up for so long. Y/N’s heart ached as she looked at Lando, seeing the hurt in his eyes, knowing she had put it there.

“I’m sorry,” she whispered, her voice breaking. “For everything. I wish I could take it all back, Lando.”

Lando shook his head, pulling her closer. “We can’t change the past, but we can start over. We can try again, if you still want that.”

Y/N’s tears flowed freely as she nodded, her heart swelling with hope. “I do, Lando. I want that more than anything. But I don’t want to hurt you again.”

Lando pressed his forehead to hers, his voice a soft, broken whisper. “We’ll figure it out, Y/N. Together this time. No more running away, no more pushing each other away. Just us, facing whatever comes together.”

Y/N let out a sob, the weight of the past finally lifting from her shoulders. “I love you, Lando. I never stopped.”

Lando’s own tears fell as he pulled her into a tight embrace, holding her as if he would never let go. “I love you too, Y/N. And I’m not going anywhere.”

They held each other for a long time, their tears mingling as they finally let go of the pain that had kept them apart for so long. The world outside faded away, leaving just the two of them, wrapped in each other’s arms, ready to start over.

Y/N and Lando sat on her couch, the heaviness of their earlier conversation giving way to a lighter, more playful atmosphere. The weight of their past had been lifted, leaving space for something new—something familiar, yet fresh.

Y/N curled up, tucking her legs under her as she sipped on the hot chocolate Lando had made. She glanced at him, a playful smirk tugging at her lips. “So, tell me… how many dates did you go on while we were broken up?”

Lando raised an eyebrow, feigning innocence. “Me? Dates? Nah, I was just too busy being a ‘man of mystery’ or whatever the tabloids were calling me.”

Y/N chuckled, nudging his shoulder. “Oh, come on. You know I kept tabs on you. You weren’t exactly subtle about it.”

Lando grinned, leaning back against the couch. “Okay, fine. I went on a few dates… but none of them ever felt right. I’d be sitting there, trying to make conversation, but all I could think about was how you would have rolled your eyes at the things they were saying.”

Y/N laughed, a soft blush creeping up her cheeks. “Well, for the record, I didn’t date much either. I tried, but every guy just felt… off. They weren’t you.”

Lando’s smile softened as he looked at her, his eyes sparkling with amusement. “So, we were both equally terrible at moving on, huh?”

“Pretty much,” Y/N admitted, laughing. “I even went out with this one guy who was super into cars, hoping it would make things easier. But all I could think about was how much you’d love to debate him on whether Ferrari or McLaren was better.”

Lando snorted, shaking his head. “That poor guy didn’t stand a chance.”

Y/N giggled, the sound light and infectious. “Nope, not at all. And every time I’d see a photo of you with some model, I’d convince myself that I was totally over you… but then I’d stalk your Instagram and see your stories, and I’d realize I was just lying to myself.”

Lando chuckled, rubbing the back of his neck. “Yeah, I may have done some stalking myself. I’d see you posting about all the new things you were doing, and I’d try to convince myself that you were happier without me. But it only made me want to reach out more.”

Y/N shook her head with a smile. “It’s kind of sad, isn’t it? We were both trying so hard to move on, but we couldn’t stop thinking about each other.”

“Sad?” Lando repeated, raising an eyebrow. “I think it’s kind of sweet. We’re both just hopeless when it comes to each other.”

“Yeah, hopeless,” Y/N agreed, her voice softening. “I guess that’s what happens when you fall in love with your best friend.”

Lando’s expression grew tender as he reached out, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. “I missed you so much, Y/N. No one could ever compare to you.”

Y/N’s heart fluttered at his words, and she placed her hand over his, squeezing it gently. “I missed you too, Lando. Every single day.”

They sat there in comfortable silence, their fingers intertwined, both of them reveling in the warmth of their reunion.

Lando glanced at her, his eyes twinkling with mischief. “You know, if we’d just swallowed our pride a little sooner, we could have avoided all those awful fucking dates.”

Y/N laughed, her eyes crinkling at the corners. “True. But then we wouldn’t have these funny stories to tell.”

“Fair point,” Lando conceded, grinning. “And, hey, at least we know now that no one else stands a chance.”

Y/N smiled, leaning her head on his shoulder. “No one ever did, Lando. It was always you.”

Lando wrapped his arm around her, pulling her closer. “And it was always you for me, too.”

As they sat there, cuddled up on the couch, the weight of the past fell away entirely, leaving only the warmth of the present. They were no longer two people trying to move on from each other—they were two people who had finally found their way back home.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------avaspeaks - hi lovelies! im so sorry for being gone for so long, exam prep threw me for a toss and i was so occupied and busy. but now im back for good and ready to update the blog. i felt so awful for not updating because i know the frustration when a series is just left unfinished. but worry not because your girl is back and ready to finish all the requests and series!

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taglist ---> @misspygmypie @kol67-t @sltwins @f1fantasys @sarx164 @imboredway2much @demandealalune e @elz-xo o @bellelovesharryy @hey-there9-its-me @marauders-wife @itsjustfranzi @l-sofiamia-l @ironmaiden1313 @01rrdbull @avni-sarai @maddy27

comment to get added to the taglist

[sorrowsofsilence]

If you take asks/requests can you do something with reader refusing any type of help or assistance in anything but she's so used to everything being thrown in her face or used against her so now she is just super hyper independent. She meets Noah and for a long time he doesn't understand why she never lets anyone help her until she opens up and quietly tells him that she can't trust people to not use the help they gave her against her eventually.

Super self indulgent here 🥺😟

if im here • n.s

pairing: noah sebastian x fem!reader

words: 2k

warnings: none

note: thank you so much for this anon. this is so relatable, and writing this felt so... therapeutic? i hope you enjoy this xx

THIS IS A FANFIC ABOUT REAL PEOPLE IN FICTIONAL SCENARIOS. I AM NOT IMPLYING THIS IS HOW THESE PEOPLE ARE IRL OR THAT THIS SITUATION WOULD HAPPEN. IT IS FOR FANFIC PURPOSES ONLY!

+

At first, Noah merely noticed it as a quirk; an oddity of hers that was borderline admirable. Any time he offered to help her carry anything, she would politely, but firmly decline. Once, when she was struggling with a stubborn jar of pasta sauce, he'd tried to help, only to have her snatch the glass away with a fierce glint in her eyes.

It was clear that she didn't need or want his assistance.

Even in times that seemed dire, she refused him. The time her tire popped and she struggled to fit it back onto the rims, and the time the bowl from the top shelf fell against the floor, smashing into pieces and cutting her hand.

He always assumed it was pride or a stubborn sense of independence. But over time, he realized there was something deeper lurking beneath the surface; a sort of wariness, a guardedness that was difficult to penetrate.

One evening, after they'd grown closer, they were sitting on Noah’s living room floor amidst several takeout boxes from the local chinese place. She was battling with a particularly tricky fortune cookie wrapper when Noah instinctively reached out to help.

"No," she said quietly, pulling her hand back as if his touch burned. Something in her eyes flickered, a strange mix of defiance and vulnerability that made Noah pause.

He sat there, watching with a defeated brow as he placed the chopsticks in his box of chow mein, shoulders slumped.

“Y/N…” Noah whispered, his eyes saddened as she struggled, throwing her head back in a frustrated growl.

“Why won’t you just let me help you? Ever?”

She sighed, placing the untouched cookie on the coffee table. Her hands folded in her lap, shoulders hunched as if bracing against an invisible force.

For a long moment, she was silent, refusing to glance at Noah as he waited, knowing better than to press.

"I can't trust people," she admitted, not meeting his gaze, "I can't trust them not to use the help they gave me, against me eventually."

Noah was silent, processing her words. His heart twisted at the bare honesty of her confession, the raw pain that lurked behind her fierce independence. He realized this wasn’t about jars or boxes; this was about survival, about safeguarding herself from the world around her that had done her wrong, time and time again.

"No one should ever use kindness as a weapon," he said softly, respecting her space but wanting her to know he was there, "And I promise you, I won't. Not now, not ever."

She looked up at him then, her eyes clouded with a wariness that made him want to reach out and reassure her. But he knew better now, knew that the last thing she needed was empty reassurances or hollow promises.

Instead, he simply held her gaze, letting his words hang between them as his promise to her. He wanted to show her that he was different and that not everyone would use their kindness against her.

She held his onyx gaze for a long moment before finally looking away. Her shoulders relaxed slightly, but there was still a guardedness about her. It was clear that it would take more than just words to convince her.

But Noah was patient; he knew that trust wasn’t built in a day.

It was something that had to be earned and nurtured, piece by piece. He might not have been able to erase the past or change the people who had hurt her before, but he could certainly try to be different, and show her she deserved to be cared for.

Over the next few weeks and months, Noah did his best to show her he was a man of his word.

He never imposed, never assumed. Each time a situation arose where she seemed in need of help, he waited, letting her make the first move.

Bit by bit, they began to navigate around this invisible barrier - a silent dance of respect and understanding. When she stubbed her toe and cursed under her breath, Noah remained silent, only moving when she held out her hand for assistance. When her car broke down one icy winter evening, instead of rushing over as he instinctively wanted to do, he waited for her call.

It was a slow process, one filled with silent understanding and unspoken words. But with each day that passed, Noah could see the progression. There were moments when she would hesitate just before refusing his help; moments that filled him with hope and reassurance that he was doing the right thing.

One day when an unexpected rainstorm caught them off guard on their way back from a late-night movie, he held out his coat as they stepped out of the theatre. He prepared himself for her usual refusal, the quick shake of her head and the pulled-down brim of her hat as she braved the elements herself.

But it didn’t come.

Instead, she looked at his proffered jacket for a moment before finally nodding, tugging it around her shoulders with a shy smile.

His heart leapt in response.

It was a small victory, but for Noah, it felt monumental. It was the first time she had willingly accepted his assistance without that familiar flicker of fear in her eyes. The rain sliced through the night, drenching them despite the coat, but neither cared.

One small step towards trust. One small step towards un-guilted help.

“Thank you,” She whispered, smiling up at him. Noah wrapped his arm around her shoulder, pulling her into a comforting hug as they headed to their apartment.

“I would do anything for you,” He said, placing a kiss in her hair.

Her shivering body vibrated against his, her hands clinging to his dampened shirt for support.

In the silence of the rain-soaked streets, under the flickering street lamps, she believed him.

Not because she wanted to, but because he had proven it - time and again - through his patience, his understanding. He had seen her fears and her scars and had not flinched away, but stood firmly by her side, always waiting for her to reach out first.

"Noah," she murmured, as they unlocked the door of their shared apartment, her damp hair sticking to his face. "You're different."

It wasn’t a question. It was a statement, an acknowledgement of what they both already knew. He smiled into her hair, warmth spreading through him despite the cold rain dripping from their clothes onto the hallway floor.

"I hope so," he murmured back, pressing a soft kiss to her forehead before stepping back, giving her space once again as they moved inside.

She smiled at him then, one that reached to her eyes.

It was a rare sight and Noah cherished it because he knew how much courage it took for her.

That exchange marked a turning point in their relationship. His promise uttered in the heart of the storm, wasn't just an empty phrase spoken to comfort her.

It was a vow that he intended to keep, not just for that night but for every night thereafter.

In the following days, she became more comfortable in accepting his aid. She even let him help her carry groceries to their apartment, a task she'd always insisted on doing herself before- all ten bags looped up either arm.

But that day, he was allowed to carry five.

There was still that flicker of unease every now and then, a shadow that crossed her eyes whenever he offered his help; however, those moments were becoming less frequent with time.

Noah proved himself to be a man of his word. He stood by her side, not as a knight trying to save a damsel in distress, but as a constant companion who honored her strength and respected her space.

Their souls danced around each other in the ever-evolving rhythm of their companionship - sometimes colliding, sometimes distancing, yet always spinning in synchrony.

One cool spring afternoon, they went to a local park and found a solitary bench that overlooked a still lake. The water mirrored the sky, capturing its changing moods from cool blue to fiery orange as the sun began to set.

They sat there in a comforting quiet for a long moment, lost in their own thoughts.

Noah opened his mouth to say something but stopped himself just in time. He respected her need for space - physical and emotional both. His gaze fell on her profile - her eyes closed and tilted towards the setting sun, her lips slightly parted as she breathed in the crisp air.

"Is your mind always this quiet?" she asked after a while, turning to meet his gaze. He noted how her eyes held a certain softness now, a less guarded curiosity, “Or this patient?”

"No," he confessed with a soft chuckle. "I’ve had to learn patience over time."

"Because of me?" she asked, her voice low.

He turned to face her, taking a moment to really look at her. The setting sun reflected in her eyes, giving them an ethereal glow.

He admired her- every part of her. The good, the bad. Everything.

"Partly," he admitted, "But also because of myself. I've realised that sometimes the best way to help someone isn't by charging in like a hero. It's by waiting…giving them the space they need to heal."

His words stretched between them as she processed, her gaze never leaving his. Noah noticed a hint of something different in her eyes; not fear or apprehension, but something akin to gratitude.

“Thank you,” she said softly, echoing the words she’d whispered weeks before in the rain.

"I'm trying, Noah," she said quietly, "I'm trying to trust again."

He nodded, understanding all too well what that meant for her. It was a leap of faith - an act of trust that was foreign and strenuous to her very being.

"I know," he replied softly.

His thumb brushed over the back of her hand gently, a small comfort against the enormity of what she had just shared, “And you’re doing an amazing job.”

She smiled, looking down at their entwined fingers.

“I’m proud of you,” Noah breathed.

Her heart raced with armour as they sat there, their hands linked while the sun slowly disappeared beneath the horizon. The world around them was bathed in a tranquil glow, almost as if it was recognizing the sacredness of their moment.

Noah squeezed her hand gently, his chest full of emotions he couldn't quite put into words.

He took a deep breath, his gaze still locked onto the surreal sunset before them. This woman sitting next to him, she was strong. She had been through so much, but instead of hardening her heart, she still allowed herself to be vulnerable, for him. Of all people, him.

Her voice brought him out of his thoughts, "I think I'm ready."

Noah turned to look at her, surprised by her sudden declaration. She looked back at him, determination shining bright in her eyes.

"To rely on someone," she clarified, trailing a finger along the flower on the back of his hand, "To trust again... with you."

There was no hesitation in her voice, just a raw honesty that pierced through the quiet evening.

Noah felt his heart surge with a myriad of emotions: hope, joy, relief; but above all, there was a sense of honor.

"Are you sure?" he asked gently, not wanting to rush her.

He knew the gravity of what she was saying, the importance of this moment.

But she simply nodded, meeting his gaze with an unwavering certainty.

"Yes," she whispered. "I think I am."

Her simple affirmation held so much weight. It was her declaration of surrender, but also a confirmation of faith in him.

And that meant more to Noah than any grand gestures or professions could ever do.

He leaned over, closing the distance between them and pressed his forehead against hers. Their breaths mingled in the cool dusk air, creating an intimate bubble around them while the rest of the world faded into insignificance.

"I'll be here for you, whenever you need.”

tags:

@xxkittenkissesxx @deathblacksmoke @nyxisnotok @anameunmusical @sitkowski

@sammyjoeee @cookiesupplier @th4t-em0-k1d @dsireland86 @thefallennightmare

@whenthesummerdies @spicywhenspeaking @veronicaphoenix @lma1986 @calleyx13

@somewhere-diamond @auratheopossumwitch @blackveilomens @skulliecadaver-blog @silentglassbreak

@darkmxgician @sprokat @thatchickwiththecamera @reyadawn @xserenax-13

@philomenie @into-the-grey @amelia-acero @blend-in-with-the-madness @rumoured-whispers

@anything-more-than-human @blacksoul-2 @sweetwombatpizza

[lady-of-endless]

"Always Been You"

Summary: The Marine vice admiral misses his enemy.

Tags: fem reader; whipped Smoker; enemies to lovers; you fell first, he fell harder;

Author's Note: I have had some One Piece feels lately and wanted to write my favorite dynamic with Smoker, our beloved. Let me know if you'd be interested in a second part.

..........................................................................................

Smoker could never tell when you were close but you always knew when he was.

You walked through his heavy smoke many times, feeling it cling to your clothes and hair and seeing it float around you when he was after you as an obvious and thrilling warning.

Now, smoke only floated towards the ceiling of his bedroom, from his cigar while his eyes were fixed on the empty spot of his bed.

Smoker lit up the second cigar and narrowed his eyes, remembering how you would always steal one of the two cigars he always had between his teeth, just to tease him.

You.

Where the hell were you?

The secret rendez-vous have come to an end for a few days, abruptly. You were not showing your face anymore around town, staying hidden God knows where and why, and the Marine couldn't decide if he only missed the touch of your warm breath on his skin and the pleasurable tension or everything that made you the pirate he fell for against his will.

He took another long drag, getting up from his bed and walking to the opened window of his bedroom. He looked at the Loguetown night sky. Even if you worked from the smallest and hidden corners of the town, he would still somehow stumble across you. It was like you wanted to be found by him on purpose, but not anymore lately.

Smoker took a deep breath, taking in both the taste of his cigars and the crispness of the cool night air, feeling his thoughts slowly drift off again. He tried to concentrate only on his work and his duties as a Vice Admiral, but his focus kept wavering as he felt himself being pulled back to the thought of you.

So much time passed since your last encounter that Smoker felt he could remember your face only from the wanted poster and not the flashbacks that get him distracted more frequently lately. He didn't want to think about how long you've been missing, how long he couldn't try to capture and arrest you or wrap his arms around you.

Smoker groaned, disgusted by his vulnerability. To be in such a high position and to have such a weakness for the enemy's affection was something that had to be kept secret.

He hated having to hide those affairs from the Marines. He despised lies but he had to be a liar to them for you. He had to lie about why he arrived later than usual in the morning, about why he looked disheveled before meetings, about the lipstick stains from his uniform jacket.

But you made it all so damn worth it and thrilling. Now, Smoker didn't know what to look forward to besides the moment when he'll chase you again. If you'll ever get back. Pirates are always unpredictable, after all, and he should have been grateful for your absence, not feel bitter about it.

"Damn it..." He muttered to himself, annoyed at his weakness. It was strange and revolting to long for the enemy's affection and not for arresting you once and for all.

As a vice admiral and commander of the Marines, he had a duty to uphold and a reputation to maintain. What would his peers think if they knew he was connected to a woman who actively defied and undermined the World Government as a pirate? His only safe space was his mind, where he could think about you without restrictions even when he tried so hard not to, stopping himself so many times.

He wished he could do his job without interfering feelings. He tried so hard to respond to your teasing by telling you he despises your kind without pulling you against him, in his arms.

His transponder snail rang suddenly, at that late night hour.

Smoker didn't flinch and reached for the transporder without even looking at who it was, almost like a reflex.

"Yeah?" He answered, his voice rough. It was Tashigi, of course. "Tashigi speak, what is it?" He asked, sitting down on the edge of his bed, frowning. He was immediately alert, not liking her concerned tone and the time of the call.

"It's her again. She has been seen in town." His subordinate reported sighing at the issue.

Smoker's cigars fell from his lips onto the floor.

"Captain?" Tashigi asked at the lack of response.

"I will inform the rest of the team to go out and search for her right now. I'll even track her down myself alone if I have to." Smoker responded, sounding more than just authoritative and furious, ending the call but knowing too well that he won't follow the plan and will go after you alone without the others. He groaned at the thought that he lied to his subordinates once again, just for your sake.

If there was one thing he didn't need to hide in this complicated affair was that he couldn't deny the thrill of being able to hunt you once again. He was the White Hunter, after all.

The thought of seeing you again filled him with an intoxicating rush of excitement and tension. In his troublesome imagination, Smoker could already see himself standing in front of you, looking down into your eyes, your lips a few inches away from his as you teased and riled each other until he kissed you roughly enough so that his stubble left your soft skin rosy and sensitive.

He got up from his bed and began to get dressed, his movements fueled by anticipation.

Smoker put on his boots and scoffed as he remembered each of your successful getaways and your incredible ability to get out of the Marine's grasp every time. It was annoying and also fascinating to watch you play nice, charming, and fool every Marine that tried to capture you. Yet, he couldn't help but wonder if he was just another victim of your act too, a plaything. It was time to get you and the answer to this.

[i5uckersblog]

When It Hurt

Summary: Logan cares for Wade during a painful episode, showing him he’s not alone.

Wade was slipping.

The pain felt different this time—worse. It crawled under his skin, dug into his bones, and wouldn’t let go. He had stopped keeping track of the days, the hours. Time blurred into one endless stream of hurt, and the only constant was the hollow ache deep in his body as it rebelled against him. His healing factor, usually his greatest weapon, was failing him tonight. Every cell felt like it was tearing itself apart.

He couldn’t move. Couldn’t think. He was cold. So cold that his teeth chattered, even as sweat dripped down his scarred face. His body lay sprawled on the floor of his dingy apartment, too weak to rise, too stubborn to call anyone for help. Not that anyone would care, right?

The door creaked open, but Wade didn’t lift his head. He couldn’t muster the strength to react, not even when the familiar heavy footsteps approached. A low sigh cut through the silence, and then that voice, rough as gravel.

“Wade.”

Logan.

Wade’s breath hitched, his body convulsing in a painful shiver. He wanted to say something, crack a joke, but all that came out was a broken whisper. “Logey…? Thought you… swore off visiting my… beautiful face.”

Logan didn’t answer right away. Instead, he knelt beside Wade, his gruff demeanor softening for a moment as he took in the sight of the man lying before him—pale, trembling, and looking more fragile than Logan had ever seen him. Wade was always larger than life, hiding behind endless wisecracks and masks, but now… now he looked small. Vulnerable.

“Christ, Wade. What’ve you done to yourself?” Logan muttered, his brows furrowing. His hands were steady as he gently touched Wade’s face, checking for fever. Cold as ice. “You’re freezing.”

Wade let out a weak laugh, the sound hollow and brittle. “Yeah… I’m a walking popsicle… catch me while you can.” His lips quivered, his voice breaking at the end. He hated this—hated being weak in front of anyone, especially Logan.

Logan didn’t bite at the joke this time. His focus was on getting Wade off the floor, his hands moving with surprising gentleness as he hooked them under Wade’s arms. “C’mon. We gotta get you warmed up,” Logan grumbled, lifting him with ease. Wade’s body was limp, too drained to protest.

The mercenary let out a faint groan as Logan guided him toward the couch, his muscles spasming with every step. It hurt. It all hurt. But he didn’t want Logan to see it—didn’t want to let anyone see how much it hurt.

“Logey, if you wanted to… cuddle, you could’ve… asked,” Wade slurred, trying desperately to keep up the act.

Logan just shook his head, his jaw tight. He laid Wade down on the couch, careful not to jostle him too much. Wade could feel the warmth of Logan’s hands lingering on him even after he pulled away. A shiver wracked his body, and his teeth chattered violently.

Logan grabbed a blanket from the back of the couch, covering Wade with it. “You’re a goddamn idiot,” Logan muttered, but there was no anger in his voice—just something that sounded almost… sad.

Wade stared up at him through half-lidded eyes, his vision blurry. “Yeah, but you… you love me,” he whispered, his breath catching on the last word.

Logan froze for a second, his expression flickering with something unreadable. Then, without a word, he disappeared into the kitchen. Wade could hear the sound of cabinets opening and closing, water running. His body ached, the pain throbbing in every limb, but for the first time in days, he wasn’t completely alone.

Logan returned a few minutes later, kneeling beside the couch with a steaming mug in one hand and a glass of water in the other. He pressed the glass to Wade’s lips, helping him drink. Wade gulped down the cool liquid, grateful for the relief it brought to his parched throat.

Logan watched him, his brow furrowed with concern. “When’s the last time you ate somethin’?”

Wade blinked, trying to remember. The days had bled together, but he couldn’t recall the last time he’d had anything besides a few sips of water. “Who needs food when you’ve got… cancer couture?” he rasped, but the joke fell flat, the usual spark missing from his voice.

Logan’s hand tightened around the mug, and for a moment, Wade thought he was going to snap. But instead, Logan held the mug up to Wade’s mouth, his touch so gentle it almost felt like a dream. Wade sipped slowly, the warmth of the broth spreading through his chest, taking the edge off the freezing cold that had settled deep in his bones.

“You’re not invincible,” Logan said quietly, his voice rough but soft. “I know you act like you are, but… this? This ain’t a joke, Wade.”

Wade’s breath hitched, a lump forming in his throat. Logan didn’t talk like this. Logan didn’t do feelings. But here he was, sitting beside Wade like a goddamn guardian angel, watching over him with that stubborn look of his.

“Hey… don’t… don’t get all mushy on me, Wolvie,” Wade whispered, but the usual sarcasm was gone. His voice cracked, betraying him. “I’m fine… always fine.”

“No, you’re not,” Logan snapped, but then his tone softened again. “You don’t have to pretend with me.”

That hit Wade harder than any bullet or blade ever had. He closed his eyes, swallowing hard against the sudden wave of emotion that rose in his chest. The pain was still there, sharp and all-consuming, but so was something else—something warmer, something that cut through the icy numbness that had settled over him.

“Why do you care?” Wade asked, his voice barely a whisper now. His eyes fluttered open, meeting Logan’s steady gaze. “Why… do you always come back?”

Logan didn’t answer right away. His expression was stoic, but Wade could see the tension in his jaw, the way his hand gripped the edge of the couch like he was holding something back. Finally, Logan spoke, his voice low and raw.

“Because you’re not alone in this,” he said, his eyes never leaving Wade’s. “No matter how much you act like you wanna be.”

Wade’s breath caught in his throat, and for once, he didn’t have a joke. Didn’t have anything to say to that. Instead, he just let the words settle, let the warmth of Logan’s presence wrap around him like the blanket tucked over his shaking form.

Logan stayed by his side, not moving, not saying another word. He didn’t have to. Wade closed his eyes, feeling the heaviness in his chest start to loosen, just a little.

It still hurt—God, it hurt so much—but with Logan there, it was bearable. He wasn’t fine, not by a long shot. But he wasn’t alone.

And for now, that was enough.

[simpjaes]

i feel like a stalker reader fic with a plot twist of sunghoon being a stalker even before reader was obsessed with him (kind of like a mastermind where he plotted how and when they would meet first) AND A FREAKY ONE AT THAT is only a fic that you could possibly write

and you're right about that bc i do believe i'd slay that shit if I ever got around to it.

a/n: this was meant to just be a thought but i got a lil lost in it lmfao.

Like, the idea of Sunghoon being obsessed with you since fuckin' senior year of high school because he transferred there. He was vulnerable when he transferred due to home life stuff forcing the move, and he had close to no one save for a dad who was never home. You were the first person to say hello to him and that singular greeting made him grow attached.

and he'd like, watch week after week. sometimes you'd greet him in passing but never really approach him or anything. he would be too far attached already to approach you himself too, because he feels socially awkward. he is socially awkward. No one back at home liked him much either so his confidence isn't quite high enough to peruse you.

anyway, shoot to college. maybe....he's been like...yknow....doing his research on you since he transferred back in highschool. maybe he's doing the same degree path as you.....maybe he did some snooping to land in the same university, taking the same classes....at the same times as you.........

he's grown very smart about this tho bc like, you'd never second guess why you're always seeing that handsome guy everywhere. maybe you guys are just more alike than you could have thought. and you wouldn't grow your own little crush turned obsession until he you noticed how he ignored you.

you never saw him glance or stare. he'd brush you off any time you try to greet him, he'd always speak in class with confidence, making you feel like he's...very very very intelligent. and it's like, woah, he acts so different compared to high school. you're into him kinda....there's nothing wrong with a lil crush right?

lil crush turns HUGE crush when he ends up at all the same parties you attend. always lurking in a corner by himself looking handsome and untouchable, sometimes with other girls approaching him. these are the moments you'd catch his drunken eyes on you from time to time. Or maybe he's just catching you staring. you're not sure of yourself anymore by this point.

still he wouldn't make any moves or efforts to talk to you. little crush turns to big crush. big crush turns to you wanting to learn more about him...and learning more about him turns to you consistently checking in on his social medias that he rarely updates....asking about him around campus when you manage to land in a room where he isn't, hoping he shows up to more parties..etc.

you wouldn't realize the stalker behavior you're exhibiting til it was too late. he'd be all too fond of it though, knowing he's managed to catch your attention by giving you none at all. what a needy little doll.

It's not until you dead ass find out where he works part time and you're filling out your own application before you realize that maybe you're going a bit too far. when he ends up being there during your interview though, you're a bit too blinded by wanting to know more about him to think too hard about it.

and so, the two of you are working together, going to classes together, attending parties together...except separate. and it's driving you up a fucking wall because surely it's because he has a girlfriend right? but you never see her. you can't find any trace of someone he's with on social media. never on campus, at work, no where. so, lets say you guys end up at a party again and you really do lose it.

lots of alcohol in your system, sunghoon looming in a corner, side eyeing pretty girls who stare at him. you'd be the one staring the most, walking up to him while forgetting how to breathe, only realizing you might actually be in love with him when you try to reach for his shoulder with a brain so empty you forgot what you wanted to say. "Hm?" he'd hum at you with a raised, unbothered brow. His skin prickling at the way your shaking hand grabs at him. He calms himself through it though, having jerked off enough to the mere thought of these hands on him nightly since he met you. He knows how to calm down now. "I'm like, in love with you, maybe." You'd slur out, stupidly with an embarrassed but hopeful expression. Sunghoon's unbothered demeanor wouldn't change, but the setting would. He'd take your hand and guide you without a word, outside, into his car, and he wouldn't say a anything to you through it until he'd driven and parked somewhere entirely secluded. [He's sober btw, you make him drunk enough.] "Do you even know how much I want you?" He'd mumble so quietly you wouldn't be able to hear him over the thumping of your heart, but you stare at him, watching his lips move as he tries to speak. You watch him the whole time, feeling safe in this secluded spot with a man you've grown obsessed with. Your body reacts and moves on instinct as he sits there. You can't fucking stand being so close yet so far from him. "I don't know what you're saying to me." You'd mumble and slur out to him, far too drunk than you originally thought now that there is no loud and booming music to drown your thoughts out. "You never do." He frowns, leaning towards you and practically pinning you to your seat by energy alone. His entire body feels like it's on fire, cock twitching, heart jumping. "You want me?" You nod, breathing softly and deeply as you look at him. Of course you want him. "How bad?" He follows up. "As badly as I've wanted you?" You nod again. "You sure?" Another nod.

His eyes go vacant now as he stares at you, adjusting his body on top of yours in the cramped space of his car. You feel his nose nuzzle against your neck as he inhales deeply. He groans slightly at the scent, never able to smell you so fully except for in passing. This alone could satisfy him for life if he wanted it to. "Show me then." He nearly demands, wanting you to be the one to prove all of his work to get to this point is truly coming to fruition. Wanting you to make all of the first moves. Wanting you to do it all for him.

And, well...you do.

[not-goldy]

Jimin has to be so tired of always trying to hold it down and be the older one who keeps things from getting all out whack. When he's sober & clear headed and in his head space, he will ignore everything Jk says to him that flirts past friendship lol. Jokingly calls his compliment lame. Downplays JK being romantic with snarky replies. Yet you put some alcohol in that man and all that weight is gone. Then we have him laying on the floor spilling his guts and the boyfriend pops right out. "Honey" "baby" "boyfriend pic" "My Jungkook". Okay, tell us more Jimin. He really has so much weight & pressure he carries on his shoulders & probably overthinks so much, including dealing with hate. Wondering how his relationship with JK will affect BTS, his dad's business, everyone but thinking about himself really. This is where JK comes in and is loud for the both of them. So it was so nice to see Jimin just let his guard down, so much so he let us see he was down cause the trips were coming to an end. I started crying too, cause you know when Jimin lets his guard down, its major. Jimin doing this for JK, when he saw that JK needed him and went to him to make it up to him and Letter, is probably two of the boldest things we ever seen him do, besides enlisting with Jk. He really let his guard down and let us see his vulnerability. I feel so honored esp knowing how private Jimin's become.

Awwwww I love this so much

I love you for this Anon. Marry me. I'll cook and clean and pay the bills.

Thank you thank you very much.

That's a perfect description of Jimin or at least how I see him in their dynamic. Just perfect. I got sick and tired of reading these bizarre takes and perspectives of him I couldn't resonate with from solos it turned me off. Waaayyy off. Like shut up I don't even want you to talk to me about Jimin no more just shut the hell up.

But this. Tell me more. It resonates hard my goodness.

He is the Hyung you know and I have a problem with people who try to undermine this aspect of him by constantly making him out to be some weakling and victim of the duo.

And I got tired of having to explain this over and over but dude does carry himself as Jungkook's hyung, HE IS HIS FILTER. THE VOICE OF REASON. THE MATURE ONE OF THE TWO THE ONE THE MEMBERS GO TO OR LOOK UP TO TO KEEP JUNGKOOK IN CHECK.

However it is a double edged sword and a Thorned crown because now he gotta overthink everything he gotta worry about everything

Imagine feeling he had to make sure they both could maintain their relationship without having it ruin the dynamics of the group. He had to make sure he wasn't keeping Kook all to himself always, or letting Kook have him all to himself lest it breads resentment among other members.

Imagine he had to agree with the members out of consideration because he would rather have Kook than not at all.

Imagine him having to forgive their fights, not talk to people about the problems they be having, trying to resolve all conflicts at home before coming on to set. I keep saying this, JIMIN IS THE REASON THEIR RELATIONSHIP HAS THRIVED WITHIN THE GROUP THIS LONG AND HE IS THR REASON THE BAND HASNT CRUMPLED BECAUSE OF THE RELATIONSHIP.

Left to some members and the management there would be a no dating among members policy because lime every one readily points out if they are indeed an item then its a huge risk to the band and company. I mean please look at where Suga is now. Now imagine if two members of BTS were actually found out to be queer and dating💀

It's a disservice to victimize Jimin. He is an intelligent resilient powerful negotiator and anyone who tries to put in their heads their relationship won't work or that they will fight and argue woukd be met with a resounding "DOESN'T APPLY TO US"

You making me want to lick Jimin's ass stop Anon stop

[writeriguess]

instead talking about Bakugou a little older than the reader? he in comparison has had a lot of experiences compared to her, but she in fact feels insecure about this, and would like some reassurance, but at a certain point Bakugou has a fit of jealousy and at that point she makes him understand how much he loves her, it would be too cute🎀 (+smut) THANKS

You had always admired Bakugou Katsuki from afar. His fiery personality, his unrelenting drive, and his overwhelming confidence made him impossible to ignore. Now, being with him felt like a dream—but sometimes, that dream turned into insecurity. After all, he was older, more experienced, and you often found yourself wondering if you measured up.

You sat at the edge of the bed, fidgeting with your fingers. Bakugou was pacing the room, towel draped over his neck after a long, hard day. His messy blond hair was still damp from the shower, and the muscles in his back flexed with every movement. As you watched him, the words that had been bothering you for days finally tumbled out.

“Katsuki… you’ve been with more people, right?”

His movements froze mid-step, and he turned to look at you, brows furrowing in confusion. “Huh? Where’s this coming from?”

You lowered your gaze, unsure of how to voice the insecurities swirling inside you. “It’s just… you’ve done a lot. Been with people, had more experiences. And I’m just—well, I feel like I’m behind. What if I’m not enough for you?”

His eyes softened, but there was a fire flickering behind them. In a few quick strides, he was standing in front of you, towering over your smaller frame. He lifted your chin with two fingers, forcing you to meet his gaze.

“Are you kidding me?” Bakugou’s voice was low, almost a growl. “You think I care about any of that?”

You blinked, the knot of anxiety in your chest loosening just a little. “I mean, you’ve done so much already, and I’m just… I don’t know, Katsuki. I feel like you deserve someone who’s on your level.”

His scowl deepened, but this time it wasn’t directed at you. “Tch, you’re an idiot sometimes, y’know that? You think I’m with you for your ‘experience’?” He crouched down to your eye level, his intense crimson eyes burning into yours. “I’m with you because you’re you. Don’t need anyone else, don’t want anyone else. Got it?”

You felt your heart swell at his words, but before you could fully process the warmth, Bakugou’s expression darkened, and he stood back up.

“Wait… is that why you’ve been talkin’ to that extra from your class? The one always hangin’ around you?” His fists clenched, and you could practically see the jealousy bubbling up in him. His jaw tightened as if just the thought of it made his blood boil. “You think you need someone like him instead of me?”

Realization hit you like a ton of bricks. He wasn’t mad at you. He was jealous. Bakugou, for all his confidence and bravado, was actually worried about losing you.

“Katsuki, no,” you said, standing up and grabbing his arm. His muscles were tense, but you held on firmly. “He’s just a friend. No one comes close to you. No one could ever replace you.”

He turned his head away, still refusing to meet your eyes, but you could tell his resolve was cracking. You stepped closer, wrapping your arms around his waist and pressing your cheek to his chest. The steady thump of his heartbeat filled your ears.

“I love you, Katsuki,” you whispered against his skin. “You’re all I need. I’m sorry if I ever made you doubt that.”

Bakugou’s hands hesitated before they finally settled on your hips, pulling you closer to him. His grip tightened as if he was scared to let you go.

“I’m the one who’s supposed to say that,” he muttered, his voice softer now. “I love you, idiot.”

The vulnerability in his tone made your heart flutter. You tilted your head up, capturing his lips in a tender kiss. He responded immediately, his hands sliding up your back, his lips demanding yet gentle against yours. The kiss deepened, and you felt yourself being backed up against the bed, your legs hitting the edge.

“Katsuki…” you breathed out as he guided you down onto the mattress, his body hovering over yours.

His eyes darkened with desire, the jealousy from earlier replaced by an intense need to remind you just how much you meant to him. He kissed you again, this time with more urgency, his lips trailing down your neck, leaving a trail of heat in their wake. His hands roamed over your body, fingertips pressing into your skin as if he was trying to memorize every inch of you.

“You’re mine,” he murmured against your collarbone, his voice rough with need. “No one else gets to touch you. No one else gets to see you like this.”

His words sent a shiver down your spine, and you arched your back, pressing yourself closer to him. “I’m yours, Katsuki. Only yours.”

Bakugou’s lips crashed against yours again, his hands sliding under your shirt, fingers tracing the curves of your body. You gasped as his touch ignited a fire inside you, and before you knew it, your clothes were discarded, leaving you bare beneath him.

He paused for a moment, his gaze raking over your body as if he was trying to commit the sight to memory. “You’re perfect,” he whispered, his voice barely audible, but the sincerity in it made your heart skip a beat.

You reached up, cupping his face in your hands. “Katsuki… I love you.”

His eyes softened, and for a moment, you saw the vulnerable side of him that he rarely showed anyone. He leaned down, kissing you softly before whispering against your lips, “I love you too.”

Katsuki’s hands were anything but steady as he started fumbling with the buttons of your blouse. His fingers, usually so sure and precise, trembled slightly in a way that was endearing—like even he was nervous despite how confident he usually seemed. You could feel the heat radiating from his body, his eyes locked onto yours as his brows furrowed in frustration.

“Damn thing,” he muttered, his impatience getting the best of him.

You chuckled softly, reaching up to still his hands. “Here, let me help,” you whispered, your fingers gently brushing against his. His gaze softened for a moment, and he watched as you slowly undid the rest of the buttons yourself.

As the fabric parted, revealing more of your skin, Katsuki’s eyes darkened with an intensity that made your pulse quicken. He slid his hands over your now exposed skin, his touch sending sparks of warmth through your body. You shivered, not from the cold but from the electric connection that pulsed between you.

“Katsuki,” you breathed his name, drawing him closer as your blouse slipped off your shoulders, landing softly on the floor. His mouth found yours again, but this time, his kiss was slow, deliberate, like he was savoring every second. His hands moved to your waist, fingers digging into your skin just enough to remind you of the possessiveness he had over you.

“Don’t know why you worry so much,” he murmured against your lips before kissing down your jawline to your neck. “You’re all I ever want.”

His words melted your insecurities, and you tilted your head back to give him better access. Each kiss, each graze of his teeth against your skin, sent a wave of warmth coursing through you. Your fingers tangled in his messy blond hair, pulling him closer as his lips moved lower.

“You’re perfect, you hear me?” Katsuki’s voice was rough, breathless, his jealousy from earlier forgotten as his focus shifted entirely to you. “No one else could ever come close to making me feel like this.”

You couldn’t help but smile through the haze of warmth and desire that clouded your mind. “You always know what to say, Katsuki.”

His response was a low growl of approval, his lips grazing your collarbone as his hands roamed lower, exploring the newly exposed skin. Every touch, every kiss, reaffirmed what you already knew: you were all he wanted, just as he was all you needed.

Katsuki’s lips trailed down your chest, his hot breath fanning across your skin, leaving a tingling sensation wherever it touched. The tension in the room thickened, his hands now tracing over the curves of your waist, gripping your hips with a possessive yet tender touch. As his lips hovered just above the edge of your bra, he paused, glancing up at you with those intense crimson eyes.

“You’re driving me crazy,” he whispered, his voice hoarse, laced with need. He kissed the swell of your breast softly, almost as if he was holding himself back.

You let out a shaky breath, fingers still tangled in his hair. “Katsuki…”

Hearing his name on your lips like that seemed to spark something in him. His hands moved to the clasp of your bra, and this time, there was no fumbling. He made quick work of it, tossing the fabric aside before lowering his head, lips grazing the newly exposed skin. His kisses turned hotter, more desperate, as his tongue flicked over one of your nipples, making you gasp and arch into him.

“God, you’re perfect,” he murmured between kisses, his hands roaming your body like he couldn’t get enough of you. Every touch set your skin on fire, each kiss pulling you further into the storm that was Bakugou Katsuki.

You could feel the tension building between you both, the room growing hotter with every second. You tugged at his shirt, pulling it off him in one swift motion, eager to feel his skin against yours. His muscles flexed under your touch, his body hard and warm as he pressed himself closer to you, almost as if he needed to feel every inch of you against him.

“Katsuki,” you breathed, your voice shaky with anticipation. “I need you…”

The words seemed to unravel something inside him. His lips crashed against yours again, and in a rush, his hands went to the waistband of your skirt. In one swift movement, he pulled it down, taking your panties with it, leaving you completely bare before him.

He paused for a moment, eyes raking over your body, as if he needed to take you in—every inch, every curve, burning the image of you into his mind.

“You’re so damn beautiful,” he said, voice low and husky, sending a shiver down your spine.

Before you could respond, he was on you again, his hands sliding down your thighs, parting them gently as he settled between them. The intensity in his eyes, the way his hands trembled ever so slightly despite his strong grip, only fueled your desire. You reached for him, tugging at the waistband of his pants, needing to feel him, needing to close the distance that still remained between you.

“Katsuki, please…” you whispered, your voice heavy with need.

That seemed to snap whatever control he had left. In a blur of motion, his pants were discarded, and he hovered over you, his skin warm against yours as he pressed his forehead to yours. His breath came in ragged gasps, and for a moment, the world narrowed to just the two of you—nothing else mattered.

“I love you,” he murmured, the words raw, almost vulnerable as he aligned himself with you.

Before you could respond, he thrust into you in one smooth motion, filling you completely. You gasped at the sensation, your back arching off the bed as pleasure overwhelmed your senses. Katsuki groaned, his head dropping to the crook of your neck as he held himself still for a moment, letting you adjust to the feeling of him inside you.

“You feel… so damn good,” he breathed, his voice strained with the effort it took to stay still.

You wrapped your arms around his back, nails digging into his skin as you whispered his name, urging him to move. And he did, slowly at first, his hips rolling against yours with a delicious rhythm that had you trembling beneath him. Each thrust sent waves of pleasure coursing through you, your mind going hazy as you lost yourself in him.

Katsuki’s pace quickened, the desperation in his movements mirroring your own. He pressed his lips to yours in a bruising kiss, swallowing your moans as his hips snapped against yours, the sound of skin against skin filling the room. His hands gripped your thighs, pulling you even closer, deeper, as if he wanted to merge with you entirely.

“I’m yours,” you gasped, your breath hitching as the coil of pleasure in your stomach tightened with every thrust. “Only yours, Katsuki…”

His response was a low growl, his grip tightening as he drove into you harder, faster. “That’s right,” he panted, his voice thick with emotion. “You’re mine… all mine.”

The intensity of his words, the sheer possessiveness in his voice, pushed you over the edge. With a cry, your body tightened around him, pleasure exploding through you in waves as your climax washed over you. Katsuki followed soon after, his body shuddering against yours as he found his own release, groaning your name as he buried himself deep inside you one last time.

For a moment, the world was silent, save for the sound of your heavy breathing, both of you clinging to each other as you came down from the high.

Katsuki collapsed beside you, pulling you into his arms, his chest rising and falling as he caught his breath. He pressed a soft kiss to your forehead, his fingers brushing through your hair as he held you close.

“I love you,” he whispered again, quieter this time, but just as sincere.

You smiled, snuggling into his warmth as you whispered back, “I love you too, Katsuki. Always.”

Requests are open. Send as many as you like.

[yellowsubiesdance]

gege created a huge difference between when gojo is cool and confident in a battle, and when he’s anything but, through the incredibly simple use of his blindfold

when he’s wearing his blindfold, everything is fine. he doesn’t even take it off when he’s dealing with the newly reborn sukuna. sure, he takes it off when he fights jogo, but that was to unleash his domain so he could demonstrate it for yuji. and with the exchange event battle, you have to assume that tearing down that barrier required a large amount of cursed energy, so he had it down for that. but the rest of the time, he’s wearing it. he’s got a cheeky grin on, he’s playful.

when it’s off, he’s serious. it’s him taking the gloves off. in 0, he only uncovers one eye for his fight with miguel. he’s focused on two things at once, he can’t put his whole attention on that fight, he’s also worries about his students.

when it comes off in shibuya, he’s deadly serious. he’s no longer playing around.

the other thing too is the blindfold can mostly mask how he’s feeling. sure, you can see his mouth movements, but you don’t fully know where he’s looking or what he’s focused on. hut when it’s off, you can see every emotion play across his face. you can see his anger, his panic, his fear, his guilt, everything. it’s obviously so simple, him taking off the mask, but it’s so effective in changing our perception of him

[mephoj]

taco and mephone have fascinating parallels more people could explore if taco haters weren't biased cowards

[wonder-worker]

I've been thinking about the tragedy of Elizabeth Woodville living to see the end of her family name.

I don't mean her family with her husband, which lived on through her daughter and grandson. I mean her own.

Her sisters died, one by one, many of them after 1485. When Elizabeth died, only Katherine was left, and she would die before the turn of the century as well.

All her brothers died, too. Lewis died in childhood. John was executed. Anthony was murdered. Lionel died suddenly in the peak of Richard's reign, unable to see his niece become queen. Edward perished at war. Richard died in grieving peace. For all the violence and judgement the family endured, it was "an accident of biology" that ended their line: none of the brothers left heirs, and the Woodville name was extinguished. We know the family was aware of this. We know they mourned it, too:

“Buy a bell to be a tenor at Grafton to the bells now there, for a remembrance of the last of my blood.”

Elizabeth lived through the deposition and death of her young sons, and lived to see the end of her own family name. It must have been such a haunting loss, on both sides.

[yeyinde]

appetite | Alpha!Simon Riley

it's been decades since Alpha!Ghost had a rut. something that's probably for the best, really. his want is as hideous as he is. as ugly as his goddamn mug. it's best kept tucked away, secured under lock and key.

but then he finds you. and you're all alone. unclaimed, on the verge of heat. poor thing. it triggers a voracious rut. decades worth of want spilling out over you. you're it, he knows. feels the certainty in that statement simmering in his hindbrain, in his essence. he'll have you—now, forever. non-negotiable. where you go, he will follow.

but you run from him. stupid girl. didn't anyone teach you not to run from a starving wolf?

dubcon. size kink. size difference. a/b/o dynamics: knotting, rut. breeding kink. spit kink. implied virgin!reader. obsessive behaviour. possessive!Ghost. semi-public sex. reluctant reader bullied into submission lmao. forced bonds. implied kidnapping. basically, you're hunted down and fucked by Alpha!Simon who growls in your ear about how he's waited his whole life for you. and lucky him. he finally found you

AO3

It's been years, decades, since he had a rut. 

(Broken Alpha. Ruined.)

Trauma, they tell him, will do that. Sever the drive in the back of his head, the one that rears—vicious and angry—each mating season, bringing with it the urge to breed. To claim. Own. 

A form of self-preservation. It pitches a plexiglass of protection between him and his instincts, not letting them merge. Join. Done so because to be in rut, to want, to need, is vulnerability. It costs hypervigilance. Turns man into beast. Animal. 

This bodily reaction makes an alpha extend themselves, like an overarching limb, to shield the omega they pick as a mate. Bearing their own neck to save another. 

Naturally, they say, if he couldn't help himself, how could he ever hope to protect a fragile little omega? 

They tell him it could be as permanent or temporary as he allows. Healing, they say. Time. Laughable, really. And utter nonsense because Ghost is fine. 

Trauma tampered. Revenge sought, found. There's no one out there who could ever harm him, and still—

His last rut was before the mission that buried him alive. That turned him into the living dead. A mockery of man. Frankensteinian beast. 

It's not something he cares much for, anyway. From what he remembers of his youth—vague snippets of memories, disjointed, blurred sensation; a profound need, an urge, to sink his cock into something, to plug them up, to bite—ruts have always been a nuisance. In the way. An annoyance that took time away from what he'd rather be doing. 

And as Johnny enters his—skin pallid, waxy; cheeks flushed, eyes darkening like a brewing storm on the horizon; snapping at anything that breathes, whining like a dog, miserable and hot, all the time (ahm’a bleedin’ furnace, s’what ah’m)—he finds he doesn't care very much to go reclaim what he lost. 

No skin off his nose. Nothing to concern himself with. 

Besides. Omegas know better. 

Even before he lost himself, dying, rotting in a tumulus, pretty little omegas with their soft hands and bashful smiles always went out of their way to avoid him. Miserable alpha. His scent alone wards them off—burnt leather, charred bones; sarcophagus dust, dirt—and he found himself alone during his burgeoning ruts more often than not. 

No pretty little thing to tender the sweat on his brow, or bend over and present for him—offering up a sweet little cunt he got to bury himself inside, tie up nice and tight on his knot. 

It was usually his hand. A bottle of bourbon. A printed porn stash he swiped from Tommy, who nicked it off their old man—

And when he did find a partner, it was always transactional. Hand to hand, an exchange of money. All clinical and detached. Empty. Fucking into a concept instead of a person; a vacuum eating away at his soul because he knew, then, that they wanted to be there almost as much as he did. 

But what choice did either have when their home was the rotted gullet of a dying beast?

(Simon told them to stay away from shitty men like him, who broke bones in the throes of his heat, snapped his jowls at anything that got too close, and had to be chained to the bed like an animal during it—)

Nothing to miss. Nothing to mourn. 

And it's not like he doesn't get the urge. Wanting to sink his cock into something warm, wet, is as recurring as a sweet tooth. A prickle in the back of his head after he devours his dinner that says, dessert might be nice. 

He can fuck, but his knot never pops. A worry the doctors had—unsure what the consequences would be in the long run for such a virile, young Alpha already experiencing nature's version of erectile dysfunction so early in life. 

(“pity the poor omega who has to deal with that rut,” they whispered. “might not be much of anything left of them when he's through.”)

Inconsequential now because he's pushing forty and his last rut was a false trigger. One dragged out of him by drugs and torture. The last true rut, natural and instinctual, was when he was eighteen. 

It's doubtful he'd suddenly be cured at his age. 

This is what he tells Johnny when he asks, pries. Broken fuck, ain't he? Unmated. Can't knot. Piss poor excuse of an Alpha. Doesn't he think it's—

“a shame,” Johnny grouses, words muffled slightly by the way he's hunched over the cheap plastic table in the canteen. His fingers dig harshly into his temple. “Alpha like you—” it's enunciated in clipped Queen's English, the barb makes Ghost scoff. “—ack! a waste. ma mam would be livid. no grandbabies t’show off? sacrilegious.”

—funny. If he's being honest. Laughable:

because for as long as Ghost can remember, he's always had a predilection to ruin his favourite toys. slaking his unquenchable lust on their tender skin, biting down to the bone, sipping on their marrow—

not really the sort of thing omegas today go for, is it? 

his want is as hideous as he is. as ugly as his goddamn mug—

Instead, he shrugs. “hardly.” 

“yer no’ missin’ it?” 

“missin’ what, Johnny?”

“knottin’, ye surly prick.” He jeers, then, jabs his elbow into Simon's arm. “a bonnie omega to stick yer prick in. ain't missin’ th’, no?”

“no,” Simon gripes. The last thing Price needs is another order of protection against his Lieutenant. But to humour the alpha in an early stage of rut, he jabs out, hollow and full of wretched derision. “i can barely remember what it felt like. must be heaven, though. is that your plans for tonight, Johnny? gonna go and knot some sorry omega?”

It's meant to prod, poke. Sharp barbs aimed at Johnny's threadbare control, the same one held in place by a fraying, unspooling knot. Alphas in the early stage of rut are considered safe enough to be around. Not yet mindless drones, hosts to an ugly little parasite; a being forced to obey a single, instinctual drive to mate, to gorge themselves into a post-rut stupor. 

Safe. Or so they say. 

But Ghost knows what Johnny's feeling in the same sense as a phantom limb. A broken, fragmented memory. So, he twists his mockery in deep. All in jest, of course. 

And Johnny pales suddenly. Wavers in his seat. The affirmative comes after a bout of contemplative silence. A jagged, choked yeah slips from his Sergeant’s mouth as he drops his head to the table, and groans. Miserable. 

“go fuck yerself, Lt.”

Simon intends on taking Johnny up on that offer, lazying out on the futon with his hand stroking lazily along his flaccid cock, thumbing through the latest series of snapshots Johnny—ever the photographer—snapped up during his previous rut. Images of pretty omegas dressed up in fine silk, blood-red lingerie, and coy little grins on their faces, a vixen pastiche of demureness. Jejune appeal in all its coquettishness.

Innocent sluts—Johnny's preferred type. Ones who'll bat their eyes at him, nervous and full of faux modesty, while they rock back and forth on his face, tugging on his mohawk to make him lick their cunts just the way they like. Sweet, like candy. Dressed in sin. 

He likes to take before and after photos of them—often with the pretty models unaware (adds to it, aye, Lt?). Ones with them batting their eyes at him, soft and shy in all their twee delight, and then fucked out, ruined and chewed up like a broken toy when he finishes with them. Bitten off more than they can swallow. Cheeky brats sobbing for mercy on his bed. 

Likes, even more, to send them to Ghost. A little tease. One he has no compunction about partaking in. Enjoying to his heart's content. 

Or—

Intended to, of course. Because what ends up happening is this:

Price calls just as he's getting into the new series sent to his phone—the tear streaks streaming down this omega’s face are particularly appealing, bound in intricate Celtic knots (Johnny, the artist), and gagged with their own panties—and tells him he has a job for him. 

Something simple. Discreet. And local, too. Bears have been sighted in town—a mama and her cubs. Dangerously close. 

The prelude to the phone call is a clipped take care’a it before the line goes dead. 

Ghost doesn't need to pack much—he can't remember the last time he unpacked his duffle bag, anyway—and stays in the recliner until the mission file comes in, idly stroking his thumb across the pixelated, tear-streaked face of the omega in Johnny's clutch. Moussed. Messy. They make the prettiest picture, don't they? Drool dripping down their chin, a spillover from what the lacy, white panties couldn't catch. 

Flesh peppered with jagged circles, bite marks. Johnny knows better than to claim them, and their neck is bereft of his teeth. Smooth. Unblemished. 

To claim is to bond. To bond—

Well. 

His earliest recollection of a relationship is his parents’. His mum, tied and trapped to a man she wanted no part of, but stuck. Unbondings, divorce, were rare during that time. Unheard of. Even now. 

And under his old man's influence, he's always seen claiming as ownership. As possession. A lingering remnant he’s told is wrong, but can't shake. Can't change. It glues in the fibrils of his mind. A rotten, pulsing scab that no amount of sanctioned reconditioning can ever seem to get rid of, to scrape out of his skull. 

(one he knows would be there no matter what because his sole purpose is exsanguination; bloodletting— 

in his warped desire to protect the things he cares about, he ends up smothering them in the end. a child holding a firefly too tight in its chubby fist.)

But Johnny knows better. Good Catholic boy. Knows to keep a muzzle on himself when he sucks desperate kisses into the small omegas' sweet neck, breaking apart the blood vessels of their scent glands, soaking himself in their musk—potent pheromones of a needy omega in heat. Aching for a bite. To be held down and conquered. 

It's wrong, they say. This ugly mass sits inside his chest like a foreign body. Scandalised eyes drilling into the side of his head like he's a monster for thinking this way. 

And he is. 

(always has been)

But he knows better. Knows to keep those uglier, rotten parts of himself hidden away from prying eyes. Got good at it, too. Enough that they let him into the brothels time and time again. 

Still—

He can remember the closest he'd come during a rut to biting a shrill omega who screamed in his ear until his head rang, ached. Nearly did it, too. Teeth razoring over their jugular, pinching delicate skin. 

Clarity came like a gunshot when he tasted blood. Chiselled a hole through his delirium, broke up the haze, and snapped his jaws up tight, locking them as he finished with a muffled growl, tongue swirling over his teeth for another taste. Another drop. 

His ruts have always been messy. Bloody. Got him banned from several centres, brothels, where they offered up betas drenched in the artificial musk of an omega in estrus. Ones resilient enough to withstand the harsh coupling of an unhinged Alpha in need. 

He had a problem, they said, with treating their workers like chew toys. Biting to break skin, drilling in deep enough to scratch his teeth on their bones. 

Deranged, they hissed. Fuckin’ mental, mate. Stay the hell away!

Some are just prone to violence. Need to be half-sedated before they can mate without ripping their partner to pieces. Ghost has always been that sort. Aggressive. Hard to control. Rabid. 

His appetite is bigger than the expanse of their skin. He sometimes thinks he could eat the whole world and still starve. 

He hums, thumb sliding to cover the omega's neck. Trapped in his hand, his clutch. They're cute when they're ruined like this. Begging. Whimpering. 

His cock gives a half-hearted twitch. His work phone chimes, signaling the end of his leisure. 

shame, he thinks, squeezing his hand until the metal dents, the screen cracks, splinters. Pops. Hairline fractures split across their distorted, tear-stained face. He closes his fist over it until it breaks. Goes black. 

really. such a goddamn shame. 

Some things are just not meant to be—

—but they have a habit of falling into his maw, anyway.

It's a simple set up. 

Man—

beast, monster, thing

—with his empty, growling stomach and teeth made to bite, tear, goes out hunting for a meal. In that search, he finds you. 

You, Persephone personified: damned (eternal), standing beneath a spruce tree. Limned, halo gold, in the waning sunset's bashful kisses, you lean on the rough bark, idling your timelessness away. 

Postcard beauty. Pinup demure. Alluring. 

(creature of sin

and oh, do you reek:

The air is saturated in the tantalising scent of honeybush, roasted hazelnuts, and clove. Saccharine—almost nauseatingly so—but with a hint of spice, black cardamom, cinnamon. He drags in lungful after lungful until it tangles deep within his chest, nearly suffocating. Smothered in this earthy sweetness. Drowning. Drowning—

the perfect dessert)

It unleashes something in him. Chips at the lock buried deep in his mind, cudgelling through the hinges until they pop. Rusted, slick with oxidising oil. It peels back from the gate, unveiling this gaping, ravenous chasm, polluted and gangrenous, rotten down to the marrow. Noisome. Noxious. This frothing pit sloshes, geyser-like, and greedily foams at the maw, the mouth, aching for a taste. Something to quench this gnawing hunger. 

This bottomless abyss hadn't seen light since he was eighteen, and—

The hollow space where his rib once sat throbs, aches. phantom bone. He holds his chest with his hand, feeling for the gap, the chasm, stolen from him. Ripped away, taken.

By you. you—

—so,

it's only fair that he steals something back. 

(quid pro quo, or something, right?)

You greet him with a small nod when he wanders close, eyeing him warily under the black rim of your ballcap. Tense. Small hands curl into fists, partially hidden under the rain-soaked windbreaker nearly two sizes too big. It smells like you—honeyed milk, molasses; lilac, lavender and warm bread—and he fights the urge to pull his mask down, to shove his misshapen nose into your neck, and breathe it in right from the source. Drinking, feasting, on it. 

This want is visceral. It coils in his guts, bubbling in his veins. His musk—heavier than yours, pungent—beads along his scent glands, mushrooming into the air like a fine mist. 

Your nostrils flare. He takes a step closer, eyes skewering into you, taking in everything you have to offer. The rucksack left at the bottom of the tree, stained with dirt and leaves. A sprig of Saskatoon berries peeks out from the lopsided flap. And—

Ah. 

Foraging is off-limits in this area unless granted a permit. One you don't seem to have based on the skittish way you keep avoiding his eye.

His scent thickens, tainted sour with faux suspicion, and you wince, ducking your chin, tucking it close to your chest, hiding from his spearing gaze. 

All it does is give him a voyeuristic view of your fragile nape, your vulnerable neck. 

His teeth ache. Jaw clenched up tight. 

It looks so bare. So naked. 

(Be a shame to keep it that way forever, wouldn't it?)

“Hi,” you stammer, seemingly oblivious to the musk you leak into the air, into his lungs. Forcing some sense of staid indifference into your tone. Like being here, out in the middle of the forest is normal. “Did you need something?” 

On the verge of a heat like this, wobbling where you stand—

He wants to chew you up. Spit out the pieces on the pavement. Drink from the gash he'll rip into your jugular,

quench this unbearable thirst. 

He doesn't know how you made it out here as long as you have, smelling like you do, and the thought burrows through the haze spuming, clotting, on the fringes of his muted periphery. Anger is an icy deluge of white water raging through his veins. 

Under the mask, the remnants of his scarred lip curls. His hands close into tight fists. Balled up. He feels the tension crackling along his muscles, his body. Coiled spring. Ready to leap—

But:

There's clarity. Focus. Where he was meant to become a mindless monster, driven by instinct, he instead feels the pieces of himself snap back into place. Missing puzzle pieces. It shifts. Settles. Locks. 

He wants you. Will have you. It's non-negotiable. Ironclad. You just—

Belong to him, don't you? Pretty little thief. And wandering around like this, reeking like you do, you must want him, too. Need him. 

(protect, protect, protect—)

Honed in, drilling into your face to catch every expression that flickers past, he sees the moment you take a sniff, when realisation blooms in the inkpools of your gaze that you are less than an arm's length away from a starving predator. Supple, soft. All plush flesh seated seamlessly against brittle bone. Fragile. 

“hi,” he echoes, and it sounds hollow. Garbled. Like he's speaking underwater. Thinks, for a moment, that he's buried again. Drowning under the crushing weight of dirt. His own tumulus. Suffocating. Choking on dirt—

But you twitch. Feral little thing. It breaks him out of this nightmarish obtundation; shaking the cobwebs loose. He tracks it like a viper. Attention narrowing, shrinking, into nothing but the way you move. Smell. You anchor him in his place, keeping him stable amid this horrific onslaught of emotions that rip talons down his chest. 

“I–” you breathe in again, lashes fluttering. Strains of silk batting over your etiolated cheeks. You breathe him in. Deep. He sees your chest grow, expanding with his air. His musk. Has to bite down on a growl before it forms, the lash of a whip in his throat. Aching. 

There's something spellbinding about you—caked in a layer of grime, briny sweat clogging your natural scent; wild and untamed. Uncharted wilderness, untouched by man and their dirty hands. A corrie after a rain shower. Snow melt. He wants to bathe in it. Carry it with him wherever he goes. 

As if scenting this thickening desire, your eyes widen. You take a step back, swallowing audibly when he follows. Marionette on strings. Your shadow. 

“I should go—”

And he knows he can't let you do that. 

Won't. 

He hums, a fickle, brittle thing in the far reaches of his chest. 

“Go?” he flicks his hand toward your bag, head cocking to the side in a mockery of contemplation. “Don' think you got a permit for that, do you?”

“A permit…”

He has you. Your eyes lower, falling to the badge on his chest. Game Warden. You stare at it, eyes widening. Swallowing thick. 

With you distracted, he leans in. Curves his body over you mockingly, like he's bending down to whisper a secret in your ear. Cupping a pretty little firefly in the palm of his hand. 

When his shadow falls over you—dark and damning—you flinch back, fists trembling under the hem of your jacket. Brows furrowed, knotted tight. Your lower lip wobbles. You try to hide that, too, by sinking your teeth into your flesh until it floods white under the strain. 

He wants to pry it apart with his own teeth. Take the bruised flesh into his mouth until you start to drool, whining from the abuse he inflicts on you in a mockery of a kiss. 

(wants to tear through it, taste your blood on his tongue—)

“An’ I don't reckon tha's a good idea, pet.” 

You shiver when he places his hand on the truck above your head. Boxing you in completely, nothing to spare—not even an inch. 

He hums at that, cock giving a vicious jerk inside his trousers at the almost impossible dearth between your sizes, at the way he swallows you up in an instant. Has to take a deep breath to steady himself, to keep the inkblack tendrils swirling, gathering, at the edges of his periphery from bleeding in. This starving murder of crows. 

When he speaks again, it's low. Deep. Kittenish licks from the tongue of a tiger; abrasive, rough. Mocking baritone of a shifting canyon, a mountainside, before it buries anyone alive under rubble. 

“Not reekin’ the way you do. Might ‘ave every alpha in a one square mile radius frothin’ at jaws for a taste. Ain't safe out there.”

And it's definitely not safe with him. 

He watches, transfixed, the moment this clicks. When your eyes waver between the hard bulk of his body—spread out, laxed; plumage unfurled—and the noisy clatter of the town just within reach. It's this thicket that cups your scent, that protectively curls over you, and keeps the Alpha's prowling about the market square from sniffing you out. A beaten trail. Hidden desire path no one was supposed to wander down. 

Except the bear problem in the woods, infringing on town, and him, the gun bolstered on his thigh still hot from his warning shots into the bush.

(lost little Lamb—

wandered too far from the herd.)

You take another step, cautious. Small. It brings you flush against the tree. Your polyester jacket whines at the friction. He can see indecision play out on your face. Oscillating between the badge on his uniform shirt, the gun on his massive thigh, and the clamour of muted noise from the town just within reach. Alphas prowling. Their acrid scent is unmistakable even through the dense foliage spreading around you.

It's an impasse. Neither option affords you much choice in the long run—it's either stay here with him, with the heady scent of want, of an Alpha on the incipient cusp of a voracious rut; or risk yourself in town. There are police officers patrolling. Ones who can sedate an alpha who gets too out of hand, but still. 

The mimesis of desire pooling around you might send you into heat sickness. That, or you'll get in even more trouble for fleeing a pursuing officer. Resisting arrest. Jail time, certainly. 

The pendulum wavers. Your knotted fists wobble. 

Then—

Your eyes leave his chest, the gun, trailing over his shoulder. Widening in surprise at whatever is there in the distance. 

He ought to commend you, really. The rouse is quite believable—

But: 

“Not bad,” he murmurs, leaning down further. If you won't jump, he'll push you—

He sees his mistake as soon as it happens. 

As he bends, you drop. Waiting until his attention seemingly drifts elsewhere, to when he's distracted and off balance. Lured in by your faux attempt at distraction. 

And it might have worked on a lesser being, but all Ghost has ever been is raw, unadulterated instinct.

He lashes out as soon as you move again, palm curling over your wrist in an instant. Snapping jowls of a defensive snake. Shackled. Locked. He tugs—

But the movement costs momentum. You use this against him, going limp. Forcing him to take the brunt of your weight on the spread of his fingers. Tricky little minx. His mouth breaks out in a feral smirk, tugging harshly on scars, on burns. Stretching skin. Distorting it under the mask, ugly and vicious. 

Your scent plumes up around him, sickly sweet. His jaw aches, gums itch. He wants to bite, snap his jowls around the scruff of your neck, chew on your skin until you sob out his name—

In seconds, you twist. Swinging your body back in a beautiful pivot, clumsy as it is. You're all animal now. Reckless in your pursuit to escape. Throwing out pheromones at him—purposeful, he realises a moment too late. 

And it works. Distracts him long enough for his grip to slacken. Your arm slips out of his grasp, and you're on your feet in an instant, darting through the thicket in a maddened dash to escape the heavy, starving alpha and his burgeoning hunger. 

Escape, or—

Weighed down by the afterbirth of his sudden rut, a prickle of his old self buoys, brims, from beneath the mess. He shouldn't chase you. Should leave you alone, call someone—Price, perhaps. Bark out between a clenched jaw that he needs a tranquiliser and chains. Will have to break Simon's teeth to stop him from biting into you like a man starved, famished. Tie him to the back of his pickup truck, drag him to the edges of the forest. Knock him out. Knock his teeth in. 

Anything.

Because they said this might happen. The doctors’ who poked and prodded. Therapists—all mandatory, non-negotiable, when he signed his name on the dotted line—murmured about unravelling. His self-control snapping like a twig. Sense of self retreating. All hiding away, protecting itself from the torrent of chemicals flooding his hindbrain. A heavy, unrelenting accumulation of a decades-long bout of rut celibacy all washing over him, all at once. 

Said to lock himself up if it happens. Chains. Shackles. Nuts and bolts. Heavy tranquiliser. Immediate sedation. 

And in Price’s office, in that messy filing cabinet he keeps, is a folder. A playthrough of everything that's supposed to happen if this happens. 

(“but that won't happen, will it, Simon?” 

and he'd rolled one massive shoulder in an easy, effortless shrug. 

“no.”)

The failsafe is that he's meant to call in if it does. Precious seconds of clarity, cognisance, enough time for him to dial the number, to bark out the order. To be hunted down, rounded up, and thrown in a pit. 

where he belongs. 

He should. Should. It's the book. Rules. Coloured in red ink. No option to negotiate. 

But as you slip through the dense foliage, angelic gold against the phthalo green bosky, the knot in his shoulders abates. Uncoils. In this sense of ease that permeates within him, he finds that he's shockingly cognisant. In full control. The plexiglass shatters, and in the ruins he finds purpose. 

You smell good. Too good. Any alpha will scent you in an instant, will claim you. Take you. It makes something in his broken, moulted head shift. Crack. He can't let that happen. Has to protect you the only way he knows how—

To wrap his paws around your throat before any other Alpha has the chance to sink their teeth into you. To claim you. 

All his. Little Persephone tucked tight against his ribs where you belong. 

And if the way the air clots with your cloying smell—heady, potent; the unmistakable ripeness of an omega in heat—then you must want him to chase you. Want him to follow. 

(escape, or—

a game.)

He tracks your movements, honed in on the rustle of the underbrush. When you're out of sight, Ghost flexes his hand, curling his gloved fingers over the leather on his palm. There's an itch in the back of his head. Festering. Rotting. He wants to reach in, rake his claws down the mass, shred it to pieces, but it affixes one simple truth inside of him: 

you need him. want him. why else would you run in the opposite direction of help if you didn't want him to give chase?

And so, he does.

You're a crafty little thing. To throw him off of your trail, you leave scent markers on the tree trunks you pass, doubling back to run in the opposite direction. 

It might have worked on someone else, but Ghost has spent half of his life buried in this thicket, and knows better than to follow smells in the forest. A vacuum, a great chasm; it plays tricks with sounds. Distorts scents wafting through the canopy, mingling with the natural loam, the disturbed humus underfoot. 

Instead, he hums at your cleverness—his smart little omega—and shifts his gaze to the forest floor, roaming over the footprints sinking into the soft soil, the peat and moss. A breadcrumb trail leading right to you. Broken twigs, crushed bushes. 

Ghost follows it. Places each foot down carefully, nose angled upward to catch the fresh wave of your heat leaking through the tangled furze. It beckons him forward. Calls out to him. 

(come, come, come—)

This lost little lamb needs a shepherd. 

He intends to give you just that. 

(—find me)

The path you cut through the forest is a twisting sawtooth meant to throw him off your trail. Traps laid out in tall tussocks, weaved through sweetgrass all drenched in your scent. Pieces of your clothing torn at the hem, the shorn fabric pressed on pine needles and tangles furze. 

These breadcrumb trails—a neat nest of wile, it seems—are cunning, he'll give you that. 

Even with his eyes to the forest floor, he finds himself throwing a wayward glance in the opposite direction, snagged in your webbed subterfuge. Somewhere between the visitors centre and the first trail meandering into the thick taiga, you seemed to have realised that your boots leave indents in the mor. He follows the deep impressions in the podsol until he finds them shoved under a Saskatoon berry bush. Another dead end. 

Clever little thing, aren't you?

But even when strays from the path, he's right on your tail. Confident in his scenting abilities. His prowess has always been tracking down wily little rabbits when they try to flee, picking them off in stasis from high above. The layout might have changed—his perch closer to the ground instead of a deer stand—but his eyes are just as keen. Your winding trail is ingrained in his mind. A long loop through the eastern trailhead, and he knows, instantly, that you'll try to throw him off at the placard where the west trail branches off through the dense conifers, and the east meanders downslope to the hidden stream where hunters like to trawl. 

He feels a pinch of pride simmering low in his guts. Anyone else would have lost you three pitfalls back. He's enraptured by this pursuit. Smitten by you. Your clumsy little escape. Your sweet little ploys. He wants to chew into you, let his teeth leave jagged scars, false starts, on your bones. Permanent. Starlight—dusting meteor showers in milk white. 

Ghost’s belly gives a tremendous growl. He huffs at the ache clawing against tissue, ravenous and unbearably empty. 

He'll have you soon. All to himself. 

The thought makes fresh blooms of pleasure spume from the rot in his chest, prickling through the layers of muskeg and peat, etiolated little sprout. Germinating in wet gangrene. Feasting on necrotised flesh. 

He swipes his hand over a honeybush, catches the lingering scent clinging to the leaves. You must have fallen here. Tangled yourself in the furze, overcome by your heat. 

Poor thing. Tired already. 

He holds his hand up to the fading gossamer of twilight trickling through the dense canopy, clenching the lingering remnants of your scent in his fist. It's fresh. He wants to tuck it in his pocket, carry it around with him. 

He finds you in a small clearing, bent down with your palm resting on the trunk of a tree. Nails digging into the rotting bark, desperately struggling to catch your breath. Your heat is a wildfire. It scorches the earth. Burns his nose. 

You're no longer on the cusp of it anymore, but in the throes. 

His rut, he finds, isn't too far behind. 

Perfect synergy. Meant to be. You call to him, and the gaping, gnarled chasm inside of him answers with a growl—

Before you can blink, he moves.

He falls over you, felled timber. The earth shakes under his indomitable weight. Palms slam into the rough bark of the gnarled spruce you've taken respite against, boxing you in. 

You fall against it with a gasp, hands pushing against his broad chest as he backs you into the tree. Little fists pounding on his sternum, mouth pinched, twisted in a snarl. There are pieces of bush caught on your clothes, tangled in your hair. Leaves. Sticks. A spot of dirt on your nose. 

It's mesmerising. 

The ballcap falls first. Morning sunlight over a boscage in bloom. Pitfalls, ravines. The canyons of your eyes quiver; this new topography shifting, sliding. Tectonic beauty in muted midnight. 

He wants to reach in, feel these granite walls of yours with his bare hands. Clamber up the colluvium, the scree, until he reaches these rugged peaks gleaming at him, angry and feral, in fading twilight. 

Time is endless. There's no limit to how long he has to know you—drink from your rivers, feast on your valleys; find all the hidden nooks, the crannies, shaded under the towering monoliths of your body. Chart your couloir. Defile your flume. Bathe in your estuary. Tangle himself inside your dells. Tame your chaparral. 

Fastidiously. Expertly. Until no part of you is unknown to him. 

Your chest heaves, mouth open as he crowds you further. Pressing into you. Over you. 

He wedges his broad thigh between your legs, presses it tight against your pussy. Your thrashing stills when he touches you, when he angles his knee up, up—

There. Through the layers of clothing that separates his bare skin from your cunt, he feels the heat bleeding out against him. The wetness from your sodden panties. Undeniable proof of how much you want him. Need him. 

 “All wet f’me?”

“Fuck you—!” You spit, angry and feral, but you arch into his touch, pushing your pussy onto his thigh. Aching for friction. 

It makes him hum. A low growl caught in the back of his throat. 

“Reckon I'll be the one fuckin’ you, pet.” 

And he will be. This is fact. 

You shudder, brows notching together in a vicious glare. “I don't want you.” 

It's hissed between the sliver of your clenched teeth. Full of heavy conviction. Forging truth out of lies—

And that's all it is. A lie. A fallacy. 

(and even if it wasn't, unlikely considering the way you arch into him, needy despite the disdain dripping down your brow—he really just can't find it in himself to give a fuck; he'll make you want him—)

Ghost leans down, muzzle pressed against your neck. He inhales deep, audible. Chest expanding, lungs swelling. Full of the aroma bleeding out of your pores. Proof of just how much you do, in fact, want him. Betrayed by your own body. 

He huffs out, paints the air with his derision. “Is that so?” 

Ghost drags his hand down the solid line of the tree, dropping it to rest against the jut of your hip. He ducks his head, watching. Staring at the way his palm nearly swallows you up when he rests it over your waist. Spanning nearly the entirety of it—hip to hip. 

It bludgeons into him. Knocks the air clean from his lungs. 

He's always had a hunger for things he can cup in his palm. The barrel of his rifle. The hilt of a knife. Your wrist in his hand. The curve of your hip. 

His gloved fingers slip under the hem of your shirt. Pads ghosting over your skin. Warmth bleeds through the leather, an unmistakable tell of your heat reaching its first equinox. It'll be all fire, all smoke, from this point onward. Desperate. Feral. 

Groaning deep, wanting, he pushes into you further. Chest rumbling. Eager. 

It takes a great deal of effort to pull his hand away. To bring it up to his mouth, fingers hooking over the edge. 

The fight in you abates—marginally—and you watch him with a keen look of suspicion dancing in the moulted dirt spread over your nullah. Wary. Anticipatory. 

He fights the urge to laugh—deep and delirious—and instead works on prying his mask down over his crooked nose, his mangled mouth. Letting the hem snap under his chin, kept there. Bearing himself to you for the first time. Naked. Exposed. 

Your eyes widen, trailing down the jagged lines, mauled ridges of scar tissue. Drinking in everything he offers in the fading embers of a summer twilight. 

He grins—a rivened, ugly thing—when you let out a heavy, quick breath, and your hips drop, rutting your sopping cunt over the wide heft of his thigh. Gyrating subconsciously. Quietly pleased by the way he looks—as maimed, as beastly as he is. He lets you. Lifts his knee, pressing his cap tight into the bark, and bumping the top of his flexing quadriceps at the apex of your groin, right where he knows your clit sits. 

The breath you take is pulled in through clenched teeth, biting on the rind of a moan. Its shapeless silhouette ducks, hides from sight. 

He lets you have it. Lets you run. 

But it's not without recompense. 

With his upper lip curled, he sinks his teeth into the leather tip of the glove above his middle finger. Letting you see them for yourself—these thrawn teeth he'll bury into your neck. Claiming you entirely as his. 

Your pupils start to eclipse your irises. Lagoons of liquid black blotting over rugged peaks. 

Ghost slowly tips his head back, dragging the glove with him. Eyes setting along his lashline, he drinks in the sight of you swallowing thickly, your gaze darting between his teeth, his mouth, and now—his bared neck. Voracious, greedy, in the way you feast on him. Drilling into the stretch of skin slowly unveiling itself to you. 

The muscles in his neck flex against rimy skin. Adam's apple bobbing with his slow swallow. 

You follow it all, but your gaze seems to fix itself on the brawny arch of his neck, falling—and then glueing— to the thick vein protruding from his flesh, pulsing with the steady rhythm of his heart, and the small, swollen bump of his scent gland beneath it. 

Hunger, he finds, paints such a pretty picture on your face. The greedy, anfractuous glances a bludgeon into him; so heavily affixed with desire that the shake of your head when he pulls the glove free, letting it dangle from between his teeth, and drops his hand back to your skin, is minute. Meaningless. 

You want him as much as he wants you. 

The clause in this, the axiom, is ironclad. Irrefutable. Bound in brass when you shiver at the touch—feverish skin on feverish skin—and arch into his palm for more. Panting through clenched teeth, each hiss striking against that fraying coil leashing his threadbare control. To distract himself from the unspooling knot, the ache in his gums, he charts the first inch of skin he passes with his thumb, committing the sloping plains of your body to memory. The jut of your hip, the stutter in your breath when he runs the rough pad of his forefinger over the slope of your underbelly. 

It's easy to marvel at the sheer enormity of his size compared to yours. Simon hitches his thigh firmly into your clothed cunt, nearly lifting you up off the ground. You teeter on the tips of your toes, falling forward into his chest to stabilise yourself. Little fists curling into the fabric of his jacket, knuckles tight against his the last rungs of his ribcage. Your head lifts, a glare chiselling into the soft fields of your face. 

You hiss something at him—feral and scathing. He drops the glove, leans down to meet you in the middle, and eats your feeble protests from your lips in a bruising kiss. Scorching. His teeth knock into yours. Tongue lashes out to catch the vitriol dripping from your fangs. You make a noise in the back of your throat, and he swallows that, too. Devours it all. 

It's a vicious kiss. All teeth, tongue. Bullying. He lets you sink your teeth into his tongue, huffing into the seam of your lips when you coo, victoriously, at the first drop of blood spilled. 

In retaliation, he sets his hands over your ribs, and lifts you up off the ground. Making you gasp. Mewl. Your legs kick out as the back of your head catches on loose bark, raining it down over your shoulders in flakes. He doesn't stop kissing you throughout. Eyes half-mast, still open, as he drinks in the sight of yours rolling back in your head when his thigh, one the width of both of yours—fuckin’ hell—catches the perfect angle on your clit. 

Loose-limbed, caught, you have no choice but to wrap your ankles around his waist, curl your arms around his broad shoulders. Clinging to him desperately to remain grounded, held aloft. 

His hand falls down, cups the back of your thigh, fingers spanning the entire curve of your cheek. Held tight in his palm. He bucks into you—quick, hard. Letting you feel the unmistakable bulge of his stiffening cock, leaking spend already in the tight confines of his trousers. This groin, inner thighs, already sticky with the mess dribbling out. 

You fall apart at this. Head tipping back, crown thudding against the truck of the tree. He has your lower lip between his teeth, and it pulls, skin stretching until he huffs out another breath, mocking, and unhinges his jaw, letting you go. 

Mewling, whining low in the back of your throat, you clumsily rut your cunt into the hard press of his cock. Eyes hazy, liquid, with your blooming heat. 

Its approach is quicker than he thought it would be, and he hums, tongue rolling over his teeth to catch the lingering taste of you. Under his hand, your skin burns. Singing with the urgency of your desperation. He answers it with a grunt, falling forward to smother you under his weight. 

There's a flash of clarity in your eyes when they crack open. Brief. Fleeting. He feels your sluggish attempt to push him away, to free your hands from between your chests, and he has to dip his head to stifle another groan. It feels good to have you under him like this. Covered entirely in his bulk, his shadow. 

His hand pulls away from your flesh, snaking between your bodies to catch your wrists in the palm of his hand. Only one swallows them up, and the easy way he subdued you—effortlessly—has him nearly coming undone in his trousers. Untouched. 

“Fuck, want it bad, don't you?” he snarls, hips bucking into you. Chasing pleasure. He pulls your hands out, lifting to arm to trap yours in the shackle his fingers make high above your head, and—

It's devious, this. 

Somewhere in the loosening agency of his self, his autonomy, he knows this is becoming dangerous. Something that ought to be stopped before he rips into you with a rabidness that promises nothing at all will remain intact when he's finished. When he's had his fill. He needs to clear his mind. To get away from the way you fit against him so perfectly. Tiny in his wicked embrace. 

Like you were made to fit between his ribs. His teeth. 

He gnashes them together, trying to stem the ache in his gums. 

He wants to fuck you. Needs to—

But as ripe as you smell to him now—tender melon, warmed honeycomb—he knows that you're not yet ready to take him. 

Ghost steps back, letting your feet drop to the soil below. With the sparse inch of space between your bodies, he breathes in the lingering scent of your breath—sharp, burning; imbued with a heady thrum of adrenaline electrifying your nerves—and finds the musk a near-perfect pantomime of ozone. The arid tang in the air just before the air. A lightning strike. It rolls over his tongue, tastes of wet pennies in the back of his throat. Heavy with anticipation. 

Something he feels very keenly as well. An eagerness he hasn't met in decades. Absolutely famished for it, for this familiarity of want. Potent desire. 

He mourns the loss of the way your ass fits in the cradle of his hand when he pulls it free, fingers trailing over the feverish skin of your hips, your belly, as he goes. He doesn't stop until he comes to rest on the button of your trousers, eyes flickering down to catch your gaze. Purposeful, now. Intent clear. 

Nothing is stopping him from taking. Your protests are paper-thin, dissolving the moment it touches the dense blanket of humidity in the air, but he wants your submission. Wants to see your resolve break, crushed by your own hand. 

The gossamer wings of a butterfly, crumpled up in your palm, and offered to him for the taking. How sweet—

You seem to realise his intentions when his thumb dips below the hem of your pants. Just a tease. Brushing against the soft skin he finds there with the curve of his nail. 

Your glare is instant. The sharp tug of a drawstring pinching tight between your brow. Mesmerising as it closes over your lax expression. A fierce snap. He wants to pry it apart. Wedge himself between the seam. Create a gap wide enough for him to fit. 

“I won't beg,” you grind out, acidulous. Firm. 

He huffs, quietly amused by the fight still sparking in you despite the evidence of your arousal, your want of him, evident in the stain at the seam of your pants. His other hand rests on the trunk of the tree above your head, boxing you in when he leans closer. Taunting. “That so?” 

You don't respond, but your glare sharpens, mouth tugging downward in a harsh frown. Displeasure sparks in the air. Cutting into him like fine glass shards. He lets it graze his naked flesh, the warning ghosting over him in needlepoint pinpricks. Entirely too captivated by you to notice the sting. 

Your ire is a heady, tangible thing dripping down your brow, slashing over your cheeks. Anger, however misguided it might be, paints a pretty picture over your face. Darkens the inlets nestled in the corner of your eyes. Drenches the ravines, gorges in a startling chiaroscuro. Limns the alpines, the valleys, in a halo of golden starlight. 

He wants to drink it down. Hold your fury in the palm of his hand—

Crush it between his fingers. 

Because despite the dissent, your desire cuts through, and hews the air in a thick tapestry of want. 

mutinous, teeth bared, but your eyes burn, rage against the prison walls, and scream, please—

His fingers dig into the bark above your head, catching flecks of sap between his nails. Knuckles turning white under the flaxen hair dusting over them, strained. The grip is unintentional. Unconscious. He keeps thinking about you beneath him. The heat of your thighs around his waist was a mere tease. A morsel when he wants a meal—

The pressure in his knuckles grounds him. Cuts through the phosphenes blanketing the edges of his vision, smothering the clarity, the cognisance, that lingers in the centre. Threadbare as it is. 

There’s an ache in his jaw. 

(the need to bite—)

He pulls it off, and shoves his hand tight between your thighs, cupping your cunt in his palm. Feeling the heat bleed through the gusset of your pants. The touch is harsh. Firm. He bullies his fingers into your flesh, letting out a mocking chuff when he feels the fabric dampen.  

“Somethin’s’ tellin’ me otherwise.” 

Your hand lashes out, grabbing the thick of his wrist. Holding firm. It should be a warning, but the obvious gap between your middle finger and thumb makes him groan instead. 

“You're wrong.”

“Am I?” 

You twist away from him when he leans down, chin ducking to your shoulder. Hiding. Denying him your mouth, your taste. This meagre measure of control you grapple for is easy to give. He presses his lips to the shell of your ear instead, letting you run. Flee. For now. 

His voice is thick when he continues, husky. He pitches it low, lets it swirl into the seashell coil of your inner ear, earning him a shiver in response. Your nails biting into the skin of his wrist. Holding tight. 

“‘m a lot of things, pet—” rucked gravel, sodden with his derision, spills into your ear. Your shudder makes him want to bite, to maim. “Wrong ain't usually one of ‘em. But you'll learn that soon enough.” 

Your breath hitches. Expression morphing, shifting. Changing into something adorably beleaguered as he encircles you like a tiger, eyes drilling through the tussock, aimed directly at your head. With his body boxing you in, coiling over you like a hideous shadow, he has you trapped, caught. Little lamb writhing between the paw of a tiger.  

You seem to be keenly aware of this. Your eyes are shrewd, searching, as you probe around for any escape route, but he's a bulwark around you. Inescapable. 

Finding none, you suck in another breath, and slowly lift your chin, glancing up at him through your lashes. The look on your face is—

Enigmatic. 

Something changes in the morphology of your mien. Fracturing. Cracking. 

“Yeah?” You breathe, soft and goading. Your hips buck into his hand, rutting shallowly against the tops of his fingers. Unconscious. Like you just couldn't help it. 

And he supposes you can't. 

A fine sheen of sweat has been building since he took after you into the forest. Gathering around your temple, your hairline. The harsh reminder of your festering heat, once dammed by your raw disdain for him—hatred, he'd say, and doesn't the thought just make him want to laugh; you're all bark, no bite, and he knows he'll have fun breaking you in, breaking you apart—but flooded over by the primal drive to mate. 

And he's perfect for you, isn't he? 

Hideous bastard that he is. It's a sharp juxtaposition to your prettiness, your earthly beauty. 

Under the spinel sky, you break. The hand on his wrist tightens, your hips flexing into his palm. Seeking friction. Needing pressure. Needing him. And pissed off about it. Delicious. 

“Prove it,” you snap, irritation blanching the corners of your eyes arsenic white. Edging into a frenetic desperation hot enough to burn the threads of your resolve. But there's a gleam of reluctance pushing through the syrupy murk folding over you, heavy molasses. You want to give in, but there's something about him, his appetite, that makes you hold back. That makes you visibly sick at the sight of him—

Unfortunately for you, he has no such compunction to shelf his barbarity. To leash his desire, to muzzle the overwhelming urge to crush you under the weight of his accumulated need. It's decades of listless apathy. Divorced from anything resembling human emotion at the root. Carved out, scraped off bone. He was left to stagnate. A misfortunate creature submerged in a bog, dead but unable to rot. 

The deluge of his savage, bestial hunger rages in his veins. It's corrosive, vile, and—

unrestrained. 

Ravenously esurient. He wants to sink his teeth into you and never let go—

but first: 

he needs to eat. 

His meal is a feast, it turns out. Simon gorges himself until he's full. Promises that he'll stop as soon as he's satiated. 

(but he's lying to himself, and to you, because he never is—

never will be.)

Tears pebble along your lash line as he feasts on your sopping cunt, licking at your fluttering rim, slurping up your slick. Your clit is pressed tight against the crooked arch of his nose, sliding and catching on the jagged ridge each time he moves his jaw to dig deeper inside of you as if he's trying to taste the seal of your womb. You pant, whine. The noise muffled half-heartedly behind your palm. Teeth sunk into your skin, lodged against your bone. 

Angry rivulets rain down your cheeks, dangling like fine beads, gems, on your jaw. He wants to taste them next, as soon as he fills his gullet with the earthy tang you release. 

Your tears remind of that pretty omega Johnny sent to him—a brat, he'd said; the best, Lt—and it churns in his stomach, dredging up something awful. Terrible. He wants to make you weep harder. Wants you sobbing, begging. His own little brat to take over the knee whenever he wants—

But that's where the uncanny resemblance ends. 

You're not a brat. No. You're a headache. The kind that will have him written up, sat like a bad dog in his best suit, as they level him with charges, and orders, and the like. The sort of thing that even the old man wouldn't be able to string him out of—not that he would. Price is three days away from a much-deserved retirement to the mountains and sitting on his hands to keep from snatching up the pretty conservation officer who moons at him whenever he passes by. 

He won't be much help to get Ghost out of trouble. That leaves only Gaz and Soap. And while he's sure they can swing it, he doesn't really want to be under their ahh, guess ye/ya owe us one, Lt/Riley. 

So—

It stands to reason then that he should have you tamed before dawn. Shackled down, locked up tight. Only right considering he's the best in town to keep bears at bay. Do you really want to deal with a mama grizzly and her defenceless cubs? Or a starving male clumsily pawing his way out of hibernation? 

Probably not. 

So. So. 

He pulls back, rests his chin on your thigh. 

“Gonna be good for me, pet?” He asks, lowering his tone considerably until it catches on the gravel below. 

He's not surprised when you hiss through a cloud of tears. “Go fuck yourself—”

Ghost tips his head, suckles your clit into his mouth. Tongue laving over your flesh. Blunt teeth pressing flat against the swollen bead, a tease. You tense, gasping. Hand pushing his head back, back—

“Don't, don't—” you're mewling, nails raking over his scalp. Hips bucking, pulling back. Struggling to get away. The bite marks along your thighs weep fresh blood in your struggle, filling his nose with the heavy scent of iron. 

They serve as a harsh reminder of what he can do with these jagged teeth of his. 

He chuckles, mouth still closed around your clit. The vibrations have you choking, spine curving into a beautiful arch. 

Fingers digging into your hips, keeping you still. Trapping you. He's not quite done with your cunt, yet. And all this wriggling is something he can do without. With his hand pressed to your hips, he notches the other down your thigh. Tracing his index finger over your soft skin, dragging it close to your outer lips. Catching the tacky slick drying on your flesh with the tip. 

Tiny fists rain down over his shoulders. Urging him forward, eager for more. Selfish, spoiled little thing. 

What a monster he's made—

“Patience, pet,” he coos, mocking and mean. Likes the way you react to the patronisation in his tone. All taut shoulders, shaking fists. Bearing your teeth at the slight, the stinging barb. Shaking in an amalgamation of embarrassment and shame. 

You seem to like it when he's a little awful to you. A little mocking. Cruel. 

“Shut up—!” You hiss, lips curling as you glare down at him. “I'm not your pet—”

He ignores you. Bends down to sniff at your cunt instead, and finds his answer is the white hot desire he can taste in the back of his throat when he breathes you in. 

His fingers pry apart your folds, and he greedily drinks in the sight of your drenched hole, clenching down on nothing. Poor you. His heart thunders in his chest, rages. He wants to sink inside of you—impossibly deep—until the beginning of him and the end of you ceases to exist. Rolled into a single being, atoms merged. Bodies fused. He wants to take everything from you. All of it. Eat it out of the cup of his hand like pomegranate seeds, let the skin get stuck in his teeth. 

He wants to devour you whole.

(to eat—)

Settles, instead, for pawing at your cunt. 

Pressing the width of it against your slit, feeling the heat of your core on the palm of his hand. Branding himself with the intensity of your desire. Another scar among many. An uncountable number of jagged asteroids cratering along his flesh, making a home out of a ghost. A shell. 

Reinforced, too, by the absurdity of how terribly contrasted his flesh is to yours. Monstrous. His scarred hand rests over your pussy, encompassing it entirely with extra digits to spare. Folding each finger on top of the other to wedge between the basin of your thighs. And as his gaze comes to rest on the way he swallows you up, he is struck by the garishness of his hand—hideous scar tissue, burns—falling over your pretty cunt. 

Sinful. Frankensteinian beast palming the sweet pussy of a pretty, human woman, and—

Fuck. 

His cock twitches, spits out a thick glob of pre-cum.

Ghost has never wanted to ruin something as badly as he wants to ruin your cunt. You. Mess you up so badly that everyone will know you belong to him, and him alone. To brand you with the tattoo of his teeth on your mons; force a claiming bite on the pillowy skin above your clit. His ownership bracketed between your thighs, at the very apex of your hip bones. Buried into tissue right under the bulge of your womb. A fecund valley for him to lay waste; for you to grow beauty from the rot, the ash. 

Cinder scraps over his nerves. Fells his resolve in a brutal sweep. 

He comes undone at the seams, unravels. 

Simon curls his fingers into a loose fist, passing the rugged peaks of his bone over your soft flesh. Gathering slick on thick, scarred knuckles. He holds it there, folds pried apart by his hand, content to luxuriate in the softness of your flesh, the scorching heat.

Possessively, he unhitches his thumb from the coil of his fist, and swipes it over your clit. More slick leaks out as you keen. 

“Sweet omega like you should ‘ave been claimed by now,” he rumbles evenly despite the sour twist in his guts at the thought. “Might not ‘ave ended up ‘ere, would you ‘ave? Beggin’ the first alpha you see to fuck this sweet little cunt.”

“Begging?” 

“Practically gaggin’ for it, weren't you?” And even though the words are his own, they sit in his gut like a stone. An angry knot tangled in his intestines, snaking its way up his gullet. Bitter. It's quelled by the sight of your bare neck. Ripe for his teeth. And his alone.

But even if you had a pretty ring made by another alpha, Simon knows that wouldn't have stopped him from taking you, anyway. Biting over the claim. Breaking it between his teeth. Precious, loving union shattered by his crooked greed. He'd have relished in it, too. Basked in the way you sobbed as he tore your alpha into pieces. An obstacle turned into a pretty effigy at his feet. Wicker pyre burning to keep him warm.

(he'd have caught dinner for you, too; hunted caribou, moose, and roasted it over the open flame. Fucked you under the blume of orange. Let the fire lick across your skin as he sunk in deep—)

He rocks back on his haunches. Mood labile, quicksilver, as his rut grows. Festers. 

You deny it, breathless, as he slips the mountainous peak of his bent middle finger into your hole, stretching your rim around the scarred cartilage. You pulse around him like the fluttering wings of a hummingbird. Rapid, quick. Wanting. It draws him in. Makes him want to spit on your pretty pussy, and then break you apart on his cock—

“Such a needy cunt, eh? Starving for a good knot, ain't it?”

You hiss out your protests, but clench tight around his knuckle. He chuckles, and it's liquid. Wet rot. Lungs polluted, spitting nocuous, black smoke into the air. 

“I'm not—”

“You are.” 

He pulls back, pursing his mouth, and spreads your lips apart, opening you up wide and vulnerable to his prying eyes. Saliva puddles on his tongue. He gives you a moment to clue into what he's about to do, your fingers tightening, nails digging into his scalp as you do on a shallow gasp of disgust. Then, brutish, he leans forward, and spits. Lets the glob hit your clit, and he has to hold you still when you jerk, cringing away from him, snarling out your displeasure.

“You're disgusting—”

The protests are weak. Your knees tremble, giving away the growing slickness gathering on the insides of your thigh. 

He hums, watches as it oozes down between your folds, over your fluttering hole, before it falls to the ground between your legs. He lets his hand fall back over your cunt, middle finger gathering his spit. Rubbing it around your pebbled clit. It's done detachedly, perfunctory. A means to an end with hardly much concern for your pleasure. Not yet, anyway. 

You've given him nothing in return yet. 

He intends to change that soon. 

As you grapple with the harsh reality he presents to you—one of ownership, humiliation, and pleasure on his whim—he drags his finger down, sliding it between your soft lips until he reaches your hole once more. Petting around the drenched entrance slowly, softly, humming under his breath about how wet you are. 

Your hips drop, greedily chasing after his finger. You won't ask—not yet—but he likes the way you rut against him: all hateful, spiteful. Like you can't decide on what you want more—to bash his head in, or keep it locked tight between your thighs. Sweet thing. 

“Need me, don't you?” He sinks his finger in. Nearly whites out at the pressure, the tightness, he feels. Soft, wet. Squeezing him in a vice as you yowl, whimpering into the stretch like it matters. Like his thick, scarred finger is the most you'd ever taken before. Sweet girl. So naïve. 

He drinks in the sight of your flesh forcibly being parted around his knuckle, matting the wisps of blond on his skin as it leaks down to his wrist, until that, too, is pushed up into you. His whole finger now engulfed in the wet heat of your body as you squirm around the stretch, pulsing around him like a heartbeat. 

He groans when he tastes your discomfort on the back of his tongue. 

“Don't worry, lovie. M’gonna take good care’a you.”

You watch him with slitted eyes as he pushes you down to the forest floor, glaring over your shoulder as he adjusts you the way he wants. Maneuvers you around like a little toy. Forearms braced against the trampled grass, knees sinking into soft moss. Thighs spread. Cunt bare, drenched. Ready to be claimed. Taken. 

He drops to his knees, shuffling close from behind you. His hand drops to your lower back, pressing your torso down further into the ground below. His cock aches between his thighs. Heavy, fat. He reaches down with his other hand to where it droops, smearing pre-cum over his inner thigh. He catches it in his fist, flushed the colours of a fresh bruise—angry red, purple—and strokes along the sensitive skin of his shaft, dragging it up and over his engorged head. Pre-cum weeps from the tip, drools long strains down to the forest floor. Puddles thick between your knees. 

A prelude, perhaps, for what's to come. When he has you tied like a bow around his knot, milking all the pent-up spend from his heavy, full balls. 

It's been decades since he had this—

(“shame.”

he concurs.)

Simon pulls his cock up, taps it against your pebbled clit. Drinks in the sight of you keening, cunt gushing more slick out of your empty hole, dribbling down your thighs. Mingling with the mess he already started making. 

It shocks him how good it feels just to tap his cockhead on your pretty pussy. To drag it through your slit, teasing it against your fluttering hole that drools copious slick over him. 

He wants to make a mess of you. Fuck your pussy until you cum, until all you can feel is the split of him inside of you. Filling you. Ruining you. 

Until all you can think about is the thick drag of him against your stuffed walls. Empty without him plugging you up. Desperate for his cock, his knot—hungry little slut just for him. All for him.

He presses the head of his cock against your rim, letting it catch. Holding it there. A tease. Just a little taste. 

Likes when you whimper, head hanging between your shoulders, fingers curling into the moss below. You make such a pretty picture like this—the expanse of your back bare for his eyes to roam, locking on the dimples of your hips, the curve of your waist. The plump shape of your ass inviting him in—eager for a bite. Your flesh looks bare, lonely, without his mark. The contrast of his own inked palm—fingers webbed with faded lettering, some slogan he picked up in his youth. Hands etched in black. Lines bleeding, bulky. The unmistakable tremble of an incipient artist’s first brush of a needle on real skin. Jagged, garring. Ugly. He lets his hand rest against the small of your back, groaning at the way it looks. 

Sinful.

You're made for soft silk and a fluffy bed. Head resting on a plush cushion instead of your arms, forehead braced over the uncomfortable squeal of your polyester windbreaker that he didn't even have the courtesy to let you take off. No. Just trousers. Panties. Pushed haphazardly down your legs, left in a pile by the spruce tree so he could throw your ankle over his broad shoulder, feasting on your cunt. 

There's a spot of dirt on your asscheek. The curve of it is scraped from the bark, red and raw. 

The glare you aim at him from over your shoulder is venomous. There's a smear of moss on your cheek. 

You're made for epsom salt baths. Being tended to by a besotted alpha who treats you like fine china, only to be taken out on special occasions. Brushed, always, in a fine layer of dust from disuse. Sweet, tender lovemaking under the waning summer sky. Your alpha apologising for ruining you like this, for making you take the brunt of his rut. Poor thing. Gentle kisses, and hands clasped together. 

He can see it so vividly in his eye. So viscerally that it almost feels like a crime when he glances down at his cock, the weeping, engorged head almost comically too big for you. The thick of him could easily swallow your cunt up if he flattened his length against you. Covering you wholly by his girth. 

It's a thought that makes his hand tighten, and nearly chokes him on a moan. 

Even his thighs bracketing the backs of yours is hideous to look at. Bigger, broader—there's a considerable gap on both sides of his legs that he thinks nearly his whole fist can fit there, notched against the outside of your thigh, covering the expanse of his own. Garish. 

He can't wait to lay you down on your belly, lock his thigh tight on either side of your own and rut into you like that. Crushing you under his weight. Swallowing you whole. Until anyone misfortunate enough to wander by thinks he's fucking the cold ground. 

His thumb strokes along your fevered skin, collecting the sheen of sweat building up on the pad. Rubbing it in. He feels it too. This unrelenting swelter. A cage, pushing down from all sides. Inescapable. 

The only way to quench it is on you. In you. 

“Ready for me, pretty girl?” The words are mangled in his throat, thick with want. 

Your shoulders tremble. In worry, he thinks. Scents the air like a viper, letting your emotions curdle in the back of his throat. “Just get on with it—”

He meets you in the middle of that taunt, teeth against your throat. 

Ghost pushes inside with a groan, eyes rolling back at the way you swallow him up. Stretching around the considerable girth, fluttering around him. Pulsing like a heartbeat. 

It's heaven. 

Nirvana nests between your thighs, bracketed by rings of blood. Red. Absolution imbued in tender flesh, parting perfectly around his cock in a loving embrace. 

You haven't confirmed it for him, but the tightness of your cunt around his fingers, the heady scent of discomfort burning the back of his throat when he buried them inside of you, make him mutedly aware that you're inexperienced. A fact he pockets for later because if he thinks about being the first alpha, the first man, to ever claim you, take you, then he might lose his mind, he might fall down that yawning chasm that reeks of damnation, of brimstone and ash, and never recover—

So, he doesn't. Won't. 

Can't. 

His pace is slow as he feeds you the fat length of his cock, eyes drilling into the way you swallow him up. Rim stretching taut, flesh paling under the strain of taking him. With one hand anchored against your hip, holding you tight, and the other curled over your shoulder, fingertips resting on your collarbones, he slowly, slowly, sinks inside of you, bottoming out with a deep groan. 

The outstroke drags with it an iron scent in the air. He huffs, nostrils flaring. Greedy for more. There's discomfort leaking from your pores. His girth is more than you can conceivably take, even with the preternatural help from your heat, leaking slick down your inner thighs in thick rivulets. 

He holds himself there, breathing—heavy, tremulous—through his nose. His hands shake. The pressure, the pleasure, is indescribable. It coils in his guts, spumes liquid bliss in his veins. The way you feel pulsing sweetly around him is—

Equilibrium. 

Every misfiring synapse inside himself is slowed. Imbued with a potent sense of ataraxia. His mind comes to a standstill. Thoughts looping over themselves, tangling into the gossamer threads of control floating in stasis. Unmoored. You unravel him. 

It's further proof that you are his missing part. His ruts in the past have been calamitous. Snarls wrenched from the trenches of his chest; a gluttonous feast—a sacrifice to Hēdonē. Violent, vicious. 

But this—

It's drinking ichor from the vein of Anteros.

There's a crack in the back of his head. The sound of everything, all of it—

Falling into place. 

His hands tighten. Tighten some more. He holds you, sure and firm, keeping you nestled in the anchor of his embrace, unable to run, to flee. You're his. Settled. The caveat is ironclad, bound in permanence. 

And Simon moans. Deep, and low. The noise jutters out of his chest, and seeps into the evening air. Fine mist, crystallising in front of him. Phosphenes of ice cemented his decision, gluing to his cheeks. The nape of his neck. 

His ears burn. 

“Fuckin' hell, sweet thing,” it's a guttural growl in the hollow of his throat. “Where ‘ave you been all my goddamn life?”

It's a nauseating confession, one scraped out from the vacancy between his ribs. It peppers the air in a soft, saccharine kiss. Makes you shiver beneath him, gasping in lungfuls of loam, dirt in your throat. 

He grunts. Stills. He doesn't want that for you. Ever. Would rip off his own limbs before he ever let you feel the crushing weight of dirt congealing inside of your lungs. 

The way he arches over you is damning. Nauseating. He curls his arm around your shoulder, your chest, traps a heaving breast in the palm of his hand, holds tight. The other falls from your hip, closes over your mons. Greedily feeling your slick, hot sex pulsing wildly around him when he passes over your clit, toying with your stretched, swollen rim. It's perfection, this. 

He pulls you up, up, leaning back on his haunches until you're balanced on your knees, nearly sat on his lap. Taking him deeper than before. He drops his head back with another moan when he feels your slick gather, dripping down to coat his balls. 

Everything about you is just—

Perfection. Absolution. 

Your hands fly up, curling over his forearm, mewling when he pinches your nipples between his middle and ring finger. 

“C’mon,” he rasps, leaning forward to press his face into your nape. You smell sweet. “Play with ‘em for me, pet.” 

Nails bite into his skin. You whimper. Squirming around on his lap. But you do as you're told. Slowly, slowly, reaching up. Touching yourself the way you like. Fingers ghosting over your flesh, brushing across your nipples. Pulling, petting, the way you like. He hooks his chin over your shoulder, watches. Devours. Commits each movement to memory. Every sound, every breath. Everything. 

He keeps a slow, languid pace like this. Content to just feel you pulsing around him, listening to the slick, wet squelch of him filling you up. Over and over again. A lazy rut. 

It's unexpected, he knows. You've been bracing yourself this whole time, fingers digging into the podsol, spine tightening up. Waiting for the savagery to befall you. 

When it doesn't come, he feels your quiet acquiescence come in a soft breath. In the way you slowly drop down to meet the deep rut of his hips. Taking your pleasure, pulling him in deeper. There's an edge to your voice, one still dipped in threads of discomfort, a waning pain that rings out, shrill, in the satin spill of moonlight over the indigo forest. 

It's good like this. Tender. Not something he'd have ever imagined for himself, and the reality of it is dizzying. 

Reedy, he groans. Nuzzles his misshapen nose into your scent gland. His gums pulse, ache—

But he ignores it. Swallows it down. 

He's not sure what compels him to do so. Spellbound, maybe, by this unnatural softness that spools silken threads between you. Sutured in tenderness—so unbefitting of the man he is. The monster—

His hips stutter. Jerk. 

“Simon—!”

You whine into it, arching back. Sweat gathers, drips down your spine, smears into his chest, belly. Matts the thatch of hair running in sparse, patchy clusters down the thickness of his midsection. A bountiful spring fattened him up. Made him soft and pillowy over his abdomen. Something you can't seem to get enough of—pressing the flat of your back against him, leaning into it. Groaning when his arm shifts, boxing you in. Crushing you to him. 

Wily little kitten, purring so sweetly in his lap. 

He draws lazy circles over your clit, grunting with each clench of your cunt. You're soft in his arms. Malleable. He slides his hand up from beneath your breasts, catches your jaw in his palm. Fingers spanning from cheekbone to temple and, oh—

Doesn't that just make him preen. 

He drags your chin to the side, catching your mouth in a sickening kiss. All tongue, teeth. He wants to taste, to devour, every part of you. Bones and all. 

It's a fight, though. You tense in his grasp, lidded eyes snapping open, wide and around. Cheeks bulging between his fingers when you twist, trying to pull away. 

“Don't—I don't want to—” he bites the protests from lips. Messy, sloppy. He flicks his tongue over yours, wrapping it around you like a satiated snake burrowing in after a heavy meal. “Don't—f–fuck—”

It earns him a nip. Teeth digging into his bottom lip. Drawing blood. 

He huffs into the seam of your mouth. Only fair, he supposes, and then pulls you down—hard, fast—onto his cock. The air is punched out of your lungs, flooded into his esophagus. 

“Be a good girl for me,” he warns, bucking into you. It's harder this time, deeper. Tempo increasing. Growing. He feels himself thicken. Knot fattening up. Each piston of his hips seems to knock something inside of his head loose. Common sense, maybe—

The fraying knot of his self-control winding tight. Pulling taut. 

He huffs again, feeling himself slip. Lost in the sensation dripping down his spine, the unified pleasure blooming in the pit of his stomach. 

The air plumes with the thickening tang of your arousal—all sweet, spice. You can take it, now, he knows, and tries not to growl when you hiccup his name wetly into the air. 

The muscles in his thighs bunch tight. Corded and powerful. He arches up, up, forcing his cock deep inside your cunt, splitting you apart. Rutting desperately, edging into something animalistic. 

It runs a knife along the thin skin of his hindbrain. Come out, come out, come play—

He moves you again, pulling his hand away from your jaw and pushing you back down the forest floor. He stays glued to your back. Tucks his arm under your chin, and smothers you under his bulk, groaning when your thighs give out, sliding on the sweat-slicked moss below.

“Simon, ah—” your voice tapers off into a breathless cry when he pulls his hand free from beneath you, wrapping it around to join the other. Holding on, clinging to you. Keeping you locked tight against him, under him. You can't move at all like this—

The swell of his knot bumps against your stretched rim. He presses the brunt of his weight into each thrust now, spurned on by the needy way you yowl into his forearm, drooling all over his skin. Begging for it. 

“Please, please, please—”

Your body is jostled forward with each harsh buck of his hips as he gives you everything he has, feeding his cock into your sopping cunt over and over again. Eager now to fill you up, to flood you with his cum. Make you swell with it. Overstuffed. 

Perfect little omega, you rut back into him with each thrust, taking his thick cock to the root. Mewling sweetly when his knot begins to catch. Too much, he thinks. It might just wreck you for good—

pomegranate seeds splitting over your teeth, blood red juice leaking from the tear. spilling into your mouth. just a drop. just a drop, and Persephone is all his

—Perfect. 

He teeters on the edge of ferality and control. Spinning, spiralling. Loosefooted on the wobbling chossy. Coming undone in a magmatic end—wicked heat, ashes, brimstone; he catches fire, and smoulders you under his heat. Letting the flames lick across your skin until you whine his name, desperate and needy, in the back of your throat. The thrill a bludgeon against his skull, spilling pleasure, bliss, in the broken hole you wrought. 

You tighten like a vice around him—tight, tight—and he pistons into you, burrowing deep. Deeper still. Until you thrash around beneath him, soundlessly screaming his name into the dark forest. Begging for mercy, mercy, please—

He won't. Can't. 

He can't get enough of the way you feel wrapped around him like this. Silken, whitehot. Tight. Tight—

It squeezes the air from his lungs. Static in his head—

And then you let go. Pulsing, throbbing around him. Pulling him in deeper, blanketing his mind in white noise. In nothing but magmatic pleasure. 

“Fuck—!” He snarls, almost angry. Vicious. Chasing after his end in the aftermath of yours. Instincts are at war within him, banging against his skull. Demanding recompense. Paid it's pound of flesh. 

It's what he's promised. What it's owed. 

(and he always keeps his promises, doesn't he?)

Most describe their ruts as mindless, driven by instinct. No control. But Ghost has never felt more present, more alive, than when he sinks his teeth deep into your nape, nearly choking, drowning, on your blood.

For the first time in decades, he feels the crater inside himself, suffused with spare, broken parts, seal when you yield with a mangled yowl of his name, raw and fractured as it splits between your teeth. Pretty pussy swallowing up his knot when he bullies it in deep, locking you together.

pretty little lamb—

a perfect fit between his teeth.

His rut is a voracious thing. 

Ghost has you on your back for the second and third round, heels resting on his shoulders as he bucks into you. Makes you stare at him—don’t look away from me, pet—as he commandeers your body with an ease that seems to break apart all demurrals as they form, rendering you sweet, malleable, beneath him to do with as he pleases. 

And you are, aren't you?

So fuckin’ sweet. 

(“gonna give me a cavity,” he rasps, thick with pleasure, into your ear. he has you on your belly now. holds you down with his weight, crushes your chest against the soft moss below, thighs squeezed tight between his own. you can barely make a sound with his forearm digging into the dirt right above your crown, swallowing you whole under his bulk. 

(owns you like, he finds. no one would be able to see you beneath him if they wandered by. encompassed wholly by every iota he has to give—

he cums like that. nose buried in your crown, moaning low, scorched, in the back of his throat as you twitch beneath him, unable to move at all—)

It's early in the morning when he finally finishes, when his rut begins to slowly recede, and a fresh bloom of clarity yawns over his periphery. Moonrise peppers soft kisses over his aching shoulders as he glances at you curled up against his side, sleeping soundly. Exhausted by the hours and hours of mating, fucking. Taking him, his knot, drinking down everything he has to offer. 

The sight that greets him is gnarled fingers wrapping around his rotting heart, affection peeking out between the brackets of his ribs. His appetite for you is dizzying. Unquenchable. He wonders if he'll ever be able to look at you without wanting to crawl inside your body. To reshape your tender flesh around his bulk until it is indiscernible from himself. 

This want is agony. It's dread, desire. Greed. 

His shoulders bite back in protest when he reaches up to drag his dirt-crusted nails through the prickly hair on his scalp. As dawn slowly unfurls across the midnight blue aether, he knows he'll have to leave soon. Can already feel the creeping heat gnawing in the pit of his belly. His rut starting anew. The scant hours he has of mental clarity, moments meant to eat, to feed, and regain strength for the next marathon of fucking, are needed to feel out his next move. 

He glances at you again, and feels the same covetous tug in his chest as he did before, when he was thickly entrenched in the urge to mate. But as the burnt orange of the sun smears hazy fingerprints across the moulted sky, he sees you in a new, cleaner light. You're young. Much younger than he is. 

It's something he ought to worry about. To feel some shred of shame, of despondency over shackling you to himself—a defective alpha with more scars than morality—when you're in the burgeoning bloom of your freshly untethered youth. All jejune beauty outclasses nature itself. Snow melts on the alpines, trickling down to feed the valley below. Life itself—

But you are his. 

The ugly rings around your throat—mangled tissue swelling in the morning dawn, caked in a thick river of blood—all signify that you belong to him. And while it's a little extreme as far as claiming bites go—one would suffice, but he buried his teeth in you over and over again, biting down on both sides of your neck, your jugular, your nape; inner thighs, mons, wrists—it’s proof enough that you are meant for him. Made for him. 

His pretty omega. 

The rest doesn't matter. He ought to feel shame, but instead he luxuriates in it. Stares down at you with a needy sort of possession spuming in the putrid remains of his chest, mapping out the marks he put on you. And the ones he'll add to later, not stopping until covered in the perfect impression of his crooked teeth. Tattoos of his ownership all over your body. 

Mutual, of course. There's a scant patch of skin, restive and empty, above his heart, save for a fine, jagged line from a serrated dagger. He'll have you bite down on the flesh until your teeth meet inside his muscle. Scarring down to the bone. He'll go, then, to the man who inks him up whenever he has the whim to desecrate scar tissue, and have him etch midnight black against fine silver. Permanent, forever. Always. 

And anyone who kicks up a fuss—stupid as they might be—he’ll sort them out. Prove to them that you are meant to be his. 

(unshakeable:

his spend leaks out of you, drying, tacky and thick, on your thighs. under the sleepy citrine of the dawning sun, it's tinged pink, and looks just like pomegranate juice.)

Ghost rolls his shoulder, and reaches for his discarded trousers. He's covered in a thick layer of dirt, and reeks like soil. But the thought of being buried alive is miniscule compared to the want of being buried inside you again. The urge. Insatiable. He groans with it, cock throbbing already. 

He leaves you naked. No point in dressing when he plans on going home and sinking back inside of you before midday, anyway. An unneeded obstacle, really—

The clearing is close to his truck, and he sets a leisurely pace, yawning into the dawn, as he gathers you into his arms. Carrying you to it as you drool on his chest, brows pinched at the soft jostle of him trudging through the thicket until he reaches it. 

He's not in a rut when he stretches you out in the back seat, spreading your sticky thighs around his hips, sinking inside, bottoming out just as you come to, waking up with a gasp. 

The intense fucking from before lingers in the air. You're soft, molasses; arching into his chest, whimpering out the name he hissed into your nape only hours ago, folding into him with a somnolent submission. It won't last, of course—

You're a vicious little thing, and his back and chest twinge with the rivers you carved into his flesh when he didn't move the way you liked. Wolfish, aren't you? Spitfire hiding under the soft pelt of a slain lamb. He wants to devour you, bones and all. 

He takes his fill of your malleable concession, rutting into you with a sluggish ease. Mapping out the starlight sparking in the depths of your glossy eyes. Magnetic. It pulls him deeper. Unravels him at the seams. 

His hand spans the expanse of your jaw from ear to ear. He holds you like this, thumb buried in the tender embrace of your soft tongue, and begins to understand the reason behind Johnny's niche appetite when you toy with his flesh, coquettish and sweet, suckling him in—pretty seductress—and then mewl when he pushes in too deeply, bringing crystalline gems to corners of your eyes. 

Angelic innocence. The type that demands he prostrates himself at your altar, let his bones be picked clean when you so wish it. And he'll give it to you—body, blood, tissue; all of it. The entirety of him, however broken, shattered the fragments might be. 

He promises it all to you without a word, drilling holes in the gaps of your eyes, chasms wide enough for him to fit. When he cums, it's to a songbirds sonata. Your moans are a whisper, your pleasure swallowed down as it ghosts over his lips, clenching around him like a vice. Pretty bow. He doesn't hold back—groans, baritone; woodsmoke, into the gathering symphony, filling you to the brim. Thick, copious. He wants it to stick. To root. 

When the blood sputters back to his head, he gathers you in his arms once more. Keeps you seated on his lap—shush, pet; s’alright, jus’ close your eyes an’ I'll ‘ave us home in a bit—as he starts the old pickup, and puts it into drive. One hand on the wheel, knuckles blanching white in the glimmering sunrise; sparse forests of muted blond catching, limned in the coruscating light. The other is placed on the small of your back, holding your belly to his. 

Quietly, your body eases. Melts. You press your face into his chest, fingers curling into the fabric, and nuzzle into the heady scent of his sweat, his musk, still clinging to his shirt. Signing, soft and twee, in the cup of his embrace as you slip back to sleep. 

He drives home like this. Mind a quiet place for once. Silent in its contentment, it's comfort. There's an itinerary still left to do, but he pushes it back for now, gaze roaming the dense green of the forest bracketing the road. 

You'll like it, he knows. There's a fen on the outskirts of his territory, a little pond where wild rabbits have been known to make burrows. Deers, elk. Bears. They all come and go. You'll amuse yourself in the untamed wilderness of his abode, drawing delineations of your own as you carve out places in his home just for you. 

And as he makes the turn to his hidden driveway, this buried sanctuary, he can't help but glance down at your crown, and think—

Persephone, finally home.

He finds your identification in your rucksack, nestled underneath the contraband you smuggled from the park—mushrooms, berries, bark, feathers—and sears your name to memory. Every part of you will be unravelled in the coming days, pulled from the depths of your being until it's all ingrained in his head. A gaping chasm chiselled into bone just for you. All for you. 

Your address is a rental. He'll have to call them later today to cut your lease. Your job, too. They'll need to be notified on both your off time for his rut (and your burgeoning heat), and to update your contact information. 

But that's later. Now, he just wants to get home. Sink down into his bed with you beneath him, and fuck you until sundown all over again. Stain the house with the scent of you. With the potent tang of your coupling. 

It's yours too, after all. Should smell just like you. 

And when you wake up later to him fucking his tongue into your drenched hole, fingers toying with your pebbled clit, Johnny will be busy packing the rest of your things into the pack of his pickup truck. The majority of it is already stacked on the porch, waiting for you to rearrange it all in your new house. Lease cut. His name added to your contacts as spouse, husband. Address updated. Marriage certificate laying on the table, only one line unsigned. Waiting for you. 

Maybe it's too fast. You'll certainly protest like it is, bearing your teeth and hissing at him from across the room about too much, too fast, slow down, you don't even know his last name—

(“Riley,” he grouses, arms folded over his broad chest. Eyes burning in the cresting twilight. “S’your last name now as well, pet.”) 

Fast—sure. He might think so too for a brief moment when he as you purring against his chest, submissive and docile after he fucked the fight right out of you, bullied you into agreeing to everything—it's for the best, after all. No one could ever protect you like he can. 

Made for each other. Reinforced when he presses your fingers to the soft spot where his last rib once hung—

(“stole it,” he murmurs into the seam of your lips. “right from under my nose. only fair that i get to steal somethin’ right back, ain't it?”

the look on your face is rapturous when you press your hand to your side, eyes widening when you feel the extra rung—)

He's had decades of waiting. Waiting. And now that he's found you—

He's never letting go. 

You're it, he knows. Feels the certainty in that statement simmering in his hindbrain, in his essence. He'll have you—now, forever. Non-negotiable. Where you go, he will follow. 

(after all, there's something about three-headed dogs and their bones—)

[nereidprinc3ss]

no sweeter innocence (than our gentle sin)

in which spencer reid is gentle with overwhelmed fem!reader after sex

18+ (fluff, implied intimacy) warnings/tags: it's just aftercare, but like psychological aftercare, implied intimacy duh, vague descriptions of sex but nothing explicit, hurt/comfort without the hurt, allusions to postcoital dysphoria, reader cries but its not really sad, spencer reid is so kind i wish men were real, i think that is all a/n: guess who wrote an entirely different thing instead of touching her wips..... AGAIN...... this bitch cant do anything omggg!! but this was based on a request so go me also what a strange time to be posting but it's only 1k words and nobody can stop me

“Hey. Are you with me, angel?”

You blink your eyes open in the dark room—reorienting yourself to the tangle of your bodies. How many minutes has it been?

“Hm?”

He chuckles—a quick huff from his nose as he brings a hand up to push hair from your face. 

“I asked you if you’re with me.”

It takes you a moment to answer. You’re still trying to make sense of where you are in space, each sensation coming back to you one by one—the weight and pressure of him against you, the slip of cotton sheets and a cool breeze from the cracked window over your heated sticky skin. 

“Oh.”

It’s not much of an answer and your voice is small. For a moment he lets it sit, cupping your warm cheek. Your eyes flutter shut again. His voice comes gentler, dipped in concern. 

“You okay?”

This time you don’t try to speak. Your tongue is like a lead weight in your mouth and your brain is running on dial-up. The best you can do is to cling to him, hiding your face in the curve of his neck and hoping he’ll understand that your firm hold on him is a request for him to tighten his own arms around you, until you’re sure you won’t float away. He reciprocates and it makes you feel more secure immediately. 

“Can you answer me?” He murmurs, all sweet solicitation, lips brushing the top of your head in this new airtight position. And then, a moment later— “Baby. I wanna hear your voice.”

“Mhm,” you manage. 

Spencer rewards you by rubbing your back in slow circles. His hand feels nice on your bare skin. The way you love him is too big for words. It could make you cry. 

“Wasn’t too much? You’re not hurting anywhere?”

You shake your head and try to ignore the ache in your bones when you can’t seem to get him close enough. 

“Mm-mm.”

It’s not entirely true—your legs are sore, but it’s nothing that needs tending to, and your lower back is a bit crampy, but he’s already working on that. 

He hums. “You’re pretty out of it, sweet girl. What’s going on with you?”

Spencer is always careful with you. He’d never hurt you, or sacrifice your comfort for his pleasure. That said, he’s just as passionate as you are. The stretch of your arms above your head is still fresh in your mind—the ghost of his grip, pressing your wrists into the mattress, or pushing your leg up, or pulling you exactly where he wanted you by the hips. It’s all wonderful, and you never feel safer than you do when you’re with him, but it doesn’t make you feel any less vulnerable, any less raw, after all is said and done. Maybe it’s precisely because you trust him so much that you’re so sensitive afterward. But he never, ever makes you feel bad for having an intense reaction to an intense experience. He always meets you where you’re at. That in itself makes you emotional. Spencer is different than any of the partners you’d had before. 

Again, he’s patient as you try to process his question and work up a response. Maybe a minute later, you’re breathing out something that feels true. 

“Overwhelmed.”

The word is a tap against glass you didn’t know was there until it’s fracturing like a spiderweb. With no warning, and for no good reason, you find yourself choked up. 

“Oh,” he says, sympathetic and drawn out as understanding sets in. “Do you need me to back off for a minute?”

You squeeze him even fiercer and shake your head, unable to stop the tears from drawing their shiny paths down your cheeks and sinking into the weave of the pillow case. 

“Shh. You’re okay,” he murmurs, quiet and slow and almost sing-songy as he smooths your hair, though you know he doesn’t really expect you to stop crying. “You’re okay, pretty. Remember what I said about all the hormonal shifts in your body after you come?”

Once more you nod against him with a small, shuddering sniffle. 

“And how sometimes your body regulates by crying? Kind of like a… a reset button?”

“Mhm.”

“Mhm.” He shifts from rubbing your back to tracing light lines in shapeless patterns with the blunt edges of his nails, and your breath catches before you’re melting in his hold. “It’s okay to have big or confusing feelings after sex. It’s actually really common. I just want you to be honest with me about those feelings, right? So we can keep you safe?”

“Right.”

“Would you tell me if you were hurting, or if something I did or said was bothering you?”

“Yes.”

If you were looking at him you know he’d be smiling ever so slightly at your monosyllabic responses, charting an upward path with his hand and pushing it through your hair at the nape of your neck. “You can just nod, baby. You don’t have to talk. I know you’re tired.”

You make a small noise of gratitude and nuzzle closer, feeling better as the tears slow, quickly as they’d come. 

“Do you want a bath in a little while?”

Another nod. He scratches at your scalp. “Okay. We’ll do a bath, and then dinner, and then I’m finally going to make you watch that documentary about Helvetica. It’s a little outdated, and there are a few basic errors about the origin and development of the font as well as misinformation about the typeface subgroup in general, but I can amend those as we watch and afterward we can read the director’s tenth anniversary statement. I was waiting to read it until we watched it together.”

Spencer knows beyond a shadow of a doubt that you’ll fall asleep ten minutes in, curled up on the couch under a blanket in your biggest hoodie with your head on his lap and his hand in your hair, just like this. 

He’s actually really looking forward to it.

[gaysindistress]

Things that I feel like would happen when you’re in a relationship with Simon Riley.

Simon Riley masterlist

1. First off he hates the word ‘boyfriend’.

Maybe it’s because he’s in his mid thirties or something but he can’t stand being called your boyfriend. He’s more than that but also not at the same time. You live together, have access to each other’s bank accounts (which is only because he hates it when you try to fight him about him giving you money), and you’re each others emergency contact. He thinks of himself as your husband. The man wears a silicone ring when he’s home and a necklace with the ring that’s totally not a wedding band when he’s working. Price has seen the chain once or twice and smirks, shooting him a knowing look but never says a word.

Simon cannot stand it when people get nosy and want to know what your relationship status is. You’re together and that’s all that matters. No one needs to know that you’re the beneficiary of his will and life insurance policy or that he’s put you on all of his accounts. No one needs to know that he buys you anything you want but has only ever bought you two rings; a thin gold band with a flower engraved on it and its twin a matching emerald ring. No one needs to know that when he gifted them to you, there were tears and promises of safety, love, and happiness whispered against feverish skin. No one needs to know that he has your name woven into his chest tattoo.

No one needs to know any of that because your relationship is between him and you only.

2. You are not some submissive little house wife. You are a strong independent woman and he prefers it that way.

I know this one goes against what most people say but hear me out on this. Simon has been independent since birth practically. He’s only had himself to count on for years. Even in the military, he’s only been able to rely himself. Sure the others watch out for him but if it came down to it, he’s the only one who’s going to get himself out alive.

The thought of someone else relying on him in that way is terrifying. He can’t even fathom what it would be like to look at another person and fully trust them in that way. Half the time he feels like he can’t even be trusted to take care of himself let alone another human. In theory a sweet docile housewife is great with the meals and clean house but not for him. He needs to know that you can hold your own. He needs to know that you can be independent and carry on without him if something happened while he was working. He needs to know that you will be okay if he doesn’t come back.

You have to be okay without him no matter how much it pains him to think about it.

Like I said before, he’s made you the beneficiary of everything so he knows you’ll be set financially but that’s not enough. He’s made Price promise to keep an eye out for you. He’s made you promise to let Price do that and you agreed because it’s Simon who’s asking but you’d tell anyone else to fuck off.

In addition to all of that, he’s installed the best security system the government has to offer in your house. You have a very expensive and large safe in your shared closet that he’s instructed you to only open if you feel unsafe. While you might not like it, you agree to go shooting with him so he can sleep at night knowing that you could protect yourself if he’s not home. He’s gone as far as to make sure you have all of the licenses and certificates that are needed to legally own firearms in the UK.

He’s not leaving any opportunity for you to be vulnerable or have your ‘safety checks’, as he calls them, taken away.

3. Simon Riley is a godless man…until he meets you.

Now this is entirely my own headcannon with no evidence to support it so bear with me.

Simon had a shitty childhood where his mom would pray to a god who never listened and his dad would shout verses at him when he was drunk. God was a mythical figure that he was told stories off with nothing to show for it. He did believe at one point but then his dad never got better, his mom wore bruises of every shade, and his brother found comfort in drugs.

He found himself praying when he was being tortured by the Mexican cartel. Between the flashbacks of his abusive past, he prayed to a god who had failed him so many times before to help him. He prayed again as he dug himself out of that Texas grave with the major’s jaw bone. He wailed his prayers when he found his family executed after Sparks tried to kill him.

After that he deemed himself a Godless man. Years of praying had passed with nothing. This god had decided that Simon was not worthy of a miracle so why would he continue to worship him?

That was until he met you. He finds himself praying before every mission, every time he has to leave you, every time he’s on his way home, and just about any other time he thinks of you. He doesn’t know what exactly he’s praying for other than for you to be there when he gets back.

He whispers his prayers to an absent god against your skin as he worships your body, soul, and heart. He promises to be devoted to you until his last breath and vows to find you again in whatever afterlife awaits you. He pledges to find solace in you and only you when his haunting nightmares return. He makes an oath to your heart that it will never weather another storm alone again for his will take whatever beating that comes your way. He shows you that he will love you in the same manner as a Hozier song; putting you above all else because you have become his religion, his faith, his beliefs, his life.

You have become all that he is and he thanks the god he once believed in for you. He prays again but to you, his heart, his love, and his beacon through the enteral storm of life.

[moondirti]

MDNI. dubcon. objectification. degradation. humiliation. guys being gross. female reader. fingering. cunnilingus. pussy slapping. brief aftercare. an absurd amount of filth for something so short.

price helping you get over your fear of humiliation by inviting the guys over and prying your pussy open for them, half-slouched on his lap with your legs held up in the air :( they’re so mean about it, too. cooing condescending compliments, curling their nasty hands around your jaw to keep your head in place as they pet your most vulnerable places, like you’re the winning pup at a dog show and not a whole human—entitled to any boundary you set, regardless of how your husband feels.

they pay no heed to your protests, though. actually, the men avoid addressing you at all. rather, all their personal, invasive questions are directed to price, who answers them with his own self-satisfied grin.

‘keeps clenchin’ around nothing, desperate thing. hole this willing deserves to be gaped. how often d'you stuff her?’ depends on if she's been good.

‘fookin’ drooched, cap. does she taste as guid as she looks?’ mm, better. smells like nectar too. take a whiff, son. don’ wash my beard afterward on the occasion, jus to keep her under my nose.

‘think i can thaw a winter’s worth of ice with this cunt alone. heat’s practically radiating off ‘er. pathetic slut.’ y’should see how much worse it gets after a good beating, lieutenant. swells up, and damn well sears my palm.

and of course they take it upon themselves to test the validity of his answers. kyle works four fingers into you, then his thumb, stretching you open for his probing, angling your hips up to the light so that your insides are illuminated for his curious eye. if price didn’t have his rough hands anchored to the underside of your knees, you would have kicked his prized sergeant off.

embarrassment washes your neck in warmth, lashes droopy with fat tears. all your husband does to comfort you is place a scratchy kiss to your shoulder, soft hushes tickling your skin.

then, soap intercedes to shove his nose to your mons. he doesn’t just take a whiff — rather, he sucks in the sweet-sour tang your slick provides, testing it in both scent and taste. his hot tongue laves over where kyle’s fingers had been, incisors nibbling at the ripe bud of your clit. mortifying pleasure sinks low, sloshing in your belly’s bed. though you did not expect him to be, he isn’t modest about it. soap presses completely into your pussy, muzzle lacquered with wetness that rivals yours.

your whimpers devolve into moans. loud, a little unhinged. you’ve always played at dressing them up around price, worried that he’d turn away if your face screwed too tight, or your pleasure made itself known beyond what directly serves him. it’s exactly the habit that got you into this mess; and as you lose yourself to the scene, you can feel his delight blossoming against your back.

ghost scares you the most. he lets you have your orgasm, towering behind the man between your legs, but does not let him revel in it, yanking him back by his mohawk at the first twitch of your toes. in the fervour, you have hard time remembering what you should expect. especially when he doesn’t get to it immediately, wiping the gloss off your plush cunt. his callouses rash you, gritty, abrading the soft surface of your skin. it is only when you wince do his eyes crinkle in a manner cruel enough to evoke what’s to come.

but it’s too late to prime yourself. his hand flies back, coming back twice as fast to strike dead centre between your legs. it hurts. hurts so much more than it ever has before, your body unused to unrestrained strength. you scream, throat mangling around the rough cut of it, fighting wildly against price until you manage to escape his hold. immediately, instead of running away, you twist backwards, burying your face into his neck, calming yourself by taking deep breaths of his cologne. something heady — leather, tobacco, sandalwood — bridges the synapses in your brain, numbs the pain, if only a little.

“shhh, little one. you’re alright. it’s okay. doing so good for us.” he soothes, rubbing your sweaty back. the world narrows to just you and him, his men reduced to mere afterthoughts. to be dealt with later — though you doubt the conversation will be anywhere near reprimanding, more likely to end with a bottle of scotch split between four, approving slaps to the captain’s back, than it ever will in your defence.

“n-ne- never a-ga…”

“come, now. let’s not be brash, mm. i promised them a pump each. ‘n’ what kind of host would i be if i didn’t make good on that?”

[suguann]

LOVE IT WHEN YOU CALL ME LOVER—JJK MEN.

✎. jjk men showing you how much they love you. | wc. 2k+

tags. fem!reader, window sex, possessive behavior, mirror sex, oral sex, public sex, pregnancy, fingering, praise kink, size kink

featuring. gojo, nanami, geto

masterlist

↬ GOJO

He doesn’t think you’ve looked more breath-taking than you do right then, humming softly to the music on the radio while painting your toenails, the last stretch of daylight kissing your exposed knees through the window. You’re so lost in your own little world that you don’t notice him watching you.

The important emails on his phone go unanswered, saved for another day when you’re not there to distract him. You stretch your smooth legs to inspect your work and glance across the living room to give him one of those soft smiles that sends warmth through his middle.

“What do you think?” you ask, little sunflower yellow toes flexing on the coffee table. 

“They’re pretty, baby.”

Another smile stretches across your face, that full lower lip caught between your teeth. “You think so?”

“Positive.” His phone lies forgotten on the cushion beside him, and he leans back to make room for you. “Come here.”

His eyes make a lazy trail up from your delicate ankle bone to the soft slope of your collarbone that peeks out from one of his t-shirts as you walk towards him, getting his fill until his fingers itch to touch and retrace the invisible path. 

Gojo can’t help it. He’s struck by the sight of you.

He wishes he could trap the shocked and delighted sound you make when he pulls you into his lap, keep it tucked away in the untainted nooks and crannies for him to return to later. A little melody on repeat for the days he feels undeserving of such sweet things, how he treads the fine line of corrupting that wide-eyed innocence you have of the world.

Still. Still, the truth is, he’s a little greedy, and he doesn’t really care how bad of a person that makes him.

Everyone looks up to him in some way. Nobody ever called him a saint. 

Gojo works out more of those soft sounds—pressing you against the chilly, tall windows in the living room, fist in your hair, and his mouth attached to the long column of your throat—that make his mouth go dry. Your back arches to ease the way he fucks up into you, tits brushing up against the glass, and he loves how the distant city lights below shimmer around you like a halo.

A high-pitched whimper, sharp breaths fogging over the window. “‘Toru people can see.”

He doesn’t think he’ll ever tire of how your soft and silky little cunt sucks him in—wrapped up all warm and wet around his cock—cursing under his breath when he tells you he doesn’t care. You’re his, anyway. 

“Let them see,” he grunts into your neck, teeth catching along your skin before licking at the vulnerable spot above your pulse. “Let them see how I fuck you because they can’t have you.”

Gojo can barely control himself at the mere idea that anyone would ever think they could. He’ll be the last and only one to know how you turn into a fucking vice when he hits particularly deep—how you shake like a leaf, legs coltish, after he makes you cum hard. 

↬ GETO

It feels like the epitome of terrible days: from the tomato stain on your skirt to your boss forcing deadlines down your throat and surprising Suguru at work only to find a pretty, willowy brunette sitting on the corner of his desk, her hand resting on a stack of graded papers, and fluttering her long lashes at him. 

The final nail in the coffin (a stupid nail, but a hammered-down nail nonetheless) is how she laughs and touches his arm, and Suguru doesn’t brush her off. He actually laughs back, all perfectly straight teeth on display and eyes crinkling at the corners. One of those heart-stopping smiles stretching across his face that you foolishly thought were all yours. 

Suddenly, you wonder if it was out of obligation that made him compliment you that morning in your dress—look at you, a kiss to your cheek, I’m going to fucking ruin you—a perfunctory greeting after being together so long (like making coffee or picking out paint), to make you feel better, or if he meant it—

A tap with sticky fingers to your cheek. “C’mon, watch.” 

You feel like you’re looking from the outside in, a spectator with a front-row seat that has your breath catching in your throat at the sight of his spit-slick chin and cheeks resting against the crease where thigh meets hip. He gives you a syrupy grin that tightens something in your stomach like a screw. 

“Not me,” he says, words laced with amusement. 

Hesitantly, your gaze trails up from his to the floor-length mirror perched in front of the bed, and what you see has your fingers sinking into the sheets. 

You can hardly pull your eyes away from how your leg looks draped across his broad, muscular back, making you look so small even though you sit above him. And it’s like Suguru knows what you’re seeing because his grin grows wider. 

“See, look how perfect you are. That woman in the mirror is so fucking pretty, I can’t believe I get to tell everyone she’s mine.” His thumb parts you open for his mouth. “Why would you think you look otherwise, huh?”

“I…don’t know,” you whisper, head a fuzzy mess of weak excuses that evaporate before they even have a chance to make it onto your tongue.

“Hm, that’s not a good enough answer.” 

Your hips twitch when he noses at your clit. 

“Awe, I bet that feels good, huh? I’m gonna show you what happens when you talk bad about my pretty baby,” then he sucks it into his mouth, making you squeal.

He can’t blame you for squeezing your eyes shut at the slick, hot pressure dragging through your folds—shaky fingers tightening in Suguru’s long, dark hair. It feels equally like everything and not nearly enough until he suddenly pulls away, taking that jittery feeling in your belly with him.

“Why’d you—”

“If you look away, I stop.” He chuckles lightly at the little pout you give him before his lips suck at the tender spot near the crease of your thigh, “so watch.”

↬ NANAMI

After lunch, he drags you across the street where there’s a park for him to set up a picnic blanket under a tree. Kento rests his head on your lap, slipping an arm around your waist and rubbing the sore spot in your lower back from being on your feet for too long. 

It’s all very innocent: him kissing your round pregnant belly, you running your fingers through his soft hair and talking about the latest work gossip. 

You hum when you feel his fingers crawl up your thigh, slowly at first and with no destination, just soft, aimless circles here and there, until the calloused pad of his thumb skirts over the front of your underwear, making you jerk with a small squeak.

“Kento,” you giggle, fingers tightening in his hair. 

He smiles at the scandalized look spreading across your face and leans forward to press another kiss against your stomach.

"Do you trust me?" he asks, hand pushing up your dress. 

You glance around the park to see if anyone is paying attention to the two of you—an elderly couple feeding the ducks frozen peas by the pond, a mother and father playing with their giggling daughter in the grass, college kids throwing a frisbee, all far enough away to be out of earshot (but that’s not the real problem here)—before you look back at your husband. 

“W-what?” you sputter, wide-eyed realization taking over.

He presses another open-mouthed kiss to your thigh. “Do you trust me?”

A soft whine slips past your teeth, the hand not in his hair curling into the blanket. “But everyone will notice because I’m—I’m—”

(A beached whale. An air balloon. A carnival-sized melon. You get the gist.)

“Gorgeous.” He smooths a hand over your bump, open-fondness radiating across his features, the subtle hint of possessiveness there making you shiver. “You look so fucking gorgeous with my baby growing inside you. Let me take care of you.”

“B-but—”

Everything else melts away to the pulsing heat between your legs and your husband groaning from the wetness he finds there. Your shaky thighs fall open wider when his fingers hook under the edge of your underwear (unflattering things worn for comfort over sexual appeal), pulling them aside to run his fingers through your slick seam. 

Pregnancy brain clouds your judgment, and before you can think twice about your actions, how you definitely shouldn’t let Kento eat you out in the middle of a public park, you nod your head. 

His lips ghost over the tender flesh of your upper thigh. "I need to hear you say it."

It’s a low and shaky yes that has his fingers finally sinking into you to the third knuckle, steadily pumping in and out of you. You buck down onto his hand, trying to bite back the moan threatening to alert everyone in the park of the head under your skirt.

“You’re going to cum for me, just like this,” Kento tells you, voice muffled by a layer of powder blue cotton. “Alright, darling?” 

[moon7jay]

ㄴ CHERRY🍒 ㄱ : Lee Heeseung

pairing : pervert!heeseung x virgin!reader

cheeries to pop this semester : Y/N (Heeseung's pick)

Warnings : toxic heeseung, manipulation, coercion, morally gray characters, dub con, infidelity, angst, filthy smut, masturbation, voyeurism, exhibitionism, body image issues, body shaming, family issues (it gets heavy), unprotected sex, cum eating, violence, dacryphilia.

Wc : 23k+

a/n : IT'S FINALLY HERE OMG, this is my first full length fic on here and I really put my all into it, please reblog and leave feedbacks, it's really really important for me, I cherish all of your words so much<3

!!!!!!! READ PREVIEW FIRST !!!!!!!!

You're quite literally the most stuck up thing Heeseung has ever laid his eyes on. It’s the way you stick out like a sore thumb; Your ponytail is meticulously braided, the grandma skirt that you chose to wear cascades down, stopping just beneath your knees in a habitual fashion and your pressed pink silk blouse is impeccably buttoned up to the collar, not one inch of extra skin in sight.

The book clutched tightly against your chest ties your entire look of “austere sophistication” together.

"Microprocessors", the title reads. Pfft. Typical of you. Only you can clutch onto such a demonic book like it is some quality literature. Heeseung nearly fights the urge to scoff.

You're peak virgin demonstration if Heeseung’s ever seen one. Your embodiment of purity is unparalleled, and it feels like a personal attack on his masculinity that he hasn't been able to get you under him yet. Keyword : yet. 

As he backs you up against the wall, your eyes downcast and your free hand nervously fiddling with the button of your blouse, he thinks you look pathetic. You exude an air of pitiful vulnerability, and it ignites a primal desire within him to consume you entirely.

You're nervous and it’s palpable. He can see it in the way you don't even meet his eyes, refusing to face him at all. The blush adorning the apple of your cheeks is adorable; fuck, you're cute. And Heeseung doesn't like cute things. But something about you makes you the exception to his usual preferences. Your innocence only provokes him more, acting as a catalyst, intensifying his desire to unleash all his darkest fantasies on your inexperienced body. He wants to explore you, peel off your layers and dive in deep like no one has ever done before. This need, this innate urge to taint you; it drives him absolutely feral.

"Did you watch the video I sent you last night?" he asks, unable to stop himself from leaning into your space, taking a deep whiff of your vanilla perfume. You even smell like a virgin. Fresh and untainted.  And, oh so tempting. 

Your head shakes meekly, but the discreet way you bite your lower lip tells him that you did watch it. Fuck yeah. He was high and horny when he recorded that nut video. Pressing send wasn’t on his agenda but his head was filled with the sinful thoughts of you and your pretty pink lips, and what better way to testify his desire to you than making you see how he looks in throes of pleasure, chanting your name like a literal dog in heat.

You yelp when his hand grabs your waist to pull you closer to himself. God, you feel good against him.

He nuzzles his nose into your warm cheek while your tiny fist makes contact with his chest "let-let go" you squeak out and it only makes him chuckle in amusement. You're so fucking cute. 

"you liked it baby? Bet you liked how I stroked my dick nice and slow, just for you" He watches in glee as the red in your cheeks spreads all the way down to your neck. He loves how responsive you are, loves how even the littlest of words make you falter in front of him, like a frail flower caught in a sudden gust of wind. Then you look up, and Heeseung feels his breath leaving his chest, as if the air has been vacuumed from his lungs .Your big, captivating eyes meet his dark ones and he can't help but let his perverse curiosity take over his sick mind. He wonders how your pretty orbs look when you cry. 

Scratch that. He wants to see you cry. 

What makes this thought more unsettling is that fact that Heeseung isn't apposed to seeing you cry in pain. As long he gets to see your eyes brimming with tears , he cannot give less of a fuck about their source. He'll fuck you missionary, Heeseung decides, staring deep into your eyes while he slides deep inside your tight little pussy. His cock chubs up at the thought alone. 

"you c-can''t send me stuff like that, it's inappropriate" you mumble shyly. He snickers and squeezes the fat of your waist, making another pathetic squeak to leave your mouth. 

"What can I do darling, there's not one appropriate thought in my head when it comes to you. wanna do so many inappropriate things to you, you’ll let me won’t you?" He whisper asks, and watches how your eyes struggle to maintain eye contact before you succumb to your shyness, choosing to look down instead.

 

"Heeseung, man, it’s time to go " Jake's panicked voice interrupts the filthy words he was about to mutter in your ears again. He turns his head slightly towards the entrance of the hall and sees Jake's brown mop of hair, rustling right outside. Heeseung sighs and turns back to face you. 

"Looks like we'll have to cut our fun short, you'll wait for my call tonight won't you baby? wanna hear your voice when I cum" He tells you, reveling in the way you only curl into yourself at his words, chewing your bottom lip raw. Fuck he wants to kiss the fuck out of you. But he can't. Not yet. Heeseung is aware of the boundaries he’s been crossing by touching you and sending you intimate stuff without your consent, and he doesn't want to push it, not so fast.He lets go of your body reluctantly and winks at you before making his way out of the hall. Jake's frantic eyes meet his once he's outside, and he rolls his eyes, already sensing an incoming lecture about morals and respect. 

"I'm never gonna be your guard dog again, it's risky fucking business" Jake spits,brows furrowed in distress. Heeseung merely shakes his head at him "you won't get it" he mumbles as he walks ahead, leaving Jake to run to catch up to him

"Yeah, I don't see the fun in being suspended, but hey, maybe that's just me" Jake replies sarcastically ,making Heeseung give him “the” look. "Dramatic much?" He asks, rounding the corner to the cafeteria and making his way inside. 

"I'm being dramatic? You're the one risking your reputation for some pussy, we can both be in jail for sexual harassment". Heeseung tunes out his friend's baseless rant and plops onto his designated seat. Jake slumps down right next to him. 

"Man I'm just saying, that if she ever decides to go to the dean about this, your messages will be proof enough to land you in big trouble" Jake explains. “and me too because you drag me into every unethical thing like the good friend that you are” he adds, sarcasm dripping from his tone, and Heeseung wonders when Jake fell victim to the sassy men apocalypse. 

But you won't, you love the chase as much as he does, he can see it in your eyes, Heeseung wants to say, but he doesn’t, choosing to stare at you instead. His eyes trace the movement of your figure when you enter the cafeteria sometime later. You're still hugging the book to your chest, making your way to the seat that's the farthest away from everyone else, as always. Your skirt makes his hands itch, he wants to know what lies underneath so fucking badly. He wonders if you know the effect that your modesty has on him, wonders if you know that your body being covered from head to toe gives more space for fantasy and yearning than any naked girl ever could.

"Stare any longer and your eyeballs might fall out of their sockets" Sunghoon’s berating voice brings his attention back to the table. He was so lost in you that he didn't notice sunghoon flopping down in the seat right across from him, shrugging his jacket off and throwing it unceremoniously on the table. 

"She's gonna be the death of me" Heeseung bemoans, running an exasperated hand over his face. Sunghoon laughs and kicks his leg under the table. 

"She already saw her name in that list that day, she knows what you want, and I don't think she'll let you anywhere near her anytime soon". Jake snorts, masking it with a cough when Heeseung shoots a glare in his direction.

He looks over at you again, finding the way you fiddle with your pen oddly erotic. He thinks he might be losing his goddamn mind, because the way he jerked off right after you angrily threw the “cherries to pop this semester” list on his face and stormed off , was shameful to say the least. That was the first time he had seen pure heat and raw emotion in your eyes, and damn you looked sexy as hell when you were angry. 

"She won't be a virgin by the end of this semester, write it down" Heeseung challenges, meeting Sunghoon's eyes. His friend only shrugs in response and turns around to look at you over his shoulder. 

"Sure, but by the looks of it, you won't be the one doing the honors" Jake snorts again , but Heeseung doesn't spare him a glance this time, his entire attention pivoted to the raven haired boy making his way over to your table. Heeseung doesn't like the way your eyes light up and you instantly sit up straighter in your seat, fixing your hair as if looking to impress. He scoffs. Loudly. Fucking park jongseong. 

"Does she really find that dweeb attractive?" He can't help but ask, jaw clenching when he sees you blushing, genuinely blushing and smiling at someone who's not him. 

"I dunno man, girls love that whole nerdy gentleman thing jay's got going on, some bullshit about being a green flag and all" Sunghoon supplies.

"They're friends too, lover boy's got game" Jake adds, smiling cheekily when Heeseung shoots him a dark look, yet again. 

◆◇◆◇◆◇◆◇◆◇◆◇◆◇◆◇◆◇◆◇◆◇◆◇

You're in a trance like state when you walk back home. With the whole hall incident with Heeseung, and jay approaching you at lunch, today doesn’t seem real, as if belonging to a different reality altogether.

What you feel for Heeseung isn't something that you can describe in words. He.. He harasses you. He touches you and grabs you and gropes you, but within limits. His actions lie in a murky territory, perplexing the norms of acceptability, and yet, you only yearn more. does that make sense? Maybe it doesn't to normal people, but in your touch starved brain, it perfectly makes sense. Some days you hate him and some days you crave him, always oscillating between the extremes of loathing and longing. You suppose that's because he's been the only source of thrill amidst the barren landscape of your existence for a very long time. He excites you, he flusters you, but ignites flames beneath your breastbone with mere words. His gaze unnerves you and yet, you can't bring yourself to push him away. Some would call you crazy, and you won't have any convincing arguments to defend yourself.

You have been a little desperate all your life, desperate for someone to want you, desperate for someone to see you, a ceaseless yearning for recognition, for acknowledgement of your existence and you're not ashamed to admit it. After all, how far can you lie about the very thing etched into your bones and skin? And to what end?

More, more, more, the intense craving, an insatiable hunger for it defined your very being. You were an unattractive child and grew up into an even more unappealing adult , at least that's what your mother used to tell you before she eventually passed away. Her echoes of criticism resonated through your subconscious, shaping you as a mirror of her own insecurities.

That would explain why you can't meet your own eyes in the mirror, and crave attention like a drug, seeking solace in the fleeting attention Heeseung bestows upon you. He's akin to a drug that leaves you high and delusional for a while, intoxicating you with fleeting moments of desirability.

You aren't stupid though, you harbor no illusions regarding his intentions . You know what he wants from you, you are aware that you as a person don't mean a thing to him, he just wants to take your virginity and flaunt it around like a badge of peak male prowess or something, you're just another challenge to him, reduced to a mere conquest for his vanity. But you haven't felt like a person in so long, you don't think you are in any position to make demands.

When you've been parched long enough, when the thirst reaches fever pitch, threatening to push you over the verge of insanity; the yearning for satisfaction eclipses the rationality of self preservation. The moment of brief satiation held such a twisted appeal, that you were willing to embrace pain and self destruction if it came along with a fleeting sense of fulfillment. The need for validation clouds your judgement, and you become nothing but a mindless puppet of your desires.

That might also explain why your crush on park jongseong is still alive after being brutally rejected in the first semester. Jay and you had developed a friendship really quickly at the very beginning of college, but both of you had never really talked outside of the university hackathons and coding competitions. His knowledge was what drew you to him, and the way he was able to come up with solutions to the most complex problems while you were fighting for your life, it just left you with no choice but to watch him with heart eyes. He was always polite to you too, and what were you if not a sucker for gentle and soft spoken men. 

He stopped talking to you after you confessed though, not completely because you still had to work on projects together, but conversations became more one sided and short, and so eventually, you just grew apart.

But ever since you got grouped together for the Cp techathon, he has started acting different; there’s so many lingering touches and subtle flirty glances that sometimes you’re sure you’re imagining everything in your head. Maybe you should get checked out for maladaptive daydreaming. Just a suggestion.

You're pulled out of your thoughts when you reach the curb of your house and don't see your dad's car parked inside. You breathe out a sigh of relief at the sight and proceed to make your way to your neighbor’s house. Suzy, your 60 year old neighbor, might be the only good thing going on for you. As you ring her door bell, you can't help but feel excited at the prospect of seeing your brother after an entirety of 2 whole weeks. Pitter patter of slippers approaches the door , and Suzy's wrinkled face greets you with a warm smile, as if she was already expecting you. 

"Hi" you smile, and she motions behind her, at the loud chatter of your brother. 

"Jihoon has not stopped asking for you for a second" She says , and you can't help but laugh as you make your way inside. 

The four year old stops talking to his toys as soon as he sees you, his blue orbs staring at you for a whole minute in amazement, and then , as if snapping out of a trance, he sprints towards you at the speed of lightening. "Y/n! " he squeals.

You giggle when he tackles you with a hug, sighing in contentment at finally feeling him so close. You're hit with a sudden urge to cry, feeling his tiny arms wrap around your neck, being away from him never gets easy no matter how many times you have done it. You coo as he tells you how much he missed you, burying his tiny frame further into your chest. You press several kisses to his face and tell him you missed him just as much. 

"Will you be taking him home today?" Suzy asks, coming over to sit down on the couch in front of you. You caress the back of jihoon's head, rocking him back and forth in your embrace, and meet her eyes, nodding a little. "Dad won't be home for a few weeks, hopefully, his car isn't there" you tell her. She nods in understanding and pats your arm, letting you know with her eyes, that she'll be here if you need her. 

You're grateful for her, she's the only person you can entrust your little brother with when things start to get bad at home. On the days your dad decides to get shit faced and break everything in the house, succumbing to bouts of inebriation, you're grateful that you can keep jihoon away from the violence. You honestly don't know what you would do without Suzy, the only steadfast refuge from the chaos that is your life. In some way, you are aware that having jihoon over alleviates her loneliness too, fulfilling her own needs of companionship that she deeply craves in her old age.

 

Occasionally, you're hit with a wave of inevitable jealousy at jihoon’s sheltered innocence, wishing that someone had kept you away too; from the violence and the pain. But you guess you were meant to be the protector instead of the protected, healing your inner child every time you see jihoon smiling brighter than the sun. If you had to live through all the suffering again , just to preserve and shelter his infectious smile, you would do it in a heartbeat. 

Suzy hands you a box of home made food when you make your way outside. "I promise to be back for you in a few hours sweetie, you will behave right?" you coo at jihoon's snotty, red nose as he clings onto your leg, begging you to take him with you. You sigh and watch in helplessness as Suzy picks him up in her arms, shushing him down so you can leave. It never gets easier.

Returning home, you dodge the broken pieces of glass and frames, quickly get out of your college attire, throwing on a pair of worn out jeans and a discolored top. There's still an hour for you to be at your part time job , and so you start cleaning the house instead. You don't know why you bother, to be honest, but there's an innate need that craves normalcy. When the house is clean, that means everything is going to be okay. Cleaning serves as a ritual of order amidst chaos, offering a sense of control amidst uncertainty.

Your shift at the cafe ends in a daze, countless customers come in and go out, some rude, some decent but you have learnt to take everything in a stride now. First month you had started working this job, you were a crying mess after the end of almost every shift, your sensitive little heart unable to comprehend why people were so rude. However, just like everything else in your life, you adapted to the demands of the job pretty quickly. As you stare at the now almost deserted cafe, save for a handful of students engrossed in their laptops, you pray that no one else comes in. Fatigue weighs heavily upon you, you’re exhausted out of your mind and just want to get out of here as soon as you can. Yet, as the familiar chime of the entrance bell resounds, signaling the arrival of yet another customer, you resign yourself to another interaction.

Your head snaps towards the door and your jaw quite literally falls to the floor. For as long as you have worked here, you've never run into any of your classmates. However, today out of all days, when you look like the wall mart version of the walking dead, park fucking jongseong is here. Because of course he is, your life has to be a social experiment. 

You pull yourself together when you realize that he's smiling at you, and you aren't smiling back. "Hi" you squeak out, fairly sure that you sounded pathetic. He grins at your flustered state, and leans closer to you on the counter. 

"Hi" He whispers back, your heart beating faster at the look he's giving you. You stare at his perfectly parted raven hairs and mentally pass out when he fiddles with his lip ring. 

"Um-so- what can i get you?" You stutter out, finally coming to your senses and realizing that you have a job. His eyes travel down to your chest , and he leans further into your personal space, his expensive cologne filling up your senses. 

"I'll take you" He replies smoothly.

"I-, what-you huh" you splutter, not quite trusting your own ears. There's no way Jay is flirting with you right now. The crush that you've harbored for the boy blooms in full glory as he continues to smile at you, a suggestive glint in his eyes. His smile is so damn pretty.

 

"I'm kidding pretty girl, I just saw you from across the street and thought I'd say hi, and ask if you need a ride back home" He explains. Your lips tug into a shy smile at the nickname, and you peek outside to see his gray Volkswagen parked across the street. Oh wow, Jay thinks you're pretty AND he wants to give you a ride back home. Why does that sound so familiar? You’re pretty sure you saw this same scenario playing out in one of your lovesick dreams last week.

"Oh-um- i don't wanna cause you any trouble" you mumble , hoping that he doesn't see the way your back is ramrod straight all of a sudden. You never really prepared yourself for the possibility of him , or anyone for that matter, wanting to drop you at your house. You're not ashamed of your neighborhood or the life that you live, but you despise the looks of judgement and pity more. You have managed to maintain this facade of a properly put together person for so long in college, and it has saved you so much mental torture that you know would ensue once everyone gets to know about your humble abode, and how your scholarship is the only reason you’re able to afford your college. 

"come on sweetheart, would I really walk all the way across the street if I really didn't wanna see you?" He asks, fiddling with his lip ring again. If you didn't know any better, you would say he looks sort of nervous. But why would anyone be nervous of you. Of all people. 

You nod meekly and mumble a quick "my shift gets over in 5 minutes", trying to wrap your head around the fact that Jay wanted to see you. HE wanted to see YOU. Jay winks at you and makes his way outside. You follow him with your eyes as he crosses the street and goes back inside his car, waiting for you. 

HE'S WAITING FOR YOU. What on god’s green earth. 

Seeing that there's only one customer left, you hurriedly make your way to the ladies toilet and wash your face, trying to get rid of the tiredness and grime off of it. What if he kisses you? Your own delusion makes you laugh. You do have some nerve at coming up with such insane scenarios in your head. He's just being nice, and here you are, hearing wedding bells. 

You reapply your lip balm and take off the apron you were adorning over your tee. You look okay. Well. There's not much you can do in the current situation anyway. You do hope that he overlooks how unkempt you look compared to your college appearance. Should you untie your hairs? But, wouldn't that be too much? He just saw you with a ponytail... fuck it, it's like a once in a lifetime opportunity anyway. You untie your hairs and let them fall in cascades over your shoulders. This is better.

 

You clean up behind you and inform the remaining customer that it's closing time. Handing the keys to Ralph, the security guard, you quickly run across the street, not wanting to make him wait any longer. Jay opens the car door for you from the inside even before you can reach it.

 

"Hop in" He says, a grin in his voice and he doesn't have to ask you twice.

 

This might be the most expensive car you've ever had the opportunity to sit in. The leather is soft against your skin, and it smells of fresh citrus. Even his car smells good. 

"So, Where to darling?" He asks, running his eyes all over you. You feel a little self conscious under his gaze but manage to utter your address nonetheless.

The entire ride is mostly silent with little conversation that he makes, asking you for directions. It isn't awkward, and you're so grateful for that. 

"Is this it?" He asks, stopping his car in front of the building whose name you blurted instead of your real address. 

You nod and thank him, ready to get out of the car when he grabs your wrist, pulling you into him. The middle console digs into your stomach but you honestly couldn't care less with the way his hot breath falls on your face. 

Your cheeks are warm and you are sure that you represent a tomato with the way the heat only increases when he tucks your hairs behind your ear with his other hand. 

And oh god, he's leaning in, his eyes fixed onto your lips as he inches closer and closer and- 

As if on autopilot, You push him away. Your cheeks burn in embarrassment at how taken aback he looks by your sudden reaction. 

"I-im sorry i- i don't-

"I thought you liked me" He says in a hostile tone, and you can hear the annoyance in his voice, can see the indignation in his eyes. 

You can't believe you just pissed off your longtime crush because of your inability to be normal. How could you have fucked up so badly? 

"I-i do, I do like you" You mumble quickly, trying to hold your tears at bay when he scoffs at your words. The shame weighs heavy on your chest as he stares at you a bit longer before looking forward towards the road. 

"Goodnight y/n" He replies sharply, in the most coldest voice you have ever seen him use towards you. 

Your lips quiver as you wrack your brain for something to say but you don't think you can say anything to fix this now. You've made a fool of yourself and embarrassed Jay all because you can't be fucking normal about anything. 

He presses the horn aggressively, and you jump, mumbling apologies and scurrying out of his car hurriedly. Your ears burn in humiliation when he drives off without sparing a single glance towards you. 

Well done y/n. Your habit of being self sabotaging never really will go away. You cry all the way back to your house, not understanding the abrupt downturn of promising events. It was going so well. He was going to kiss you. You were so close to having your first kiss. 

You wipe your tears dry when you get close to your house. Jihoon is fast asleep in Suzy's arms when she hands him over to you. You thank her for her kindness and make your way to your house, cradling jihoon's sleeping form. When he cuddles into your neck, his innocent embrace evokes a flood of pent up tears; all that you've been pushing back today, comes flooding out. You can't help but wonder if you'll ever be able to sleep this carefree in someone's arms. If there's love meant for you,then you have never felt it once in your life, and you wonder if it's too late now.

You're crying when you tuck him tenderly into bed, crying when you leave a wet kiss on his forehead, caressing his soft cheeks. You're crying when you try to eat the food Suzy gave you in the afternoon, and you're crying when you rub off all the evidence of today from your body inside the shower. At one point, you aren’t even sure what you’re crying about.

Thankfully, when you come out of the shower, the tears have ceased. You embrace the numbness which spreads all over your body after a soul crushing sob session. It’s funny really, how quickly you seem to turn your emotions on and off like a flip switch, like they aren’t even real at all.

Once your emotions are out of the way, and jihoon is asleep, you can't help but relish in the feeling of your skin under your fingertips. You aren't particularly horny, you just want to feel better and sleep with an empty mind. Masturbation always seems to work.

 

You throw off your towel and crawl onto the bed, spreading your legs and rubbing small circles on your clit, trying to get yourself wet. You rub and rub, and whine when it starts to feel somewhat good. Still, it isn't good enough to get you soaked thoroughly, so that you can cum again and again to your heart's content.

You groan frustratedly and reach for your phone, feeling extremely ashamed when your finger hovers over heeseung's chats. Your pussy tingles in excitement when you read his lewd words, attached to the video he sent you yesterday. 

"Gonna fuck you so good if you give me a chance baby, look how hard you make this dick"

You bite your lower lip and press play, rubbing your thighs together at the wet sounds coming from the video. His dick is so thick and girthy, curving upwards in excitement. His fingers look so long wrapped around his cock, you can’t help but squeeze your thighs at the thought of feeling them inside of you.

The way he moves his palm, up and down, up and down, moaning and groaning your name in pleasure, it has you writhing in no time. You will never admit it to heeseung, but he's the only person you ever think of while touching yourself. He turns you on beyond belief. He turns you on in a way that feels wrong. Almost Taboo. 

You continue to rub your clit to the sight of him jerking off, hoping that you could see his face in the video too. You wonder what he looks like when he's feeling good. The thought alone is enough to have you dripping in no time. You throw your phone onto the bed, but before you can start fingering your leaking pussy, your phone rings, making you groan in annoyance. 

You reach beside your head to pick it up and almost drop it on your face when you see heeseung's name flashing on your screen.

Fuck. What the fuck.

When he told you in college that he was gonna call, you really didn't think he actually will. But the phone is ringing and your body lights up in excitement. Is he really going to jerk off on call? Is he really that perverse?

Curiosity gets the better of you, and you swipe right, chewing on your lower lip as you press the phone against your ear. 

"Hey baby, I didn't think you would pick up, missed me didn't ya? " His cocky voice blares through the speaker and you blush. How was he making you blush over the phone, get a fucking grip y/n.

He chuckles when you don't say anything, finding your silence cute. 

"At least say a hi for me baby, so I can know that I'm not about to jerk off for your dad" His words make you wince, why was he so vulgar? 

"Heeseung!" You whisper shout, trying to convey through your voice how scandalized you are.

 

"There she is, fuck pretty, you're gonna stay with me on call while I beat my meat for you yeah?" He grunts and you gasp, feeling violated by his language alone. 

You rub your thighs and fiddle with your pebbled nipples "c-can you not use such words? " you ask quietly, hoping that he doesn't pick up on the silent whine that leaves your mouth right after. 

You hear a little shuffling on the line and your face feels hot. So he really is getting ready to jerk off? What will he say if you tell him how wet you are for him right now?

Heeseung can't believe you haven't hung up on him yet. His dick getting harder and harder the more that he hears your cute fucking voice. 

"Nah baby, I'm a nasty motherfucker, you should know that. If you ever let me fuck your cunt, I'll show you what real nasty sex feels like" He says, groaning when he hears you whimper at his words. Fuck. Why the fuck are you so fucking cute. 

He hisses when he wraps his rough palm around his leaking prick, he hasn't even started jerking off yet and he's already leaking so much precum.

Heeseung doesn't like cute things, but fuck does he want to fuck into one, wants to pound your cute little pussy while you make those cute little sounds for him. 

His ears perk up when he hears the wet squelching sounds coming through the speaker. Fuck. Fuck are you--? 

"baby, are you touching yourself? I can hear your wet little cunt through the phone" He grunts, as if in pain.

The moan that you let out tells him all that he needs to know. And damn he's never been so fucking hard before. 

"fuck yeah baby, fuck yourself with your tiny little fingers, make yourself feel real good for me" He groans, stroking his cock at a rapid pace, unable to stop himself from going feral. This is the first time that you have given him the taste of what it really could be like if he was buried in your wet snatch. It's driving him batshit crazy. 

"H-heeseung" you mewl, making him fuck into his fist faster. God, you sound so sexy. The heat spreads all over his body, making him feel so damn good that he starts bucking up his hips into his hands. 

"Y-yeah? Feels so good yeah , baby? Fuck, I wish It was my cock buried in you right now, I would pound you all fucking night -ugh fuckk" he grunts, panting as he feels the knot in his stomach tighten. He wants to cum so bad. 

Your whines reach a fever pitch and the intensity of the wet squelch increases. God, the filthy sounds of your wetness as you play with your pussy, make his tongue loll out of his mouth. He needs to bury his face in your juices before he dies.

"g-gonna c-um im-ah" you moan, whining and panting as your orgasm gets closer.

Heeseung curses under his breath and jerks off furiously, squeezing his engorged dick head and hissing in pure pleasure. 

"Oh yeah, cum all over my fucking cock baby, make a fucking mess, I'm gonna give you my cum too" He moans, thrusting up into his fist, again and again and again, chasing his high desperately. His palm is a wet, sticky mess of precum while he strokes his shaft to your whiny voice. You make him so fucking horny, the brutal way he's fisting his dick is a testament to that. 

A loud moan on your end makes him cuss, his own eyes rolling back as he hears you cumming. So fucking cute, god you sound heavenly. His hips buck up into his fist a few more times before he's spurting thick strings of his cum all over his chest and palm. He plants his feet onto the bed, and thrusts up into his fist over and over to drain himself of all that he has to give.

Fucking hell, that was probably the best jerk off session of his life. Before he can tell you that, however, you hang up on him. 

Heeseung chuckles in exhaustion and doesn't even bother cleaning his body, laying on the bed in pure sexual satiation. 

You're so cute. 

The events of yesterday hit you hard in the morning. Your eyes are swollen and red because of the crying session you had after masturbation. When the high of the orgasm wore off, everything else came back and it hurt like a bitch. 

You can't believe you let heeseung talk you through your orgasm, you can't believe that he made you cum without touching you, and what you can't believe the most is how much you liked it. 

Your mind drifts off to Jay, and a sudden shame fills you up again. No matter how hard you try, you're unable to forget the look of disappointment on his face, looking at you with so much annoyance etched onto the creases of his face, it almost reminded you of your mother.

Your gaze goes to the clock and you can't help but heave yourself out of the bed. As much as you'd like to stay and rot in extreme self pity, you don't have the option. Jihoon will be up soon, and you have a limited one hour stretch to make his lunch and get ready for college. You're not ready for the walk of shame to college, but being an academic weapon is your only achievement in life. You wonder what you would be if they take that away from you. Have you ever done anything else? Gone out, made friends? Got drunk at parties, had sleepovers? You haven't, you realize with a throbbing pain at the back of your head. It never was an option for you. 

You take a shower and fix a quick breakfast for your brother and yourself, getting ready in your prim and proper attire, reverting back to your put together front. 

Waking up jihoon is a work of lost art that you've mastered over the years, and so it's easy work. What isn't easy, however, is to convince him to let you go. 

"Why can't you stayy" He whines, tears already filling up his big, brown eyes as he clings to your leg like always. 

You kneel down to come face to face with him and quickly wipe his tears away "I'm going to bring back chocolates, you like them right?" you ask, cooing when he nods, his brows still furrowed in defiance. 

"Then someone will have to go and bring them right? so be a good boy and let y/n go" 

His little brows furrow further and he shakes his head again "suzy can go" He declares, and you can't help but be endeared. All the time that you stay away from him, you'd started to believe that he'll develop more of an attachment with suzy and eventually forget you. But these little things, these are the things that keep you going. 

You plant a big kiss on his puffy cheeks and he's back to grinning in no time, giggling as you tackle him in your arms. 

"Just a few more hours baby, I'll be back and we'll play together, I promise" you assure the little boy and his eyes shine at your words, "swings! at the park!" He exclaims, as if remembering the most important treasure of his life. You nuzzle his nose with your own and intertwine your pinky with his tiny one in a promise. It's so easy to make him happy, your perfect little baby. 

You pepper jihoon with a few more kisses before dropping him off at Suzy's.

Your heart tugs when he starts to cry for you again, but this is your life, you suppose. 

You keep your head down the entire way to class, lest you run into Jay and embarrass yourself again. Luckily for you, Jay isn't in his designated seat in the automata class, and you can’t help but breath a sigh of relief.

The relief is tremendously short lived tho, because Lee Heeseung is sprawled on the seat right next to yours in his full glory. 

Your cheeks turn red when your eyes meet his cocky ones. He smirks and raises a suggestive brow when you don't make a move to come any closer. 

"Do you plan to stand for the entirety of this two hour lecture baby?" He asks, suckling on the pop sickle that he always seems to have somehow. You quickly scan the seats around you, deciding fuck it, and plop onto jay's seat instead. There's no way you will be able to spend two whole hours under Heeseung's lecherous gaze. After last night, you have no idea how to face him. Even on normal days he leaves you extremely flustered and a clumsy mess. 

You can feel his gaze burning holes at the back of your head for the entire duration of the lecture. Sometime in the middle of the lesson, a crumpled paper hits the back of your head. You turn around, shooting heeseung an annoyed look. At least you try to look annoyed. The blush is still prominent on your cheekbones so you can only imagine what you look like to him. 

He motions his head towards the ball of paper lying near your feet. As much as you want to ignore his shenanigans and focus on the lecture, curiosity always gets the best of you. 

You unfold it quickly, tucking it inside your book so that nobody else can catch the words scribbled on it. 

"Wait for me in the janitor's closet"  

You shoot a defying look towards heeseung and crumple the paper back to land it near his jordans. It's equivalent to you saying "I won't" 

Heeseung only grins at you, shooting a wink in your direction, as if to reply

"I know you will"

He has some audacity, you think, as you make your way to the janitor's closet after class. A slave to your desires, you suppose.

A part of you is nervous and ashamed when his 6 feet tall figure enters the limited space of the closet, caging you against the wall. However, the other part of you, the desperate part of you , preens in the attention, almost feeling a sick pride in the fact that you made him cum too. And maybe even harder, if the way he was moaning last night was anything to go by.

 

His large hands circle your waist , and your breath hitches in your throat when he pulls you closer to himself, his nose touching yours while his hot breaths warm your mouth. 

"have sex with me" He says, leaving you speechless, yet again. It's not that he hasn't said those exact same words and even worse things to you before. It's the bluntness that never fails to take you by surprise. 

You shake your head, trying to push yourself out of his grasp. He's stubborn tho, and so damn strong, his hold like an iron grip around your body. 

"Cmon- he groans in frustration- you can have sex with me on the phone but not in person, how is that fucking fair? "

You whimper when he squeezes the fat of your waist harshly, as if branding your body in his hold. You aren't used to being touched so wantonly, and it makes a sick shiver run down the length of your spine.

"W-we did not have s-sex" you splutter, staring right back into his orbs. His heavy lidded eyes travel down to your lips and he leans in, making you gasp loudly when his pink tongue comes out to taste your lower lip, licking it tentatively. Almost experimental in how he runs it all over your lower plump lip. He pulls away before he can steal your first kiss, and you'd be lying if you said you didn't feel somewhat disappointed. 

"Yes we did have sex. Your tight little pussy came for my fucking cock while you were moaning my name" He supplies cockily, his words sending a wave of heat rushing down between your legs. 

He buries his nose in the crook of your neck and presses his body flush into yours, grinding the proof of his desire against your leg.

"Look what you do to me, fuck baby, if you won't let me fuck your cunt, at least take responsibility for your own actions" He grunts into your skin and you can't help the pathetic moan that leaves your mouth. 

"H-how" you ask, feeling yourself getting wetter the more that he humps your leg. 

Heeseung doesn't reply to you, instead, takes your hand that's clutching his shoulder and presses it against his hard on instead. 

"fuck yeahhh" He hisses, apparently craving your touch like a drug. 

you're sure your face can't get any redder than this. If it wasn't for his tight hold on your body, your knees would have buckled and given up a while ago. The feeling of a dick underneath your palm is foreign but so arousing, the fact that you did this to him. He’s hard for You. 

"Come on baby, squeeze it like you mean it, make me feel fucking good" He hisses, groaning into your neck when you squeeze him softly. The hardness in his jeans seems to get thicker and thicker, it fascinates you. 

He ruts his hips into your palm, desperately,trying to chase the delicious friction while he pants into your soft flesh.

"Fuck, it's not enough" He curses, pulling back from you to unbuckle himself.

You bite into your lower lip in arousal and squeeze your thighs to alleviate some of the pressure you feel between your legs. 

He looks up into your eyes, licking on his lips as he plays with the band of his boxer briefs. He watches in amusement, the way that your eyes can't seem to focus on one single thing, jumping from here to there, so nervous,so pretty and . God, you're cute. 

He takes your hand in his own again and slips it inside his boxers, covering your palm with his own while he uses your soft hand to jerk himself off. 

The hot and heavy feel of his leaking length has you whining. That only makes him chuckle and groan. "Mhmmn baby that feels so good"

The wet and messy way in which he uses your palm to stroke his length up and down, it's addicting, your palm feels soft and his whole body shivers when he sees how desperately you're squirming, your eyes wide and glossy. He wants to fucking ruin you. 

He presses his body further into yours, taking your earlobe into his mouth, small whimpers falling from his mouth while his movements get faster. Your palm is slick with his precum, it should gross you out but everything is so hot and heavy in the small space. 

"Are you wet? Just from feeling my dick? Desperate little thing aren't you? " He muses. You shake your head meekly, averting your gaze from his sweaty face and looking down to observe the rapid movements of your combined hands inside his boxers. 

"M'not wet" you mewl, eliciting a mocking laugh from the boy. He trails his kisses down the tempting length of your neck, the touch so sensual, it leaves you gasping. 

"I can feel your pretty little body squirming against me you know, makes me wanna force my dick inside you, where will you run if I do? " he asks, biting your collarbone when the slide of his dick gets wetter and squelchier. 

His words, instead of scaring you, make an inexplicable heat to ignite your insides. You want him to, you can't believe how bad you want him to act on his desires because you know you don't have the courage to act on your own. 

"f-fuck, pretty, moan for me baby, wanna hear you when I cum" He sighs into your neck, nipping at your skin and planting kisses in between his moans.

Hearing his words make you keen and he curses under his breath. The hold of his palm is brutal, your hand hurts but God does it feel good to hear him so desperate and needy, whining so hotly in your ear.

"fuck I'm so close so -ugh god-" His voice fades into a delicious moan and you can feel yourself dripping, your juices running down the length your thighs. 

You don't hold back on your sounds, letting small whimpers leave your mouth when he digs his teeth into your skin again. 

"Why won't you let me fuck you baby, wanna be the first to get inside your virgin little pussy so bad" He pants, supporting himself with a hand planted beside your head on the wall while he continues to masturbate using your flesh. 

It's exhilarating, it's hot, and it's so scandalous. 

"H-heeseung! " You moan when he lathers the skin of your neck with his saliva, tasting your skin like his life depends on it. 

"Sh-shit" He stutters, the lewd way you cry out his name make his eyes roll back to the back of his head. You gasp when you feel his hot length twitching repeatedly, warm, thick liquid covering your entire palm along with his own. 

His hips stutter a few more times inside your hold before stilling, a large sigh of satisfaction leaving his lips.

"Fucking hell baby, you always make me cum so hard" He whispers, chuckling to himself. 

He pulls your hand out of his boxers and wipes his hand off on his jeans, while you watch in silence with face turning crimson. He dresses himself and winks at you before walking out of the closet, leaving you standing there with your palm covered in his sticky, gooey cum. 

You feel used, but at least you’re useful for something. 

To say that you are sick of yourself would be an understatement. You feel violated, but some sick part of you enjoys being desired so wantonly. It turns you on. Heeseung doesn't love you, scratch that, he doesn't even like you but here you are, letting him use your body like some mindless sex toy anytime he damn well pleases. You wonder what that says about you. Sure, he's a jerk, but what are you?

You're lost in thoughts, walking home when a loud honk makes you jump on the sidewalk. You turn towards the car honking at you and come to a halt, facing the very familiar Volkswagen. 

There’s no way.

"Come on sweetheart, get inside" Jay grins at you from the inside of his car. You blink at a him a couple of time to really make sure that he's here. After the complete fiasco last night, you really weren't expecting to hear from him so fast. Or at all for that matter.

Nonetheless, he is here, and he's asking you to get inside his car. With your eyes downcast, you crawl towards it and slip inside the passenger seat, playing with your fingers while you avoid looking at him at all costs. He doesn't start the car, but you can feel the weight of his gaze on the side of your face. 

"I'm sorry about last night" He begins, and you can't help but look up at him astonished. Why was he sorry? You were the one who royally fucked up. 

He smiles at you apologetically and reaches out a hand to caresses your cheek by the back of it. If you weren't mentally screaming, you're sure you would have said something, and assured him that he has nothing to be sorry about. 

"I just, I shouldn't have tried to kiss you so fast, at least not without taking you on a date first. it's just that we've been friends for so long, and we both like each other, so it just seemed like the right thing to do" He explains, remorse dripping from his tone. You start to node your head in support of his sentiments when his words click inside your brain. 

Wait. 

"Y-you like me?" You blurt, cheeks flaming when his gaze falls to your mouth and he traces your bottom lip with his thumb. 

"So much that i forgot how to behave" He mutters in a trance, all his attention focused on fiddling with your plump and fleshy lower lip.

 

You blush at his words and avert your gaze back down to your lap, and he pulls his hand back. You want to whine at the loss of contact, enjoying too much being caressed so softly. When was the last time you were touched so gently?

"Before I try to kiss you again, because I will, you're too pretty to resist- he chuckles, and you try to bite back the smile that's threatening to break free on your face- would you like to go on an aquarium date with me? A little birdy told me that is your dream date" He grins at you, wiggling his eyebrows when you look into his kind eyes, and you let your giggles take over your body. The fact that he remembers your random rant from months ago shoots a giddy feeling through your heart. It feels good being remembered. 

"How about tomorrow? Skip college and let me take you out? " He suggests and you nod rapidly, almost detaching your neck from its socket. Jay only laughs at you endearingly, and it makes you blush even more. 

He drops you off at the same building as last night again, and both of you are grinning from ear to ear when he drives off. You're sure you catch a few stray looks from the passerbys when they see you beaming and giggling like an idiot as you walk back home with an obvious skip in your step. It’s ridiculous, really, but it feels good to have something to look forward to in a very long time.

You sigh loudly when you remember the promise you made to jihoon this morning. You're mentally calculating the time you have prior to when you need to be at the cafe, when Suzy's door opens before you can even knock on it, and out comes your little brother, bounding, and giggling in a high pitched scream.

You squat down to catch him in your arms before he can collide with your legs. 

"Looks like someone missed me" You giggle, hugging the little life close to your body, sighing upon inhaling the familiar scent of his baby powder. 

"Missed yew" He mumbles into your throat, his little hands wrapped around your neck, and you can’t help but coo at him in adoration. "Missed you too my baby, y/n loves you so much"

"He has been so excited the entire day, he wouldn't even eat until I told him you'll be mad if he didn't" Suzy tells you, coming out of her house with jihoon's water bottle in her hand. You laugh at her words, and pick your brother up in your arms while he continues to nuzzle into you. 

"I'll take him to the park for a bit, I have about an hour before my shift starts" You inform her and she nods at you, running her experienced warm eyes over your face.

 

"You look happy darling" She notes and you can't help the blush that dusts your cheeks at her words. She apparently notices , cooing at how shy you are all of a sudden.

"is it a boy y/n, yes or no?" She asks, a teasing lilt in her voice and you bite your lower lip, nodding in a giddy manner. 

"It is, I have a date tomorrow" you admit, unable to conceal the excitement in your voice. She gasps and pats your head "what a fortunate man he'll be to have someone as amazing as you darling" She whispers, pure emotion shining in her eyes.

 

You swallow the lump forming in your throat at her words, averting your gaze and mumbling a small thank you. No, you refuse to cry today, you had your fill of indulging in your emotions yesterday.

So, you push her words to the recess of your mind, where you securely encase them in a metaphorical box, stacking it up on a bunch of age old boxes. Emotions that you adamantly refused to confront and deal with, a stance that you still maintain.

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As you sit staring at your wardrobe, a sense of urgency washes over you and you come to two stark realizations. 

Firstly, you need to buy more clothes. The sparse collection of garments hanging before you testified to this necessity.

 

Secondly, and perhaps more pressing, was the acute awareness that none of what you have is remotely suitable for a date.

Jay is supposed to pick you up in a mere hour and you don't have anything to wear. Well, there's a blue halter neck dress that you wore for freshmen party in your first year, which you're sure doesn't fit you now. There's 3 silk pressed shirts which you alternate at your college, a handful of skirts and a scattering of sweaters. 

And that's it. 

You're about to cry when you feel a wave of panic rising within you. You’re o utterly unprepared for this moment.

As the crushing clarity threatens to overwhelm you, a pang of longing sweeps through you. You wish you had a girlfriend. It's not like you don't have friends, you talk to several people in school, be it for work or just casual chatting , but that's about it. Your relations with other people end as soon as you step out of your university building. Of course, you know that it's your own fault that you don't have anyone in your life, you never really put in the effort to keep up with someone, a casualty of your own reluctance to invest in deeper connections.

Whenever someone tries to delve deeper into your life, you just push back, and you push back hard. You are too consumed with your own life, you suppose. It's not that you have never had any friends either, you have had quite a lot, in fact, you even had a best friend in middle school. Time really changed you as a person though, its not to say that she didn't change either, time changes everyone, but your change had been tangible. You just let everyone go, choosing to stay in your own miserable bubble, blocking all attempts of reaching out or any support that you so desperately needed. Each flicker of friendship extinguished, each bond severed, bore the weight of your own self imposed isolation. You did this to yourself, you weren't a victim of circumstances no matter how much self pity you reserve for yourself. You were the architect of your own solitude, barricading yourself within the confines of your melancholic safety. You tell yourself that it’s better this way, that you don’t need anyone, but how long can you fool yourself?

The halter dress is the only option left for you it seems. 

The dress is not tight, but anyone looking at it can tell that it's not made to fit your body either. It's not revealing, but you can't call it modest either, at least by your standards, you don't think you've ever shown so much skin before. The blue one piece ends smack in the middle of your thighs, your chest is covered for the most part, and the long sleeves cover up your arms. If it's not for the unfamiliar sight of your bare legs, everything looks quite normal, you don't look hideous so that's a relief. 

You opt for leaving your hairs open, because last time you did that, Jay tried to kiss you. 

You wait for Jay at the entrance of your false residence. If he finds it odd that you're already outside, he doesn't comment on it, and you're grateful for that. 

"Wow" Jay says as soon as you enter his car “ you look so hot”, making your ears turn bright red. 

"T-thank you" you mumble, trying not to be bothered by how blatantly he is ogling at your exposed thighs, or how his eyes linger due to your dress riding upwards when you sit down. 

You both make casual conversation during the drive, and it's comfortable, the casual back and forth just like old friends. You can get used to this, you tell yourself.

The aquarium that he takes you to is bigger than your entire university building, so pretty and so enchanting, you almost lose track of time. Ever since you were little, you have dreamed of visiting one, you remember writing the same in one of your introductory papers in second semester, a paper that was discussed in class as well. How jay managed to remember that is beyond you tho. Throughout the date, he keeps you updated on every thing that you come across, and it feels good to have his attention completely focused on you. You almost combust when he takes you to a restaurant after the aquarium date, thoroughly flabbergasted because you've never been on a date before. 

The experience is something you will never forget, your first date, the thought makes you feel ecstatic, the wide smile on your face which refuses to go away is a testament to that. 

Turns out, your first kiss happens in the same night as well. As soon as Jay parks his car outside your trademark building, he's all over you. He doesn't ask you, he just leans over to you and smashes his lips against yours, tasting your hot mouth eagerly. You don't know what you're doing, your hands are placed awkwardly over his chest while you try to move your lips against his, mimicking his movements to the best of your ability. He doesn't seem bothered by your lack of skills tho, just diving into your mouth with his tongue, one hand cupping your face while with the other, he gropes your thighs. 

You push back your discomfort and revel in the feeling of his touch, gasping when he bites into your lower lip. He tastes like the wine you drank at the restaurant and you wonder if you taste the same to him. 

The kiss ends too soon for your liking, but, the feeling of his dark eyes and rough hands running all over the length of your body shamelessly, follows you back home. 

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You ignore heeseung's calls for the next few days, almost contemplating blocking his number once and for all, but for some reason, you can’t bring yourself to do it.

Your dates with Jay continue, and you do manage to buy yourself a new dress. You’re doing well for your first relationship, if you can even call it that.

Even though Jay does seem to love kissing you, never in a million did you ever think that you'd find yourself in such a compromising position. However, here you are, sitting on Jay's lap in the middle of class while he eats your face. Yes, he's actually devouring your mouth, tongue buried so deep into your throat that the feeling has you arching your body into him. 

What makes the experience more thrilling is the audience you have. Your classmates had collectively gasped when Jay pulled you onto his lap seemingly out of nowhere. But, it isn't them that you are worried about. It's the boy at the back of the class with a perfect scowl etched onto his handsome face as he watches you make out with someone that's not him. 

Heeseung looks livid and you wonder why. Is he upset because he thinks you aren't a virgin anymore? 

Jay lets you go with a smirk when the professor announces his presence, and you rush to your seat that's right in front of the scowling boy, in a daze. It's actually amazing how he ignores you the entire lecture, something that has never happened before. what's more unsettling is the fact that you are mildly disappointed by that. 

You want to ask him what he's upset about, but you aren't able to gather the courage to. As much as heeseung's a constant itch at the back of your head, you remind yourself that you're dating Jay now, so you can't be thinking about other men. 

You're dating Jay now. You're dating Jay. You're dating. 

None of those sentences sound real to you. 

However, the giddy feeling inside your chest dwindles as Jay gets more and more touchy throughout the entire day. You can't tell if it's normal to grope your chest just a few days after you had your first kiss, but you don't want to make him upset again. You don’t like seeing him angry. Besides, isn't this what you always wanted? Someone to want you, someone to love you? 

And haven't you let Heeseung do worse things to you anyway? Why haven't you ever felt such discomfort when Heeseung used your body to get himself off? . But the truth is, has Heeseung ever touched you this way? Sure he sends you inappropriate messages that are borderline harassment, sure he used your hand to jerk himself off once, sure he wants your virginity and he has made his intentions clear, but has he ever ventured beneath your clothes before? 

He has never groped your body before, not like Jay is doing. Now that you think about it, heeseung has never even kissed you before. Your mind makes countless comparisons between Heeseung and Jay, and you wonder why you do that to yourself. Were you really comparing the guy whose whole purpose of pursuing you was to pop your cherry and wear it like a symbol of achievement, to the boy that likes you and took you to your dream date? 

A gasp leaves your throat when jay grabs your ass, smacking it and making you yelp between harsh kisses. You're glad you're in his car and not outside, glad that people aren't there to witness you being touched like this.

"You're so pretty" He whispers in your ear, and so you latch onto his words and overlook his actions.

 

Now that you have someone who likes you back, do you really want to push him away? Do you want to let your useless self doubt and trust issues stop you from living your life yet again? No. 

Thus, you push your discomfort to the back of your mind when his hand travels under your skirt at one point. 

"It's normal y/n, don't make a fool of yourself" you chant in your head, trying to enjoy the feeling of being wanted. 

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“We never really talk.... There's so much we still don't know about each other" your voice is meek, feeling hesitant to say your thoughts out loud in case you end up upsetting jay; which you seem to be doing a lot, to be honest. 

The said boy groans from the seat in front of you where he's busy on his phone, completely facing away from you. 

"We know plenty" He quips, not even sparing you a glance, and you bite your lower lip to stop yourself from thinking too much about it. Maybe he just isn't in the mood today? But again, when is he ever in a mood? 

All you do is make out, and when things get heated, you always pull away. Then he gets agitated, and doesn't talk to you for days. It fucks with your head, but you go along, and even though you don't feel comfortable, you start letting him touch you more, and even though your body is taut with tension, he never seems to care. 

You want to tell him about your brother, want to share the little things you do together and the things that make you happy. You want to ask what his favorite color is.

However, the opportunity never seems to come. 

Your mind drifts off to heeseung, and the little notes he used to throw at the back of your head during last semester. 

"Do you like roses or lilies?"

"Do you sleep on your stomach or side? "

"Are you going to the town fair?"

You remember ignoring him back then, but now your heart constricts. Even if he was just trying to bother you, those questions were probably the only time someone had tried to get to know you. You don't know what it is about heeseung, but everybody just looks at you, he's the only one who has ever made you feel seen. Maybe in another universe you would push aside your shyness and answer those notes. Maybe in another universe you would throw some notes back at him, asking things that you wanna know. 

"I like tulips... But lilies are good too"

"I sleep on my back, sleeping in any other position makes me sore, I don't know why tho"

"I'm not going to the town fair, I have to stay home with my brother, he's really small"

But it's too late now, and you swallow down your words, squash the need to talk to someone, and resort to the heavy silence that is your life. 

Heeseung is about to fly off the handle. The sight of you in another man's arms shouldn't bother him this much and yet, it does. The fact that you're ignoring his calls and messages makes him feel slightly insane. It shouldn't be like this. You are just a bet. A pick. Just another name on the list. 

Then why the fuck is he this close to smashing jay's annoying face in. It isn't even about your virginity anymore, and that's what bothers him the most. 

He hates it, hates that he's so affected by you, but he should have seen it coming,to be honest. With the way he stays up late just to jerk off to your pretty face, no girl has ever drove him this close to insanity before. The lust he feels for you is blinding and all consuming. It burns him, the desire he feels for you scorches him from the inside. It unsettles him how badly you’ve managed to turn him into a slave to your big, doe eyes.

Therefore, when he catches you alone in the classroom after three whole weeks of you ignoring his presence, he just can't help himself. It’s unfair how fucking pretty you look standing near the white board, scribbling something down onto your notebook while trying to setup the projector for your presentation later.

The sound of the classroom door being shut makes you jump, but the reason makes cold dread run inside your chest. Heeseung looks like a predator as he advances on your figure, eyes dark in lust and the vein in his neck throbbing with anger. His hands itch with the desire to touch you, it's been way too long for his liking since he last felt you close. 

Before you can say anything or do anything, he's on you. The feeling of his lips against yours is electrifying,it feels like your entire body comes alive at the contact. His kiss is surprisingly slow and more bruising than you've ever been kissed before. His hands wrap around your waist and he pulls you closer to himself, tilting his head to trace your lower lip with his tongue, waiting for you to let him in. 

You should push him away but you don't. You can't. Your head is dizzy with a passion you've only ever felt with him, your arms wrapping around his neck as you push yourself closer to his firm body, opening your mouth and letting him tangle his tongue with yours. The moan that leaves your mouth at the feeling makes his slacks tighten, his dick hard and throbbing inside his trousers. 

You taste so fucking addicting, Heeseung doesn't wanna stop kissing and tasting your warm mouth. 

When he pulls away to breathe, you're both panting heavily, his forehead resting against yours, dark eyes staring into your soul. 

"I don't like when someone ignores me y/n" He growls, his voice sharp and hoarse from desire. The feeling of his hard on digging into your stomach makes you squirm. 

"I - I have a boyfriend, I shouldn't be talking to you" You manage to let out, biting back another moan when he grinds a bit into you. 

Heeseung feels hot rage flash across his chest at your words. 

"Oh yeah? He got his dick inside you yet?" He asks, his words making you blanch. How was he always so vulgar?

 

"That's, that's none of your business" You splutter, looking anywhere but his eyes. 

His hold tightens around your waist and he continues to grind his hard on against your soft flesh.

 

"I'll take that as a no, fuck, still a virgin aren't you baby?" he guesses.

You avoid looking at him and it only spurs him on further, his hold tightens around your body the more that you try to maintain some space.

"What a loser, if I was him, I would have buried myself into that tight little cunt of yours on the first night of our date" He whispers, and for some reason, his words excite you instead of disgusting you. A sick tingle runs down your spine and throbs between your legs.

"H-he's not like you" You quip, looking up into his eyes to get your point across "he doesn't want me for my body, he loves me for me"

Your words seem to make him angry, if the slight clench of his jaw is anything to go by. 

He stops moving against you and scoffs. 

"Loves you? What do you know about being loved y/n? " 

His tone is mocking, and eyes full of unfiltered rage, the words spoken with an intention to hurt. And hurt, they do. You wonder how he knows the exact place to strike to make pain ricochet so wildly inside your ribs. 

What do you know about being loved? Nothing, you suppose. How do you recognize love if you have never seen it before? or do you just accept everything that comes to you as love because you don't have any option to? do you just cling onto every act of kindness because of how much you want it to be love? 

What do you know about being loved indeed. 

Seeing your face fall makes heeseung regret his words almost instantly, the sight of your big eyes blinking up at him so solemnly makes his heart twist uncomfortably. What the fuck? 

Before he can apologize, however, your small hands slide down to push against his chest, and he lets you go. He doesn't stop you when you collect your assignment that you'd been working on when he barged in, your gaze downcast and shoulders slumped as if heavy from the weight of his words. 

The urge to pull you into his arms hits him as he watches you leave, but he's too much of a coward for that.

Because no matter how much he wants himself to believe it, 

You aren't just a name on the list, you never have been.

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The atmosphere feels different today. You took a day off from college just to spend time with Jay, and although it makes you feel guilty that you left jihoon with suzy for the entire day, you can't help but be selfish for once. 

All of this feels like a fever dream and you want to enjoy it before your alarm rings and you’re thrust back into the harsh reality once again.

Jay took you back to the aquarium, then you both went to the beach that his dad owned, and you were having so much fun that you just couldn't say no when he asked you to stay the night at his place. "No funny business" He assured. 

But that didn't last long. 

You whined into his mouth as his rough palms travelled beneath your silky sundress, sundress that he bought for you. "The yellow really suits your skin, wanna kiss you stupid" He had said, leaving you a flustered mess. 

"I'm gonna take this off baby" Jay whispers into your mouth, sitting back up and sliding your dress up your legs without waiting for your answer. 

You squirm in anxiety and embarrassment when he exposes your panties to his curious eyes. You want to cover yourself, you want to hide, but his firm hold on your waist keeps you down and under his mercy. 

He slides your dress further up your stomach and then it happens. Your worst nightmare comes true. His eye brows furrow and you watch in dread as his entire face shuts down. 

"Let's turn the lights off" He says, and you don't know what's worse, the way he eyes your body in distaste , or the way he pulls your dress down to cover you up. 

"Why? " You manage to ask, swallowing the lump forming in your throat. You know why, you just want to hear it. You want to hear him say it so that your illusion can shatter once and for all. 

Jay looks away and sighs, his jaw ticking in frustration "because that's how I like to have sex" He replies, his tone smooth, but you are anything but stupid. 

You sit up and bite on your wobbly lower lip, smoothing down your dress on your thighs with shaky hands.

 

"You don’t like what you saw" You whisper, barely audible, but he hears you alright. His nostrils flare as he finally turns to face you, looking angry and terrifying. 

"Do you have to be so damn difficult all the fucking time you stupid bitch? I'm trying not to be mean but you wanna hear how much your body's turning me off to your face? " He grits, hands coming down to grab your thighs and spreading your legs open. A sob escapes your lips at his words and you hit his chest to push him away

"I w-want to go home" You cry, sobbing more when he grunts in anger and slaps your face, pinning you down by your throat while he pushes you down onto your back, and straddles your thighs. 

"Wasted so much of my fucking time on you, and now you want to go home? Right when I'm this close to being the first one who's gonna scratch your name off the list? "

Your heart stops at the implication of his words, pure disgust and terror runs through your veins.Your eyes fill up with more tears and you start using your full body strength, squirming and flailing, somehow managing to hit him in the shins with your knee. He howls in pain and rolls off of you , cussing you out.

"Fucking bitch" He growls, but you don't stay or look back, grabbing your phone and running as fast as you can. You hear his footsteps chasing you, but the adrenaline pushes you forward even though your vision is blurry with how much you're crying.

How you managed to open his house's main gate is beyond you, but once you are out in the open, the night air hitting your wet cheeks, that's when you come to a halt. You don't know how far or how long you ran, you don't see any people around, just luxurious houses standing tall, and it makes you sob more. You don't see Jay chasing you down the road so that calms your heart a little, but soon, the gravity of your situation sinks in. You almost got raped. 

The thought makes your knees wobble and you unceremoniously collapse onto the sidewalk, your back resting against a cold metal pole. Your hands shake and sobs wrack your entire body, feeling intense pain coursing through your bones. 

You were jay's pick too. How could you have been so blind to the signs? Him approaching you out of the blue, just a few weeks after the list got released . if you weren't blinded by your stupid feelings, you would have seen it as clear as day. He wanted your virginity. Just like Heeseung. 

He didn't like you as you had deluded yourself into thinking.

The disgust on his face when he saw the stretch marks littering the lining of your stomach, it was so palpable it made you flinch.

 

Was he going to fuck you just for the sake of winning the game? Is your virginity really all that? But who are you kidding, all this time, you have held onto your virginity so desperately because you know that it's the only thing that makes you desirable, doesn't it? It's the only reason Heeseung wants you, it's the only reason Jay pursued you, what even are you without your virginity? Once you lose it, you'll fade into the background again. 

No more delusions. Just plain, cruel reality. 

The hurt you feel is something that you brought upon yourself. Did you not know yourself? How could you ever, even for a second, expect someone to love this version of you? When even you can't look at your body without disgust, why did you expect Jay to? 

As your sobs quite down and turn into small sniffles, you dial Heeseung's number and let your phone ring. This is it, you think to yourself, heart oddly calm when he picks up on the second ring. 

"Hey sweetheart, this is the first time you have called me on y-

"Do you still want to fuck me? " You ask, your voice hoarse and monotonous. 

You hear a sudden clatter of something falling down on the other end of the line, like he dropped something, taken off guard by the suddenness of your question. 

"I-yeah-i mean what? are you okay baby? " He splutters, and your head throbs, you look around yourself and don't even recognize where you are.

 

"can you pick me up? I know it's late, but i think I'm lost, you can fuck me as payment, I'm still a virgin" You explain. And somehow, hearing you talk about yourself like a commodity rubs Heeseung the wrong way. What's going on with you? You don't even sound like the y/n he knows.

 

"Where are you baby? " He asks, and if you didn't know any better, you would say that he sounds concerned. 

"I don't know.. there's a beach nearby.... and the area looks expensive, but i can't tell what street-

"send me your location from the maps baby, I'll be right there, just stay where you are " He warns before hanging up. 

You want to smack your head against concrete, so much for being an academic weapon, why didn't you think about sharing your location before. 

You rub your bare arms to keep yourself warm. Apparently, the dress isn't as warm against the night cold as it seemed to be inside the warmth of the house. 

Somehow, this decision feels right. Heeseung has been the only person who has been honest about his intentions with you from the very beginning. Although it was the exact same thing that Jay wanted, but still, it feels right to let Heeseung take your virginity instead of anybody else. You want this miserable fallacy of want and desire to end. And for that, you are going to give away the only thing that makes you special. Sounds like a perfect plan to you. 

After what seems like an eternity, a blue Toyota stops right in front of you. 

You don't even glance at it twice, just staring blankly at your feet, until you hear the driver's door open, and shoes come into your line of vision. You don't even have a chance to look up before heeseung's gathering you into his arms

"Holy fuck you're freezing baby" He exclaims, picking up your numb body as you cling onto him for life, you can barely feel your legs. Heeseung lays you down in the back seat, and instantly turns the heater on. A cold shiver runs up your spine at the sudden temperature change, your eyes falling shut on their own, and everything around you fades into darkness. You want to sleep a very long sleep. 

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Heeseung looks at your body in his back seat, anxiety coiling in his stomach at the sight of you being curled up into a fetus position. Even as he drives, he can't concentrate on anything else, because he's pretty sure he saw a red mark on your left cheek, like someone hit you. Hard. 

He's hoping he's wrong, because the rage building up in his chest is inexplicable.

There's dry mascara tracks running down your cheeks so he figures that you must have been crying, and he can't help the sick jolt he feels in his cock at the thought. 

The yellow dress you're wearing is riding all the way upto your thighs, and Heeseung can feel his throat getting parched. So much skin. He's never seen you this exposed before. He wants to touch you, wants to run his palm over your smooth skin and kiss you till you're moaning into his mouth , and he wants to take you up on that offer you made on the phone, he wants to see for himself how pretty you look while crying. 

He curses himself for having such thoughts when you're clearly not okay, but Heeseung's no saint. He’s never claimed to be one either. 

He knows that if you asked him to take your virginity to his face, he will ravage you on the spot, it won't matter that you seem to be in pain. He'll make you forget everything and fill you with pure pleasure the entire night. 

He's not a man of morals, and he's never pretended to be one. 

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You wake up with a start, breathing heavily while your eyes adjust to the view around you. The unfamiliar soft sheets, the tasteful and expensive decor of the room, it all intimidated you somehow. You called heeseung, that's all that you remember, everything after that is a blur. Is this jay's room? Did he find you again? 

Your heart's beating really fast, threatening to give up on you as you look down and see yourself in a white linen shirt instead of the dress that you were wearing instead. What the fuck happened. 

You instinctively reach between your legs and it doesn't hurt, your panties are dry and intact. So, this isn't jay's house or clothes. The familiar cologne fills up your senses once you take a whiff of the shirt you're wearing, and it all makes sense. Heeseung. 

This is heeseung's house, and his room probably, definitely his shirt. Did he change you out of your dress? Was he as disgusted as jay when he saw the mess that you were underneath your clothes?

You look around yourself and sigh in relief at finding your phone on the bedside table, exhaling the breath that you didn't know you have been holding. 

Before you can reach for it tho, the door to the room opens. You pull the sheets closer to your chest when Heeseung peeks in. He seems a little taken aback at seeing you awake and sitting up , looking like he caught you in the middle of doing something. 

"Thank god you're up baby, thought you’d die on me" He grins, coming inside and closing the door behind him. Suddenly, the room feels small for just the two of you, your fingers wringing nervously when he takes a seat next to you, his hands coming up to cup your cheeks. 

You bite back a pained whimper at the pressure against your left cheek, Jay must have hit you really hard, the skin still sensitive and stinging at the slightest of touch. Heeseung seems to notice your discomfort and removes that hand instantly, choosing to caress the other side of your face instead. 

"I need to know that you're okay sweetheart" He says, urging you to speak. But you don't know what you're supposed to say, you aren't okay, obviously, but this is better than everything else so you suppose you are. You choose to nod instead. 

He hums and slides more closer to you, forcing you to look into his eyes, his face so close that if you leaned forward just a bit, your lips would collide. 

"Do you want to tell me what happened? Who did this to you?" He asks, and you are taken aback by the softness in his touch and words. But you'd be a fool if you fall for that again. 

Hence, you take hold of his free hand instead, watching how his eyes immediately fall to your tight grip, watching in rapt attention as you guide his hand under your shirt, and between your legs. Heeseung's eyes instantly darken when his hand comes into contact with your panty clad pussy, a few choice words leaving his mouth when you gasp at his touch. 

Fuck. He likes this bold version of you. 

His eyes meet yours, and hot arousal pools in his lower stomach at the way you're looking at him, eyes blown out in lust and desperation.

"It doesn't matter" You whisper, inching closer to his face, and planting a quick kiss to the corner of his mouth "just want you to fuck me and show me how good sex can feel" 

A deep grunt leaves his chest at your words, and the next thing you know, his hungry mouth is latched on yours, the force of his actions making you hit your back against the bed sheets while he mounts your body, his palm still cupping the centre of your legs. He kisses you like he's been deprived of you for so long. All thoughts of your well being leave his mind, focus locked onto the sinful words you just whispered into his ear. His tongue dives into your mouth and you give him free access, both of you exchanging spit messily. You mewl into his kiss, your body squirming pathetically when he starts rubbing your clit from above your panties, applying just the right amount of pleasure to leave you gasping. 

You're just about to thread your fingers in his silky strands when the familiar ringtone of your phone makes you jolt. He ignores the sound like he can't even hear it, tongue too busy sucking yours, the movement of his thumb getting faster and harder. 

You can't ignore the sound tho, there aren't many people who call you. So, when your phone rings for the second time, you know it's important. You push against his chest, and he pulls away, panting heavily while he stares at you, brows furrowed in confusion. 

You swallow the spit pooling in your mouth as you watch him gathering your saliva coating his lips and sucking it into his own. How does he make everything seem so hot and nasty?

"Sorry, i- i have to take that" you whisper, motioning towards your blaring phone. Heeseung grabs it from the nightstand and hands it over to you instantly "make it fast baby" He grunts, retreating his hand from between your legs and settling on groping the soft flesh of your thighs instead. 

You nod, and curse when you see Suzy's name. Fuck. Fuck. You never thought about informing her of your whereabouts. She must have been waiting for you. Jihoon must be waiting for you. With an apology on the top of your tongue, you swipe right.

"Hey suzy, I'm sorr-

"Y/n, your dad is back and you need to come back right now" Her terrified voice cuts you off. Panic takes hold of your spine, and you instinctively get out of the bed, standing up to calm down your heart. You can feel heeseung's inquisitive gaze on you, but you can't be bothered with keeping up appearances right now. 

"What do u mean? Why do u sound scared?" You ask her, tears gathering at your waterline, because as much as you want to stay calm, the terror grips hold of your heart. It’s never good when your dad is back.

There's some shuffling on the other side, and your heart drops when you recognize jihoon's sobs, and Suzy's coos trying to shush him down. 

"What's going on?!" you can't help but raise your voice, even though it quivers. 

"Listen y/n, I think he came back a few hours ago, but when he didn't find you at home he came banging on my door, asking me where you were. And he was drunk out of his mind, but he heard jihoon's voice and now he is not leaving. He keeps banging on the windows, and asking for his son, I don't know what to do. I kept calling you, and you didn't pick up. I'm going to call the police, but jihoon is not my child y/n, you have to come back right now" More shuffling, and a loud thudding sound cuts the call off, making your heart beat out of your chest. 

"Suzy??, suzy?!" No response. You look around in panic, meeting Heeseung's worried eyes. 

"Pants, can you lend me some pants please" you ask him, tears dripping down your face. You're panicking so hard right now, your fingers feel numb. Heeseung scrambles to his feet immediately, and noticing your shaking hands, he helps you inside them himself, folding them so they don’t restrict your movement. 

"Thank you, can you- you fret- can you please, please drop me to my house. I know I promised I'd let you fuck me but I really need-

His soft lips interrupt your rant while he kisses you tenderly and cups your face, wiping your tears with the pads of his thumbs "address, baby" 

And this time, you tell him your real one. 

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You keep dialing Suzy's number the entire ride home but she doesn't pick up. If Heeseung hears you quietly sobbing, he doesn't mention it. You guide him to your house, and are thankful for the distraction his fingers provide as he draws random patterns on your thigh with his free hand.

You don't believe in God, you never have, but somehow , in this moment, you pray to whatever power is out there, if there is any, to keep your brother safe. You don't care about anything else. Just keep your little love safe.

Heeseung doesn't make small talk, doesn't ask questions, and you find that so comforting, it makes you wanna sob your heart out in his car. 

The way he doesn’t look even slightly disgruntled by the state of your house or your neighborhood makes you want to tell him all about that you've been going through while he says nothing at all. It's been so long since someone listened to you, you know, just for the sake of listening, to take some burden off of your heavy heart. 

You don't question it when heeseung gets out of his car with you, letting him follow you to Suzy's house. You don't even trust heeseung like that, but knowing that he's right behind gives you a silent strength.

Your dad's slumped on the front porch, one baseball bat clutched in one hand, and rubbing his face with the other. To say that he disgusts you, would be an understatement. How could you have ever loved this man? You haven't seen your father in so long, he got lost behind the violent person with red raging eyes a very long time ago. This man in front of you isn't your dad. 

His bleary eyes fall on you, and he instantly stumbles onto his feet, pointing the bat at you. 

"Where have you been you little whore" He hisses, his red eyes looking at you in pure hatred. 

"What do you want dad?" You ask, fighting away any shakiness that manages to creeps into your words. Your heart is beating fast, you need to make sure that jihoon is safe, but the lack of noise from inside the house scares you. 

"Where's my money?" He demands gruffly, taking a few steps towards you. You don't stumble back like you usually do, trying to hold your ground. 

"There's no money dad, there's nothing for you here" You quip. Your words seem to anger him more, his nostrils flare, and he points the bat at the house "bring that little bitch out, I know you're hiding him inside, if you won't make me money, he will" He spits, and you can't believe your ears, hot tears dribble down your cheeks, blurring your vision of him.

 

"What the fuck is wrong with you?? Have you got no amount of shame left in you? "

A yelp resounds from your throat when your father grabs hold of your wrist all of a sudden, pulling you close, boring his threatening eyes into yours. You wince at the smell of alcohol on his breath. 

"The fuck did you just say to me you little slut- he twists your arm, making you cry out in pain, you try pulling yourself away but he only tightens his hold on your arm- do u want me to break your ribs like I did with your whore moth- it all happens so fast, the grip on your arm loosens, a scream rips through the air, your dad falls to the ground. And then there's silence. 

You stare in disbelief at the boy straddling over your dad's unconscious body, wiping his bloody knuckles on his jeans. He punches your dad's face twice more, then kicks him to roll him over while he stands back up. 

At that point he turns to you, and you start sobbing. Heeseung is about to open his mouth to apologize for punching your dad unconscious, panicking that he did something wrong when you're pulling him into you, smashing your lips against his, kissing him with all that you've got. 

Heeseung is taken aback, his eyes widening when your taste invades his mouth, but he recovers almost instantly and pulls you close to his body, kissing you back just as hard. The kiss is wet and salty because of how much you're crying, but he couldn't care less.

 

You're both breathing heavily when you pull apart, eyes widening when you hear Suzy's door click open. Jihoon! 

You leave Heeseung standing on the porch, running to suzy when she comes outside "jihoon?" you question, your voice out of breath. 

She glances at Heeseung, and then at your dad, before looking back at you.

"He fell asleep while crying, I think he got one of his seizures y/n, all the shouting really scared him" she explains, and you cup your mouth, more tears prick your eyes, feeling your heart break all over again. 

It's been years since your brother got his last seizure attack because of trauma triggers. You have managed to keep him away from all his triggers, except this time. All because you were selfish, and wanted to stay the night away. Your life has to be one long, never ending sick joke. 

"where's he?" you ask, your voice feeble, you're afraid you'll start screaming if you aren't careful. 

"In the spare bedroom, go, I'll take care of him" She says, motioning towards your dad. 

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The time span between carrying your brother home to tuck his sleeping figure inside his buzz Light year sheets, while suzy takes care of informing the police and calling the ambulance for your unconscious, and injured dad is a blur for you. 

Heeseung doesn't get in trouble because you vouch for the attack being in self defense, your dad's history of abuse and drinking helps your case. 

After all cars are gone, and you finally breathe a sigh of relief, you realize that Heeseung is still here. Your heart feels full when you look at his unruly appearance, and you don't want to admit the yearning you feel for him right at this moment. He's the first person besides suzy to witness the shit show that is your life, and you wonder why isn't gone yet. 

And then you remember. Right, your virginity. How can you forget. 

You find him leaning against your kitchen counter, hands in pocket as he waits for you. He looks so out of place standing in your small kitchen, the light bulb swinging above his head makes his skin glow, and you can't help but be attracted towards him like a moth drawn to the flame. His eyes find yours as soon as you round the corner to your kitchen, and they stay. This look is different.

He's looking at you like he's seeing you for the first time. 

You take tentative steps towards his figure, fiddling with the long sleeves of his shirt that you're wearing. You don't even get to open your mouth before he's pulling you closer to him, his one hand wrapping around your waist while he cups your cheek with the other, swallowing the gasp that escapes your lips at the sudden touch. 

He kisses you like you're the air that he breathes, his tongue dipping and tasting all crevices of your warm mouth. You fist the shirt on his chest, and tilt your head to deepen the kiss, whining into his famished mouth. 

The kiss is everything you've ever wanted. It's not rushed, but it's needy. The passion dripping from his lips renders you boneless, and you lean further into him. The exhaustion seeping inside your bones seems to get heavy with each languid stroke of his tongue, and you don't realize when the tears start falling down your cheeks. He doesn't pull back tho, just trails his kisses upto your face, swallowing your tears as he pulls you flush to his body, dissipating any ounce of space that was left between you two. 

When you pull apart, your mouths are connected by a string of saliva, hot pants escaping your chests. He rests his forehead against yours, and caresses your face by the back of his hand, cooing when you bite your lower lip to stop the tears from falling again. 

You're exhausted. You're dead tired and his touch seems to be your undoing, setting all your emotions free, the severity of all the events that happened in the last twelve hours hitting you all at once. 

"Let me fuck your pain away, baby" He whispers, and in that moment, you can't seem to resist falling into the familiar comfort of delusion. You know that once you let him fuck you, he'll lose interest, but you need it now. You want to bask in his affection and call it love. You want to experience feeling loved and wanted before it's inevitably snatched away from you. 

"fuck me" you whisper back, wrapping your arms around his shoulders when he groans and leans into your mouth again. Heeseung feels like a fucking jerk, but seeing you so helpless, and in dire need of his touch makes him delirious.

 

This is a new feeling. This desire to be needed by you.

He would not admit it to you, but he relishes in the fact that you're alone, and in so much pain. It makes it easier for him to show you how much you need him. He wants you to keep him, crave him like he does you. 

You gasp into his mouth when he hoists you up into his arms, your tiny figure melting into his touch. He loves it, loves how easy you are. 

He might be taking advantage of your pain and vulnerability, but he only wants you to want him just as badly as every bone in his body wants you. 

Your back hits the couch, and you stare up at him with wide eyes as he hovers over you, a lustful glint in them that drives him nuts. Your hands bunch up the shirt on his chest, and you pull him back into you again, not getting enough of his lips on yours. 

You love how dizzy his touches are making you, your body arching into him when he gropes your curves, his hands all over you.

"Wanna see you naked" He whispers, and your heart plummets into your stomach. A sinking feeling beginning to form a pit inside your chest. No, it can't be happening again. 

He must see the hesitance on your face, because he's caressing your cheek again, so softly and so gently, you almost mistake it for genuine care, but you know better. 

"What is it?" He asks, planting few pecks on your pouty and swollen lips. 

You twiddle with the button of his shirt, and avoid eye contact. 

"C-can we turn the lights off? looking at me might turn you off" you manage to mumble, the words burning your throat on their way out .However, you're done lying to yourself. 

Heeseung doesn't say anything, and you peek up to see his face. He is looking at you like you've grown two heads. It makes you feel self conscious, your ears burning in humiliation, feeling like you ruined the mood already. 

"You're beautiful" He blurts, eyes still fixed on you in disbelief, he can't fathom you thinking such a thing about yourself. Him? Getting turned off by you? He has not heard a more ridiculous thing in his life before.

Your eyes snap up to him at his words and you furrow your brows in irritation.

"You don't have to lie to get inside my pants I al-"

"I've jerked off to your face" He cuts you off. Your mouth splutters like a fish as you blink up at him, trying to process his words. 

He's still staring at you, eyes dark and deep.

"Jerked off just to your face. Not even your body. you're so beautiful I get hard by the mere thought of you" 

You don't know whether to laugh or cry. Only Heeseung can say such things and make them feel like a compliment. You can't help the giggle that escapes your lips, and you hide your face into your hands.

"God, you're unbelievable" you groan between your giggles, unknown to the fact that heeseung's currently losing his damn mind on top of you. In that moment he realises, that he's never made you laugh before. You have never looked up at him and giggled before. The sound shoots straight to his hardening cock and spreads a warm feeling inside of his chest. He can't believe how overwhelming this sudden emotion is, and he isn’t sure where this sudden influx of affection for you is coming from. However, there’s one thing heeseung’s sure about, and it’s the fact that he loves this sight more than he loves to see you crying. And that's saying a lot. 

He swallows thickly when you remove your hands from in front of your face, and smile up at him, chewing on your lower lip as the blush on your cheeks darkens

"This might be most romantic thing someone has ever said to me" you whisper, wrapping your arms around his neck again. 

Heeseung leans down to press soft kisses to your jaw, preventing you from seeing the softness in his eyes. He trails his kisses down towards your neck, loving the way your breath hitches. 

"Do you wanna hear the other romantic things I have to say about you?" He asks, mouthing at your collarbone, and you whine when he digs his teeth into your soft skin. 

"Y-yeah" you mewl, your body squirming as he squeezes your ass in one hand while he supports himself over you with the other. 

His hand travels inside your (his) shirt, touching your skin, caressing it. You bite on your lower lip, eyes fluttering when he reaches your bra covered breasts. Your nipples are already hard and pebbled, and you moan loudly when he pinches them. 

"fuck" He groans, your erotic sounds making him leak inside his jeans. 

He mouths hotly at the hollow of your neck, and squeezes your boobs harshly, making you cry out again. Fuck, he loves playing with your body like this. 

You tangle your fingers inside his hairs, your toes curling at the attention he's giving to your chest. 

Heeseung sits up to unbutton your shirt, manhandling your body to take it off of you in a lust driven frenzy. As soon as it’s off of your body, he instantly goes back to squeezing your soft flesh again, watching with dark eyes how your soft skin turns red in his hold.

"Ah-heeseung" you whimper, feeling exposed at how he greedily drinks in your uncovered skin. 

He unbuttons your (his) jeans, and slides them off of your legs in one go, discarding them on the floor. He bites his lower lip, his eyes running across your uncovered body, and he can feel how hard and heavy he is inside his jeans. He fights the urge to squeeze his junk when you bite on your finger, doe eyes staring up at him, your body squirming as he gropes you. 

You're so naively sexy, your innocence drives him batshit insane. 

"I almost jerked off to you while changing your clothes you know? you just looked too fucking sexy to resist" He grunts, his fingers running over your stretch marks. Before you have a chance to feel self conscious about the fact that he's seen your body before, or feel apprehensive about his touch on your stretch marks, he leans down to kiss them. You gasp when he runs his hot tongue over them, kissing and licking like he can't help it. He traces your panty line with the tip of his tongue, hands groping your thighs mercilessly.

He's so close to your pussy, and your face burns.

 

"H-heeseung" You squeak out, and the boy instantly climbs up your body to come face to face with you, pecking you softly as he hums. 

"I-i haven't shaved" you tell him shyly, your ears heating up in embarrassment. But you need to tell him now before he recoils in disgust later. 

What you don't expect is the way he chuckles, leaning down to nibble on your cheek while his hand cups your breast again, squeezing and groping. 

"you worry about the things that don't even cross my mind baby- he pecks your nose and stares into your eyes- you think I'll care about some hairs when your warm pussy is right there? that I'll be able to think about anything other than sucking and fucking when my dick's about to fall off?"

Your face is so hot you can feel the heat radiating off of you. Though his words are vulgar, and so obscene, they do placate your worries for a bit. 

Keyword : a bit.

You're still apprehensive about him being down there. What if you smell bad? and taste even worse? 

You gasp when he roughly pulls your boobs out of your bra cups, and takes one in his wet mouth. You tug on his hairs, and moan when he bites your nipple too harshly, the sensation making you arch your back into his mouth. 

You don't notice when his hand travels between your legs, but a deep whine falls from your lips when he runs a finger over your panty clad slit. 

"you're fucking dripping baby" He groans into your flesh that he still has in his mouth, sucking and biting both of your boobs till they sting. 

You try to close your thighs around his hand but he tsks in faux disappointment, and parts them again, trailing his kisses down towards your centre, leaving no portion of your skin unmarked. 

He kisses your pussy from above your panties, slurpimg your wetness through the sheer material, burying his nose into your slit.

"fuck baby, taste so good" he groans, rubbing his nose in your wetness, tracing the outline of your pussy with his mouth. You bite your finger, and squirm in his touch, feeling yourself dripping more. 

He trails his kisses down to your inner thighs, making you squeal when he digs his teeth into your sensitive flesh. He chuckles into your skin, and does the same to your other thigh. He seems to be enjoying this more than you are. He leaves more bites marks up your leg before burying his face between your legs again, making your thighs close around his head. 

The action makes something in him snap, and heeseung sits up on his hunches, stares straight into your eyes while he licks his lips for your juices, and starts sliding your panties down your smooth legs.

“want you in my mouth before we fuck”

Your breath hitches when his heavy lidded eyes snap down to your nakedness, and he closes his eyes to groan. 

"shit" He curses, parts your legs open, and dives straight between your legs, not even bothering to take off your panties all the way off as it hangs on your ankle obscenely. He sucks your sensitive clit into his mouth,and you moan so loudly it has you slapping your palm over your own. The overwhelming sensation makes your eyes roll back, only ever feeling your own fingers down there, it's a heady feeling to feel someone else.

 

You tangle your fingers in his hairs, tugging harshly when he slurps your wetness, parting your pussy open with his fingers,and thrusting his tongue inside your virgin hole,running it all over your vulva like a starved man.

 

You thrash in his hold, a shiver running down your spine when his nose bumps your clit, and he starts applying pressure, rubbing it back and forth. The obscene squelch that you can hear from between your legs has your face burning, you can't believe how wet you are. You aren't ready for the sudden feeling of his finger sliding inside your pussy, and you scream. Heeseung looks up at you from between your legs, and increases his movement, eyes dark as they watch you lose yourself to pleasure. 

"How does that feel? " He asks, voice so deep it makes your pussy throb. 

You moan, and nod your head rapidly "s-so good" you whimper when he dives down to suck on your clit again. The combined feeling of his fingers and mouth pushes you closer to your orgasm. 

"Yeah baby? Your pussy's so tight, can't wait to get in there, wanna feel good too" He groans, thrusting a second finger inside your warm cavity, and probing inside your gummy walls in come hither motion that makes you mewl. 

"So wet" He mumbles, licking into your pussy again. And God do you taste addicting, heeseung can spend the whole day buried in between your legs if you would give him a chance. The way your walls flutter around his fingers has him leaking copious amount of precum in his jeans, and he has never been so turned on before. 

"pleasee" You moan, and he's crawling up to you again, his lips capturing yours and you can taste yourself on his tongue. He fucks you with his fingers rapidly, lust filled eyes watching in rapt attention at how your eyes flutter shut, and your body arches into him, so ready to getting lost in pleasure. 

He curses under his breath as he watches how you grind your hips on his fingers, trying to chase the pleasure they’re giving you

"yeah? Gonna cum and make a mess baby? " He asks into your mouth, swallowing your moan, and licking the drool escaping your lips. 

You nod your head and dig your nails into his neck, holding onto him for your life. Heeseung ruts his hard on against your thigh as he watches you come undone on his fingers alone, moaning his name unintelligibly. Watching you cum is the hottest thing he’s ever seen, he decides.

"Cum on me, make yourself feel good" he sighs, the pleasure filled expression on your face has him close to cumming untouched. You gyrate your hips while his fingers get covered in your juices, drenching his palm as he helps you ride out your orgasm. You sigh out in relief, coming down from your high, your hold loosens on his neck and you squirm while you watch him sucking his fingers, tasting your juices. It's so hot, you don't even realize when you lean in. His lips meet yours and you moan upon tasting your cum, sucking on his tongue like he sucks yours. 

"Made you feel so good yeah?" He asks, his voice hoarse in desire, and you nod, pushing yourself into him again. He wraps his arms around your body, and unhooks your bra, finally taking it off of your body, and discarding it somewhere. 

"My turn" He grunts. 

You rub your thighs together while he unbuckles his belt, ogling your naked body like a pervert. Your eyes widen when he pulls his boxers down unceremoniously, just enough to let his dick flop out. 

It's bigger in person,even bigger than you remember while touching him and you whine. There's no way that can fit inside you. His eyes darken as he strokes his cock, fisting it to the sight of your naked body lying so helplessly, ready for the taking. And God does he want to take you. 

If you weren't a virgin, he would have been pounding your hole by now, but as much as he's impatient, he wants to make this experience good for you too.

You're sucking on your finger again, your eyes fixed on how he moves his palm up and down his shaft, the real life version makes you drip more than the video he sent did. 

Heeseung hovers over your body again, and grabs your hand, pulling out your finger from your mouth. "No hiding your sounds from me, wanna hear you loud and clear while I fuck you stupid" He growls, and you squirm under his gaze. 

You yelp when you feel him running his dickhead against your slick pussy, wetting it in your juices for a smooth slide. You dig your nails into his shoulders, staring up at him with your big doe eyes as you utter the words which make Heeseung finally snap.

"p-please don't make it hurt" your voice is the sweetest thing he's ever heard, and God, does he want to hurt you. He wants to roughly push himself inside till there's nothing but tears of pain and pleasure running down your pretty face. He wants to make you scream, and show you how pain only heightens the pleasure. 

You're so naive, looking up at him, trusting him, but heeseung is lost in his dark desires and pushes in without a warning. You turn him on so badly.  You scream at the way his length bullies itself inside your tight hole, scraping against your walls and your body feels like it's being split in half. Tears blur your vision and you push against his chest, sobbing through the pain that makes you want to run away. It's too much. 

"h-hurts please-oh-" his hips push inside and then he's balls deep into you, groaning in satisfaction while you scream again. The feeling of your hymen tearing apart makes you sob uncontrollably, and you try to angle your hips away from him. He doesn’t fit, he’s gonna tear you apart.

Heeseung holds your hips in his bruising grip, and starts moving in and out. He's too damn turned on to think about anything else other than how good your virgin pussy feels around his dick.  "Stay still baby, let me feel good" He grunts, pulling out of your hole to the hilt, and then pushing inside again. In and out. In and out. His hot pants fall onto your wet cheeks. Heeseung reaches down to rub on your clit, relishing in the wet warmth of your pussy. It feels more pleasurable for him when you start getting impossibly wet.   Soon enough, Your pain filled sobs start to subside, and pleasure filled sobs start to leave your lips instead. 

That's when he starts fucking in earnest. Once he hears you moan in pleasure, heeseung lets go of all his inhibitions, and straight up pounds into you. 

"Fuck yeah baby, so fucking tight for me" he groans, snapping his hips against you at a rapid pace. His balls smack against your ass every time he pushes in, and the skin slapping sounds make your head throb in pleasure.

You didn't know sex could feel so good.   "Heeseung please, oh my god" You moan when his dick rubs against your sweet spot, his hot pants fall on your mouth while he slots his lips against yours in imitation of a kiss

"Yeah? Just like that?" He asks, his own eyes rolling back when you clench around him. So deliciously tight.

The slide inside is so deep and so wet, it makes his hips pick up speed. 

"Warm little cunt, waited so long to get inside" he groans, biting on your lower lip, and grinding his pelvis against yours. 

The sheer ecstasy running through your veins at the way his cock makes out with your cervix, makes you thrust up your hips against him. You buck into his hold, pressing your body closer, rubbing your chest against his clothed one. It's then that you realize that he's still wearing clothes. 

Heeseung curses under his breath when you whine and tug at his shirt.

"You wanna feel me naked baby?" he asks, running his hands over your curves as he pounds into your warm hole. It's too good to stop. 

You nod and tug on his shirt again, trying to get closer to him.

"Fuck" Heeseung mutters, and sits back on his hunches, his hips still grind into you while he strips himself off of his clothes. He pulls himself out of you for a split second to discard his jeans and boxers on the floor, then he's thrusting into you again. 

"This is so much fucking better" He moans, loving how your naked body arches into his own, rubbing yourself against him so desperately. The delicious friction of your grinding sexes makes you both delirious in pleasure. Heeseung digs his fingers into the fat of your waist, and buries his face inside the crook of your neck, kissing and moaning along it while his thrusts become merciless. You dig your nails into his shoulders, and throw your head back, exposing more skin for him to dig his teeth into.  The obscene way your naked bodies buck and thrust against each other to reach pleasure high is a sight to behold. The skin slapping, and wet squelching sounds fill up the space between your heated bodies, and you never want this feeling to stop. 

"tight fucking cunt, so good, wanna keep fucking till my dick aches" His filthy words travel deep inside your core, and warmth spreads inside your womb, the knot starting to form in your stomach. 

"oh my god" You moan when he slows his hips into a slow grind, hitting all the right spots inside your swollen pussy. 

"Yeah? fuck yourself on my dick like a slut, grind your virgin little pussy on my meat" He growls, coming up to capture your lips in his own, groaning into your mouth when you dig your nails painfully inside his flesh, enough to draw blood. 

The sweat drips down your bodies, as you rut against each other in pure pleasure. You moan into heeseungs mouth as he languidly licks against your open cavity, sucking on your tongue, and exchanging spit. 

The pace of his thrusts fasten, and he pounds you into the couch, fucking into you like his life depends on it. Your words are reduced to mere moans and babbles, your tongue lolling out at how good he feels.

"gonna cum inside this cunt baby, gonna let me fill you up right? flood your insides with my fuck cream?" You nod in a lust filled haze, and heeseung licks the saliva that pools in the corner of your mouth.

" Yeah? Real deep baby? Fuck-so fucking good Jesus" He growls, his spit and sweat falling into your mouth as he starts rutting into you like an animal. He can feel himself getting closer. the knot in your stomach snaps when he presses his palm into your lower stomach to trace his outline. You gasp into his mouth, and your body convulses uncontrollably.

"Fuck yeah, god you're gonna make me cum, god im- his hips grind a few times inside your pussy, and then he's stilling inside of you, the tight clench of your pussy pushing him over the edge, shooting his thick cum inside your womb. 

It feels so good that Heeseung keeps moving inside you till you whine and cry out in overstimulation. You're grateful when he listens, and pulls out, but the very next second, he's getting down there and burying his face between your legs again, slurping your combined juices from your pussy. Your toes curl at the feeling, and you can't help but open your mouth when he comes up to slot his cum filled one against yours. It's nasty, but you can't stop licking into him, tasting your mixed release together. 

"Fuck, you're nasty" He chuckles, finally turning your body around, and wrapping you into his embrace. 

For the first time in your life, you fall asleep nuzzled into a warm and comforting body against you.

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Heeseung has always prided himself in the fact that he doesn’t get attached to people easily, doesn’t feel certain emotions until he allows himself to. He’s not a good person, he’s always known this, that’s the reason why he has always kept himself at a distance.

Watching. Observing.

Nothing in his life is unpredictable, heeseung works according to the plan, always predicting and preparing himself for situations that can happen. That’s just how he operates.

Watching. Observing. Executing.

You, however, caught him off guard. Heeseung was never ready for you to barge in his life the way that you did.

You think you know him from third semester but heeseung knows you from way before that. The first time he’d seen you was on the very first day of college, waiting right outside the registrar office, chewing on your bottom lip nervously as you stepped aside for people to pass.

There was something about you that stuck with Heeseung. He couldn't figure out what it was no matter how much he thought about it but you soon became a constant itch at the back of his mind.

It wasn't like you were strikingly pretty. Heeseung had been surrounded by beautiful women all his life. Almost desensitized to extravagant beauty. It all seemed vague to him.

You were not extraordinarily pretty, no.

But you were enchanting. it was the type of pretty that stuck with you, that stayed with you, the type of pretty that might not capture your attention in the first glance but the second or third glance might have you hooked; the type of pretty that was made up of hesitant smiles and solemn gazes and fidgeting hands.

Heeseung watched you from afar for a long time, observing, learning. That was until he saw an opportunity to be in the same lecture as you. That’s when he started executing.

And then you made him fail. At his own game.

Heeseung’s sickness identified and craved yours, rendering him powerless when he realized that maybe,you were even sicker than him, a thousand times more depraved. You just didn’t know it yet.

He didn’t realize when you became the very thing he breathes, carving yourself a home inside the darkest parts of his heart.

Ever since he fucked you into your sheets, his craving for you has increased tenfold. He is way past pretending that you are some stupid bet, or a mere name on the list. Seeing you vulnerable, and yet so strong , made something shift in him. He's always been sick in desire for you, but over the past few months, you have managed to infiltrate your way inside his brain. 

"How's the mission " Cherries to pop" going for you man?" Jake's voice interrupts his thoughts, and he doesn't have to think twice about his answer, eyes fixated on your slumped figure as he replies

"Take her off the list, I won" 

Numerous gasps are heard around him, sunghoon laughs in shock, eyes meeting Jake's in disbelief "you can't be serious, was she any good? " He asks, nervousness creeping in his voice, because heeseung does look serious. 

Heeseung turns his eyes towards sunghoon, face void of any recognizable emotion

"the bet's over. I don't want to talk about it, but if I see any of you fuckers around her after this, it's going to get bloody " He warns, sweeping his eyes over the shocked faces of the boys around him. And with that, you are taken off the list forever. 

◆◇◆◇◆◇◆◇◆◇◆◇◆◇◆◇◆◇◆◇◆◇◆◇

You hear the whispers, you aren't deaf, but something inside you disassociated when you woke up in the evening after losing your virginity. Cold and alone. 

Heeseung had cleaned your body and clothed it before he left, but not having him near stung more than you ever thought it would. It was to be expected tho, wasn’t it? He got what he wanted, there was no reason to stay.

"can't believe heeseung really did it"

"Man, she doesn't look like she must have been a good fuck"

"A win is a win"

You don't dare look up the entire day, ignoring all the folded papers that fall beside your leg. Curiosity doesn't get the better of you, and you don't pick them up to read what's inside. It just doesn't seem to matter anymore. All this buzz will die down in a week, and you will finally resort back to the dark corners, and shadows where people will no longer look at you, just past you. 

You don't dread the reality of your situation anymore, a small sigh leaving your lips as you gather your stuff, and walk past the inquisitive stares. 

Settling down at the farthest seat in the cafeteria gives you a sense of relief. This seat has been your safe space through all ups and down. The only constant in the chaos of your existence.

You're busy swirling your food around the plate when a sudden quiet falls over the cafeteria. All the chitter chatter and noise dies down. It's almost eerie. Eerie enough to finally make you look up to see what's wrong. Your eyes turn towards the entrance as you follow everyone's collective gaze, and what you see makes your heart plummet in your stomach.

It's Jay. But he's wearing a cap, his head slumped down as he makes his way towards his seat with an obvious limp, but it doesn't hide the black and blue wound blossoming around his left eye, several deep cuts on his lower lip, and scratches on his cheek. The high neck he's wearing sticks out like a sore thumb in mid July, and you wonder if there's more that he's trying to hide. You don't have to worry about facing him, looks like he's not going to be looking up anytime soon. 

Realization sets inside your throat like a lump, and you instinctively snap your gaze towards heeseung's table. His eyes are already on you when you find him. They're dark, and tender, if that's even possible. You feel like you're drowning in them. Your throat feels full, and your eyes burn the more that you look at him, and you can't help but follow your instinct to get out of here as soon as possible. It's too much. This sudden influx of emotion is too much for you. 

Murmurs follow your leave, but you don't stay behind to hear or care. Your steps are heavy and purposeful as you stride forward, away from everyone and everything. This feels like a fever dream. Why the fuck would Heeseung do that? Scratch that, how the fuck did he even find out?

But you know exactly how he found out. The location that you shared. It isn’t rocket science to figure out who lives nearby. Of course he knows. What confuses you is the fact that he cared enough to look it up and avenge you in his own sick way.Why does he even care?

You can feel a breakdown coming, and so without wasting time, you rush home in a frenzy. By the time you reach your threshold, your throat hurts, the tonsils burning in pain. Your body is begging for you to let it out, but you're a slave to your habits. Holding everything inside until it chokes your airway. 

You're tapping your leg frantically as you stir a spoon haphazardly in your coffee cup, swallowing down copious amounts of caffeine to push back the inevitable. You hate breakdowns, hate feeling so out of control and vulnerable. It shatters your facade, makes you come face to face with the pretty lies that you tell yourself. 

"It's going to be fine, you're fine"

But are you? 

A loud honking in your front yard makes you drop your cup, spilling all of its contents on your shoes, jumping back as you get startled out of your mind. 

Who the fuck?

You step over the mess and make your way to your front door, watching in disbelief as Heeseung's car idles in front of you. He's looking right at you from his window, and you wonder what is it about his eyes. There's something about his eyes and the way he looks at you. It makes you feel naked. Body and soul. It seems like he looks right through you, and you don't know if you like that. 

Your feet move on their own and he doesn’t even have to say anything. In no time, you find yourself sitting inside his car, your back against the expensive leather seats, while you play with the stray threads of your blouse. 

"What do you want now?" you ask, deciding to break the silence. It's only fair to stop beating around the bush and get this over with. Whatever this is.

"You" He answers almost immediately, making you scoff. You don't look at him but you can feel his gaze burning into you. 

"I'm not a virgin anymore Heeseung, you won, there’s nothing more that I can offer you" Your voice feels scratchy against your throat, and you wonder if it's because of the tears you keep pushing back. 

There's a heavy pause of silence, and then you hear him chuckle, almost in pity and contempt. 

"You don't get it do you?" He asks, voice laced with disbelief. 

When you don't look up, and don't respond, he laughs hollowly. 

"Ask me why I did that" He says, his tone a tad bit deeper now. It's a demand. "Ask me why I smashed pretty boy's face in" 

You swallow the lump in your throat, and close your eyes. Not now please. 

"Why" you whisper ask, almost inaudible if it wasn't for the pin drop silence in the car.

"because it gave me a sick satisfaction to see him in pain. I'm not sorry about how your old man ended up either. If I could, I would shoot both of their skulls open for putting their hands on you"

The anger and pure hatred in his voice makes a sob to rip through your chest, eyes finally snapping up to meet his. They're dark in anger, and disdain, and you wonder why he cares so much. You look over to his wounded knuckles which are turning white due to how tightly he’s gripping onto the steering wheel. The sight of his anger mirroring your own ignites a spark of recognition deep within you. The raw intensity of emotion emanating from Heeseung stirs something inside your vacant soul. For the first time in what feels like an eternity, you feel seen. Validated. All this time, you had told yourself that you got what you deserve. You were fundamentally flawed, and all of this pain was your own fault.You never allowed yourself to be angry, burying the rage beneath your stoic facade, but seeing Heeseung angry for you makes your own walls crumble one by one.

"I want to cut open anyone who's ever hurt you baby, I want to be the only one who gets to hurt you" He declares.

You gape at him while tears run down the slope of your cheeks

"that's-that's not normal" you whisper, but his expressions don't crack, eyes wide and pupils dilated. In this moment, he looks insane, and it scares you how much you want to get lost in him.

"You don't need normal" he replies. 

His words hit heavy and get stuck inside your throat. You look away and wipe your tears, swallowing another bout of sobs threatening to escape your chest. The walls are cracking, the sound of them breaking and destructing can be heard as you let his words sink in. 

"Quit your part time job and let me take care of you. Your every need, I'll satisfy it. You won't even have to ask me for it and it will be done" He says, leaning forward, as if trying to make you see the reason in what he's saying.

You shake your head, eyes brimming with anger and tears as you stare right into his own.

"I don't need you to take care of me. I've always done it myself and I have managed to do it just fine, I don’t need you" you seethe, feeling rage at his implication that you can't hold your own. 

His expressions soften as he runs his eyes over your angry tears, his hand coming up to wipe them with his thumb. It’s pathetic how this small caress makes you lean into his touch. 

"No you don't. But I need you. I need to take care of you. I won’t be able to live with myself if I don't" He confesses. 

More tears run down your cheeks as sobs rip through your chest, and he continues to caress your face. 

"Is this a declaration of love?" you grouch through your physical grief, watching how his eyes gaze into yours, as if he wasn't expecting you to ask him that. 

"Does it have to be? I promise to keep you happy and protect you from all harm, should that not be enough?" 

You stare into his orbs and your heart skips a beat at the raw vulnerability you find there. He's just as scared as you, if not more. Turns out, you aren't the only one who is bad at confronting feelings. 

You crawl your way onto his lap, and he instantly wraps his arms around you, like you belong there. You take his hand into your own and press tender kisses onto his knuckles, and he watches you do it. Then you look up, and smile. That smile seems to be his undoing. Heeseung instantly leans down to kiss you fervently. You tangle your fingers in his hairs, kissing back just as deeply, and he groans into the kiss. The collision of your mouths is desperate, as if trying to convey all that's left unsaid. 

"It's enough" You mumble into his mouth, and he swallows your words greedily.