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yanderenightmare · 4 months

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TW: NSFW, noncon/dubcon, step cest, none of reader's holes are safe

fem reader

Thinking about step-daddy who only married your mom to get closer to you... who thinks an unruly brat like yourself needs his firm hands and teachings to set you on the right course.

You can't believe what’s happening – can’t believe his words.

Your mind is caught in a frenzied state of denial and panic as he forces you down on your bed after you'd told him to get the fuck out of your room when he walked in on you getting dressed to go out, standing there in only a dainty set of panties.

You brace your hands against his broad chest as he bears down on you – trying to create space for you to breathe but achieving little else than if you’d been trying to lift a mountain.

He’s too big and too heavy – too strong.

He doesn’t even bother restraining your fists – not even when you start banging them against him. It’s as if he doesn’t even recognize the assault – busy burying his face in your cute cleavage, nuzzling the soft mounds with sloppy kisses and his bearded chin.

“Stop it!” You hic through tears – sobbing now that the pursuing events dawn on you, coming crashing down, wreaking through your brittle head at the feeling of your panties being tugged down your thighs – flimsy lace splintering before getting ripped off.

He disrupts your cry with a firm hand, taking hold of your chin – and you fall still in wait.

“You' gonna let Daddy eat your pretty pussy out if you know what's good for you…” His lips brush yours with the vile threat while his other hand cups your bare cunt – whispering ruggedly, “Or I might just have to put you over my knee.”

You’re frozen beneath him – eyes shimmering with gloss, staring up into his impossibly dark stare – feeling leveled under the burden of his threat.

“What’s it gonna be, sweetpea? Y’gonna behave for Daddy? Or am I gonna have to use my belt on you?”

You stay still, and he takes it as your answer – smiling at you before placing a quick kiss on your cheek.

“That’s Daddy’s good girl~”

Leaning back, he wrings his shirt off over his shoulders, revealing his bulky chest of curls and worn skin before throwing the article aside and looking back down at you with drunken eyes that give you shivers. His old muscles are flecked with age but no less brutal to behold – all intimidating enough to make you swallow thickly.

“You can cry out all you like, pretty girl~” He grins as he takes your thighs in his hands – lifting them, spreading them, then pushing them flat down against your chest – tipping your cunt up to his mouth. "A good girl knows how to scream." His breath is ticklish on your exposed sex. “But the only words I wanna hear come out of your mouth is – yes please, daddy – more please, daddy – and pretty please, daddy, can I cum?”

You whine when he licks a stripe through your folds – dark eyes glinting at the sound, chuckling hotly under his breath.

“Walkin’ ‘round my house dressed up like a little slut – teasin’ me all day long.” He gruffs. “Tch – this pretty cunt’s gonna get what you’ve been beggin’ for, and you’re gonna take it with a smile – understand that, little lady?”

Your toes are immediately curled, gripping the air for purchase as he buries his face in your muff. And he’s messy with it – spitting, then slurping it up again – splitting the lips to suck your clit, then pressing a deep kiss into it – tongue flatly running over the pearl, lapping at it like a dog. All with a heated glare – hungry like a starved animal – eagerly set on your face.

You squeeze your eyes shut to avoid it, lip caught between teeth – trying to stifle all moans.

But the folded position he has you in presses you free of air – soon leaving you to pant out like a silly bitch in heat – thighs wanting to squeeze shut but kept pinned and trembling in the harsh grip he has on them.

“Oh~ look at yah~ my little slut~” He hums between licks, a grin still slickly plastered on his face – mustache glistening with drool and arousal. “Must feel good to make you tremble like that – does my little girl wanna cum?”

You whine, trying to shake your head in denial – but the pressure builds whether you want it to or not – squeezing tight like a fist in your gut, desperate to unknot.

“Better ask for Daddy’s permission, or I won't be happy.” He adds, giving your thighs a pinch – hard enough to make you yelp – sure to leave bruises.

“Ah – no.”

You don’t want it – you curl your head to the side with a grimace.

You feel gross – reeling as his tongue circles your hotspot, unable to deny the tickle in your gut – recognizing the blossoming, knowing you’d soon bloom.

“Mgh," You whine. "Yes, please! I need – can I please cum?!”

“Call me Daddy.” He demands, talking into your cunt while nuzzling his nose against your clit.

“Please, Daddy – please, can I cum!”

Another chuckle makes you shake – almost impatiently – before he purrs, “Sure, baby – go ahead – make a mess~”

He gives your clit one last harsh suck before sticking his tongue inside you, deep with a grin, while feeling you tremor on it, tasting your sweet release like it was a victory.

You throw your head back and your chest up – whole body quaking – trembling at the thrill pulsing from your core, zipping along each limb – leaving you feeling cottony and numb from the pleasure.

You pant with softer moans when it dissipates – still feeling twitchy.

Hooded eyes with teary lashes fall from the ceiling to his face – then regret it.

The shame washes away all pleasure – making your sweat go cold.

But if he sees it, he doesn’t care. “That was beautiful, baby girl~” He moans instead, eyes still keenly set on you.

You cringe, chagrined as he kisses your slit once more – tonguing the slick opening and humming at the sweet taste.

He finishes you with a sharp kitten lick flicking off at your clit – then releases your thighs. Pulling you with him as he got up on his feet by the edge of your bed.

“C’mere – on your knees.” His fist wraps your hair – tugging your head back. “Open wide and tongue out fo’me. It's my turn.”

Your brows cinch, feeling your scalp sting from the grip, making you timidly obey.

He groans at the pretty sight – looking so cute with that dewy glow on your cheeks – plush lips wet and welcoming – pink tongue trembling in eager wait of him.

Sighing with a leer, “Such a pretty little thing~” His other hand zips down his fly, pinched free the button, and let the baggy slacks drop to the floor.

Thicker tears pool in your eyes – a horrid burn of humiliation making your tongue feel heavy, kneeling beneath him with your mouth gaping – knowing what was coming.

“This is what you wanted, right – why you've been acting like such a brat?” He pulls your face against the pudgy bulge in his boxer – warm and thick beneath the black fabric with a ripe smell of musk. “You wanna be Daddy’s big fat cock to satisfy all your greedy little holes, hm?”

You don’t close your mouth – the fist ripping your strands from their roots was warning enough to keep you pliant.

“Come on then, little slut~” He started cooing, nudging the sack against your tongue, dipping inside the warm opening. “Show me how much you want it – and don’t look away.” The smile on his face made your guts fold. “I wanna see those pretty eyes beg for it.”

He gives your hair a sharper tug, forcing out a whine from your throat. It spurs him on, making him chuckle – watching your eyes tremble up at him – struggling against his bulbous crotch, cuddling it so cutely, making him twitch.

Rasping out, “Such a needy little whore~” while his other hand dragged the band down.

Your mouth sealed closed on instinct – eyes too – shutting tightly once his cock sprung free. Whimpering when feeling it slug on your face – you tried to turn your head away – but was kept close by the hand fisting your hair.

“Bad girl, I told you to keep your mouth open and your eyes on me.” He sneered, pinching your cheeks open with the other hand – hard enough to make you wince.

You peeled your eyes open again – with tears slipping down your face as you dropped your jaw for him again.

“Playing games like a snotty brat.” He hissed, rubbing his leaky cockhead over your parted lips – smearing his pre on them like lipstick while you shuddered. “Look at you now, mmh~ such a good girl for Daddy~ taking it on your knees.”

He dabbed himself on your tongue, and you had to keep yourself from retching – tasting the bitter salt.

“Mmh~ begging for it like an eager little cum-junkie~” He groaned, lolling forward, cock sliding over the bed of your tongue and hitting the back of your throat in a soft kiss – only with half his veiny shaft in your mouth.

He licked his lips and threw his head back.

“I knew you just needed a firm grip – knew you’d make the most perfect little slut fo’me~”

You gagged when he started thrusting, hands positioning themselves on his sturdy thighs, fingers digging into the muscles as he stuffed your mouth full of his length – weighty balls clapping against your chin where spit started frothing.

He held your jaw in guidance – keeping you steady to receive him.

Throaty moans grated your ears as he abused the wet warmth – looking down at you and how you struggled, unable to take all of him. It didn’t bother him, though – the tight ring of your lips sucking along his veins was enough to make him go crazy.

It felt so right to be throat-fucking your pretty little face; he couldn't believe he hadn't done it sooner – creating such a cute mess all over you – looking so hot on your knees for him like this, with spit and pre cum slicking your face like a young prostitute in the making.

You obeyed as best you could – not used to the size or tempo. You'd given few blowjobs before and never been facefucked. But you figured the sooner you could make him cum, the sooner all this would be over.

He thought about it, too. He could cum down your throat like this, make you swallow – drink his seed like a good whore should.

But the idea is soon replaced by the thought of stuffing your sweet cunt instead – feed your womb his hot load – wear your tight pussy like it was tailored just for him.

He popped out of your mouth, and you coughed before heaving for air – panting – nearly barreling over if it hadn’t been for the grip he still had around your hair.

Pulling you up by it – his other hand found your throat, and your mouth was taken by his – kissed hungrily with teeth pulling at your lip while tickled by his facial hair.

“Mh- c’mere,” He groaned into your mouth – plopping himself down on the mattress while pulling you along by the neck. “Up on my Daddy’s lap, baby.”

He continues kissing you, with both hands slipping down to squeeze each asscheek, rolling your hips back and forth on him, making your wet cunt grind against the stiff underside of his cock.

You can’t help but make a noise as it licks your sensitive clit, rubbing over it in wet warm strokes. You balance yourself against his chest – hands placed on his muscles – pushing yourself up from slacking against him.

You’re still breathless, left gasping – too weak to fight it when he leans after you, mouth on your tits, sucking your nipples into hardened little peaks.

Your hands go to the hair atop his head, gripping the locks to steady yourself.

He chuckles at the pull, looking up at you while rasping out a filthy “Is my little girl excited to get her little pussy stuffed by Daddy’s cock?” with a lazy grin carved on his face.

And before you can deny it, he’s already confirming the statement.

“You must be – your little cunt is so fucking wet for it.” He cheered. Hand slipping between you to slap his thickness against your slit – rubbing himself between the lips with a mocking pout on his lips. “This poor little pussy, cock-starved and empty~ I know, I know, you want to cum on Daddy’s cock, don’t you?”

He lifts your ass up so that you’re hovering over the tip – using the other hand to angle it against your entrance.

Purring, “Don’t worry, baby~ finally gonna stretch you out nice and tight~ fuck you into size like a proper cock-toy~ fill you up with my hot cum~”

You shake your head and squirm when he begins to nudge the head inside – but both hands place themselves back on your hips, gripping them firmly enough for it to find purchase.

“There we go, ease on down it, baby~ get comfortable~” He coos, even though you’re sinking your nails into the tough muscles of his chest – gasping at the ill sting of the stretch as he pushes you down despite the tight resistance. “Oh, fuuuck – so wet and snug on me~” He sucks his teeth, snapping his hips up to bottom out deeply. “Take all of me, now~ let Daddy bottom out~”

His head hangs back – Adam’s apple bobbing up with his mouth hung wide in a silent moan while you wince – desperately wanting to lift off.

But he keeps you seated – tensely made to cock-warm him while slowly adjusting to the size – taunt walls rippling along his veins, sucking on it as it settles inside you, molding you to accept its shape.

He squares his jaw, then gives a breathy hum that makes his beard dance – lifting his head to look at where he’s got himself sheathed to the hilt – his eyes lost in it as he sets a slow pace – using both hands to steer your hips, rocking you back and forth with barely any lift to relieve you – keeping himself lodged just as deep – cozily kneading your cervix.

“That’s a good pussy right there – wet and tight and all mine.” He groans, lolling you on him sweetly. “Isn't that right, baby? This pretty pussy belongs to Daddy, doesn’t it?”

He watches your perky tits jiggle for him. Leaning forward, he gives it a suckling wet pop.

“Every inch of this slut’s body belongs to Daddy, isn’t that right, little one?” He demands a little harsher, threatening the nipple between his teeth.

“Ye-yes…” You whimper.

It’s been a while since you’ve been stretched like that – it’s been a while since your insides have been given any attention at all. When you do it for yourself, you mostly just settle for playing with your clit – happy with one orgasm to take the edge off.

This is touching on more nerves – lighting other fires – different wells – tapping all sources – you’re leaking juices all over him, practically sopping, sucking him in – all but your head overly ecstatic for the attention.

“You wanna cum again – don’t you, my little slut?” He murmurs knowingly, giving your ass a harsh slap while pressing his forehead against yours.

He groans as he picks up the pace – dragging a moan out from your chest.

You want to deny it again like before – but the pleasure allows little else than to be appreciated with heavy shuddering breaths.

“Remember the rules, sweetie. Better beg permission, or you’ll be punished.” He warns.

You spot a grin forming on his lips – sharp like a knife – before uttering the next words.

“Better say, please let me cum on your big fat cock, Daddy~”

You scowl, trying to sneer, “Fuh-fuck you…” but your voice weakens to a whine.

Still, it’s unacceptable.

“That’s not how you speak to your Daddy. Bad slut.” A harder slap cracks across your ass – this time, making you yelp.

Your hair is pulled before you recover – and you’re thrown off his lap. Placed with your knees on the floor and your face in the warm and sweaty seat he’d just been sitting.

He stands above you – using a hand to pin your wrists to the small of your back while another hard smack is given to your already throbbing rear.

“If your pussy won’t follow the rules…” He licks his lips, looking down at the sight of you bent over beneath him, sobbing fat tears from the abuse. “Then this ass is next in line.”

You flinch with the words, eyes going wide. “What?” Already shuffling uneasily, gasping once his heavy hand came back to pet the welted cheek, branded with his handprint, giving it a firm squeeze that had you wince.

“It seems you don’t understand who’s in charge here…” He chided, with a coarse finger settling on the untouched rosebud slicked in pussy-juice, rubbing it slow and steady. “But I bet fucking your tight virgin ass is gonna make that crystal clear.”

“No – please no-” You plead, jostling weakly with your remaining strength – but the digit enters you anyway.

“Oh, I’m sorry, sweetheart, but it’s too late to beg now – you gotta take your punishment,” He dismisses, digging knuckle-deep inside your butthole. “But to be honest with you… I was hoping you’d bite back like that.” He gruffs eerily at your ear. “I dream about putting your bratty ass in its proper place every night.”

His finger twists and curls inside the hole, loosening it a little before skewering another two in.

“Make you cry as I turn you into a good little butt-slut for me – get this sweet hole to gape for my cock to fill it up.”

He puts you in a headlock after pulling his three fingers out of your stretched opening – letting go of your wrists in favor of reaching under you to play with your pussy as he bullies his bulbous cockhead into the tight ring while you cry. With nails biting into your palms and your poor gushing cunt clenching around nothing.

He enters slowly, giving it shallow thrusts to fuck it open before feeding it another fat inch. Rubbing your clit between gritty fingers as he sinks inside you – burying his shaft within the snug walls of your tight ass as your hole gives in to his size, swallowing him up until he’s kissing your stomach with his heavy balls squeezed flush against your cunt.

“There you go, my little anal slut~ That’s Daddy’s brat getting taught her place!” He gives your butt another firm slap as he starts dragging out and stuffing you right back up again. “Getting her naughty ass spanked and propped with cock like a little whore~”

The fat arm squeezing your neck and the fingers swirling your clit make your head cloudy – even as your ass screams from the pounding, your cunt begs for the attention – milking nothing as it weeps with slick, running down your thighs into a little pool where you kneel.

“Aah- Daddy…” You moan through a sob. “Please…” Whimpering while you throttle his cock with your taunt ass, all but fucking yourself back on his shaft as he keeps rubbing your clit in steady patterns that have your cunt kissing the air. “Daddy, please – please let me cum…”

His chuckle is lazy and grating, feeling your cute ass swallow his cock all on its own.

“Y’know, only a real whore cums from having her ass fucked, right?”

You can’t help but buck your hips, shaking your ass like a slut as his fingers pick up the pace and rub your bundle of nerves in quicker circles. Begging, “Please…”

“Oh, what a filthy little girl~ bent over like a mindless animal, fucked in her tight ass.” He patronizes. “Okay, my sweet little slut~ I’ll let you cum – but only after I hear you Say, please, Daddy, can I cum on your big fat cock~”

You’re too close to refuse. Desperation lacing your cute moans, “Ah – Daddy, please – mh-please can I cum on your big- ah – fat cock, please, Daddy please~”

He shoves three fingers in your cunt at that, curling them into your soft spot each time he pumps them inside, finger-fucking the sloppy hole until it spurts, making you scream while you squirt, drooling on your sheets like a mind-broken mess as your thighs and ass shake from the release.

“Good whore~ Remember to say thank you.” He mocks.

“Th-thank you – thank you, Daddy~” You mewl out cutely before he sticks all three slick-glossed fingers inside your mouth – fucking the tired opening as you pant out dewy moans around them, sucking them clean of your mess.

He keeps a steady rhythm, continuing to ream your poor butt until it's his turn to cum.

“Such a good slut~” He slinks out of your pummeled ass and slaps his wet cock against your face where you rest against the bed, all sweaty and dumb from your orgasm. “Come’ere, cum-baby, tongue out as you look up at Daddy~”

He smiles, smothering you between his fat thighs while his balls cover your face, pulling back to tap the tip on your lips.

“Here it comes!”

White ropes lash your tongue, leaving a bitter taste – bejewelling your face with pretty pearls that melt down your smooth skin like drying paint on a canvas.

He groans as he tugs the last few spurts out of his balls, wiping the messy cockhead on your tongue.

“Aw, I gotta have a picture of that. Daddy’s little cum covered whore on her first day of training~”

He holds your chin, rough-handling your jaw between strong fingers as he angles your face to meet the flash of his phone.

Grinning as he sing-songs, “Say, all my holes belong to Daddy~”

Your expression is still dumb, softly blinking up at him with one eye weighed down with his cum, simply mouthing the words back to him. “All my holes belong to Daddy~”

BNHA – Bakugou, Deku, Kirishima, Enji, Aizawa

JJK – Nanami, Geto, Toji, Higuruma

HQ – Daichi, Kuro, Ukai

AOT – Erwin, Zeke

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odinsblog · 2 months

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“I first started noticing the journalists dying on Instagram. I'm a journalist, I'm Arab, and I've reported on war. A big part of my community is other Arab journalists who do the same thing.

And when someone dies, news travels fast. Recently, I pulled up the list that the Committee to Protect Journalists has been keeping and looked at it for the first time. There are 95 journalists and media workers on it as of today.

Almost everyone on it is Palestinian. Scrolling through, I started to get angry. These were the people carrying the burden of documenting this whole war.

Israel is not allowing foreign journalists into Gaza, except on rare occasions with military escorts. These people's names are being buried in a giant list that keeps growing. What I want to do is lift some of them off the list for a moment and give you a glimpse of who they were and the work they made.

I'll start with Sadi Mansour. Sadi was the director of Al-Quds News Network, and he posted a 22-second video on November 18. That was a report from the war, but it also gave me a picture into his marriage.

Sadi's wearing his press vest and looks exhausted. He's explaining that cell service and the Internet keep getting cut off, and it's often impossible to text or call anyone, including his wife. So they've resorted to using handwritten letters to communicate while he's out reporting, sending them back and forth with neighbors or colleagues.

He ends the video with a picture of one of these letters from his wife. In it, she writes,

‘Me and the kids stayed up waiting for you until the morning, and you didn't come home. We were really sad.

I kept telling the kids, Look, he's coming. But you didn't show up. May God forgive you.

Come home tomorrow and eat with us. Do you want me to make you kebab or maybe kapse? Bring your friends with you, it's okay.

And give Azeez the battery to charge. What do you think about me sending you handwritten letters with messenger pigeons from now on? Ha ha ha.

I'm just kidding. I want to curse at you, but we're living in a war. Too bad.

Okay, I love you. Bye.’

A few hours after he shared that letter, Sadie and his co-worker Hassouna Saleem were at Sadie's home, when they were killed by an Israeli air strike that hit his house.

His wife and kids, who weren't there, survived.

Gaza is tiny, and the journalist community is really close. Reading the list, you can see all the connections between people. Like with Brahim Lafi.

Brahim was a photojournalist, one of the first journalists to die. He was killed while reporting on October 7. He was just 21, still new to journalism.

On his Instagram, you can see that in his posts just a few years ago, he was still practicing his photography, taking pictures of coffee cups and flowers. Then he started doing beautiful portraits and action shots. You can really feel him starting to become a journalist.

Clicking around on Instagram, I found a tribute post about Brahim from his co-worker Rushdie Sarraj. In this photo, Brahim staring intently at the back of a camera, his face lit up by the light from the viewfinder. He looks so young.

The caption reads, My assistant is gone. Brahim is gone. Rushdie himself was a beloved journalist and filmmaker.

And I know that because he's also on the list. He was killed just two weeks after Brahim. I read the tribute post to him too.

I saw this over and over again. Journalists posting tributes, who were then killed themselves soon after. And a tribute goes up for them.

And then the pattern continues.

Thank you.

Something else I saw over and over on the list, journalists later in the war who had become aware that they could be making their last reports. They'd say it at the beginning of their videos. And those were the hardest to watch, especially when it was true.

One video like that was posted by Ayat Hadduro. Ayat was a freelance journalist and video blogger. Her videos before the war covered a wide range from what I can tell, interviews about women in politics.

She even appeared in a commercial for ketchup-flavored chips. She clearly liked being in front of the camera. Once the war started, Ayat's pivoted to covering bombings and food shortages.

On November 20, she posted a video report from her home. You can hear the airstrikes hitting very close to where she is. It's scary.

‘This is likely my last video. Today, the occupation forces dropped phosphorus bombs on Beit Lahya area and frightening sound bombs. They dropped letters from the sky, ordering everyone to evacuate.

Everyone ran into the streets in the craziest way. No one knows where to go.

But everyone else has evacuated. They don't know where they're going. The situation is so scary.

What's happening is so tough, and may God have mercy on us.’

She was killed later that day.

Targeting journalists, in case you didn't know, is a war crime. So far, the Committee to Protect Journalists has found that three of the journalists on the list were explicitly targeted by the IDF, the Israeli military. Investigations by the Washington Post and Reuters, Human Rights Watch and the United Nations have also raised serious questions in these three cases.

And the Committee to Protect Journalists is investigating 10 other killings. When we reached out to the IDF for comments, they said, quote, the IDF has never, and will never, deliberately target journalists. That's the answer they always give in these situations.

Meanwhile, dozens of seasoned reporters have fled Gaza. Journalists who worked for Al Jazeera, the BBC, the New York Times, the Washington Post, Reuters, Agence France-Presse. So many media offices were demolished in Israeli airstrikes that the Committee to Protect Journalists stopped counting.

It's not just individual lives that have been destroyed. It's an entire infrastructure.

Thank you.

The name on the list that was hardest for me to look at was Issam Abdullah, because I'd crossed paths with him once. Issam was a Lebanese journalist, a video journalist for Reuters for many, many years. He had just won an award for coverage of Ukraine.

I'm Lebanese and still report there sometimes, and I'd worked with Issam a couple of summers ago. He helped me film a sort of random story in Beirut. I was interviewing this entrepreneur who had started a sperm freezing company after an accident where he spilled a tray of hot coffee on his private area, burning himself.

I know, ridiculous. It was a really silly shoot. Right after we said cut and started to rap, Issam started this whole bit about being in his late 30s, reconsidering his own sperm quality and everything he now realized he was doing to hurt it, and no one could stop laughing.

It was a really good day that felt good to remember and to remember him that way. Issam was killed by the IDF on October 13. His death was one of the three that the Committee to Protect Journalists has identified as a targeted killing.

He was fired upon by an Israeli tank while standing in an empty field on the Lebanon-Israel border with a small group of other journalists. Everyone was wearing press vests with cameras out. They were covering the Hezbollah part of this war.

A few other journalists were injured in the attack, which was captured on video. The IDF says they were responding to firing from Hezbollah, not targeting the journalists. But multiple investigations, including by Reuters, the United Nations, Amnesty International and the AFP, found no evidence of any firing from the location of the journalists before the IDF shot at them.

The journalists in the group and video footage confirmed that there was no military activity near them. I had only met Issam once, barely knew him, but it affected me so much when he died. I know that he understood the risks of his job, but somehow it still felt so random and unfair that he would be struck down like that, following the rules, wearing his press vest and helmet, and a pack of reporters on a sunny day in an open field.

I find myself thinking about him all the time. His last Instagram post was commemorating another journalist, this iconic reporter Shereen Abou Aql who had been killed by the IDF. When I first saw that post in October, I thought how ironic because a week later, Isam also was killed by the IDF.

But then, after spending time reading the list, I realized how common this had become. I still haven't finished going through the list and looking up the people on it. I keep finding things that stick with me, like the funny way this one radio host would cut off a caller who was rambling on for too long.

A tweet from reporter Al-Abdallah that quoted Sylvia Plath. It read, What ceremony of wars can patch the havoc? I'm going to keep going down the list, even though this story is over now.

Just for myself. My own way of bearing witness. Which is, in the end, all that these journalists were trying to do.”

—DANA BALLOUT, The 95. Dana sifts through a very long list—the list of journalists killed in the Israel-Hamas war, and comes back with five small fragments of the lives of the people on it. Dana is a Lebanese-American, Emmy-nominated documentary producer.

#politics #dana ballout #the 95 #palestine #israel #war crimes #gaza #committee to protect journalists #🇵🇸#brahim lafi #shereen abou aql #issam abdullah #ayat hadduro #rushdie sarraj #hassouna saleem #sadi mansour

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ja3yun · 2 months

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Red Ocean | P.JS

vampire!jay x succubus!femreader warnings: smut (mdni), rough, unprotected sex, power dynamics, blood and biting (a lot of it), dirty talk, spanking, oral (m.rec), throat fucking, swallowing, mentions of manipulation and control (but all consensual!), not proofread, anything else lmk! wc: 8.5k synopsis: with jongseong starving for his next feed as a self proclaimed veggie, his friend suggests visiting red ocean to quench his thirst, but when he gets there, there's something off about the place. a/n: hi! so listen, this is completely new territory for me bc i write cute lovey dovey scenes and this is pure FILTH. this was originally going to be a thank you for 1.5k (which thank you btw!) but i think i want to write something else for that since this kind of fic doesn't suit some people's taste, so please enjoy it as just a lil something. there is a lot of blood and vampire stuff so like, if you don't enjoy that, feel free to scroll!

Slumping onto the couch beside his buddy Jake, Jongseong looks like he's been through the wringer. His eyes are droopy, his head's pounding, and he's got this desperate hunger gnawing at him. "I'm fucking starving," he groans, squeezing his eyes shut, trying to block out the craving for blood that's been driving him nuts.

It has been 4 weeks since he has had a decent meal and he is starting to lose the strength in his body, his powers growing weaker by the second. It’s gotten so bad that he almost mauled the girl next to him in the lift on the way up to his best friend, Jake’s apartment, thinking about how good it would be to pierce her neck and taste her blood on his tongue, drinking her until he’s stuffed.

But it goes against Jongseong’s number one rule: never feed from a human.

Jongseong has lived his life for 148 years and lived 127 years of it as a vampire. He has been a self-proclaimed vegetarian for over 60 years, vowing that now he can control his thirst around humans, he will never feed from anyone ever again. It was a personal choice, one that is lost on his friends because, to them, one of the greatest pleasures in this shitty never-ending life is to feast on fresh human blood.

It’s not that he didn’t love the taste of human blood, in fact, he often finds dinner within the confines of a type O blood bag that Jake kindly provides him when on shift. His friend works as a delivery man, transporting goods from one hospital to another, and sometimes while he has to use the ‘bathroom’ he sniffs out what he calls the Treasure Room; a room filled with red gold. Stealing the blood is easy, it’s understanding why Jongseong won’t just suck on a pure nape that is the hard part.

“There are some bags in the fridge,” Jake points over to his white, shabby refrigerator where he keeps some spare bags of sweet crimson for himself, “I can’t keep doing this, Jongseong. The hospitals are starting to notice and it’s hard enough to feed me never mind you,” he exhales heavily, trying to relay to Jongseong the burden he carries.

Jongseong sighs, fighting to find the energy to drag himself to the fridge, “I’m sorry, the closest woods is 5 hours away and wildlife doesn't exactly run rampant around these parts,” he retorts, hoping his friend will understand his struggle.

The bags are nice, but they’re cold and stale, he wants something warm and substantial, something only living beings can provide. Unfortunately for him, deer and foxes have been scarce in recent weeks.

Nodding, Jake pulls himself off the couch to grab him and his friend a bag. Jongseong watches Jake take the blood bags from the refrigerator, his stomach twisting with relief and remorse. He despises having to rely on Jake for meals, knowing the toll it puts on his friend.

Jake hands him one of the bags before sitting beside him once again, concern etched on his face, “You could start feeding from humans again,” he suggests, knowing that it’s sort of a lost cause. Jongseong has been a veggie for so long that he knows the idea is ludicrous to him, but it seems like his only option now.

“Not a chance in hell,” Jongseong argues back, piercing his fangs into the blood bag and sucking some out of it, his eyes lighting up as he tastes the sweetness. Despite his love for human blood, he stands by his morals, “I’m not that person, I’m not like those mosquitoes from the Tracks.”

The Tracks are notorious for hosting some of the most bloodthirsty vampires to roam Seoul. They’re lethal and dangerous; in Jongseong’s eyes, they might as well be parasites. He knows it’s wrong to cast judgment on a whole group of people based on a few individuals, but these creatures aren’t like Jake and Jongseong; they’re predatory and conniving, doing whatever it takes to get humans to surrender to them, even if that means abusing their power.

Jongseong vowed to never do such a thing, to keep humans safe. After all, he was laid victim to the hands of a vampire all those years ago, why would he now wish to cause the same harm to an innocent being?

Jake sits up straight, his thinking cap secured firmly on his head, “What if they consented? Like how Bona has consented to me?” he offers as a solution.

Bona is Jake’s long-term human blood bag turned girlfriend, she allows Jake to take what he needs from her, trusting him to never harm her. It works tremendously well, however, as much as she is there to provide herself to her man, Jake doesn’t like to abuse the offering, hence the use of blood bags for himself.

Jongseong scoffed, recognising the uniqueness of Jake's situation, "It’s alright for you to say, your girlfriend is the most chilled person I know. Could you imagine if I just walked up to someone and was like ‘Hey, can I suck on one of your main arteries for a couple of minutes?’ I’m sure that’ll go down well,” he remarked sarcastically, highlighting the absurdity of the notion.

Suddenly, Jake’s eyes light up as if he had come up with the solution to all of Jongseong’s problems, “What about Red Ocean?” he queries.

“The sex club? I’m hungry, not horny, Jake,” Jongseong says back.

Red Ocean is a famous strip joint in the middle of town that also provides bonus services to those who throw enough money around. It’s not the worst place in the world but it is certainly not what he is looking for.

“Well you’re single as well as hungry,” Jake starts, his face never diminishing his bright expression, “What if you could quench both thirsts at once?”

Jongseong had no problem getting laid, in fact, he was good as it gets for a superb fuck around these parts; it didn’t take long for him to lure women into his bed for a one night thing. But that didn’t mean he feasted on them, he was far too much a gentleman for that. The woman that he slept with signed up to get pounded into, not drained of their blood.

"What the fuck are you even suggesting? That I go feed off some poor girl just because she's a sex worker? It's a legitimate profession, you know," Jongseong argues vehemently, placing the now-empty blood bag on the coffee table before him.

Rolling his eyes, Jake lets out an exasperated sigh. "Yeah, yeah, we all know you’re a feminist" he quips, brushing off Jongseong's defence, "But Red Ocean isn't just your run-of-the-mill sex club. My buddy Jungwon told me they've got a whole section specifically for vampires like us. Plenty of willing donors, no strings attached."

Jongseong runs a hand over his face, feeling the weight of exhaustion settling in, "But why would anyone agree to that?" he wonders aloud, struggling to comprehend the idea of people willingly offering themselves up as disposable blood bank for a paycheck.

Shrugging nonchalantly, Jake takes a sip from his own blood bag, "Different strokes for different folks, I guess," he offers with a shrug as if that explains everything, "I'll have Wonnie send over the details."

Despite his reservations, Jongseong knows that his hunger won't be satisfied for long with just blood bags. Reluctantly, he nods, conceding to Jake's suggestion. Perhaps Red Ocean holds the key to quelling his insatiable cravings without compromising his morals. Only time will tell.

_____

Standing outside the red-lit nightclub, Jongseong hypes himself up to enter, his comfort zone being pushed to its brink. He is a homebody who enjoys binging TV shows and playing his guitar, so this venture is foreign to him.

His nervousness is heightened by the fact that he is here alone. Jake, being the devoted lover he is, would never risk an argument with Bona over a place like this. And Jongseong's other dependable friend, Heeseung, is preoccupied with a work assignment, leaving him to traverse this foreign environment on his own.

Despite his concerns, Jongseong knows he can't back out now, the hunger that lies in the pit of his stomach is only getting worse. With a final steeling of his will, he pushes open the club's entrance and enters the throbbing, crimson-hue interior, prepared to face whatever awaits him within.

The place really lives up to its name Red Ocean because all he can see in front of him is red; red lighting and neon signs, the workers are all laced with some form of red attire, and there is an ocean of people. Jongseong looks like a deer in the headlights as he walks up to the reception desk.

His gaze is immediately drawn to a sultry figure standing near the entrance. She's the epitome of allure, with long, flowing hair cascading over her shoulders and a figure that curves in all the right places. Her eyes, smouldering with an enticing gaze, seem to beckon him forward.

She stands behind a large desk area, her presence commanding attention as she takes in the arrivals with a knowing smile. Dressed in a form-fitting dress that accentuates her ample curves, she exudes an air of confidence and sensuality that leaves Jongseong momentarily breathless.

As Jongseong approaches, he can't help but feel a flush of heat rise to his cheeks under her gaze. Her lips curve into a seductive smile as she extends a manicured hand towards him, her voice smooth as velvet as she speaks.

"Welcome to Red Ocean," she purrs, her voice laced with a hint of mischief, “How can we fulfil your desires tonight?” Her question hangs in the air as Jongseong is entranced by her.

He can’t put his finger on it, but suddenly he’s more tired than before, his body almost as if it’s being led on its own, like he’s having a strange out-of-body experience. Perhaps it’s the heat mixed in with the smoke, or maybe it’s something more.

Clearing his throat nervously, Jongseong tries to regain his composure as he addresses the hostess. "Um, yeah, I was told there's a private area?" he asks, hoping she'll understand his subtle hint.

With a dark smile, the hostess nods, her gaze lingering on him with a knowing glint. "Absolutely, sir. For £700, you can enjoy the company of one of our talented performers in a private setting, with a complimentary bottle of champagne," she explains smoothly, her fingers dancing across the screen of her iPad.

Jongseong defiantly shakes his head, “No, no, none of that,” he notices how her smile drops as if he has offended her, “No! I just don’t…I don’t need that kind of service,” he says softly. This is going a lot more awkwardly than he had planned. The last thing he needs to do is offend her, this could be his only chance at a proper meal for weeks.

There’s also a nagging voice in the back of his mind that’s telling him to be careful. Telling this woman outright that he is a vampire could end disastrously, hunters lurk in every corner of the city, waiting for their moment to capture vampires exactly like him. It’s not easy to tell who is a hunter and who isn’t, so for all he knows, this club could be collecting vampires and luring them in with possibilities of feeding when in actual fact, they will tear them limb from limb and burn them out back.

He has to tread carefully here.

The atmosphere is heavy around him as he tries to regain control of the situation, but with his energy low, it’s proving difficult, “Do you provide…special services?” he asks, puffing out his chest a little to feign confidence.

Jongseong isn’t a timid person, he’s always been known for being strong and confident but for some reason, he’s regressed back to his little awkward, virgin self. This place is throwing his entire aura off and messing with his head. Maybe it’s just the hunger that sits within him.

The hostess eyes him sceptically, her gaze lingering on him in a way that sets his nerves on edge. "We offer a variety of unique services, tailored to each individual's preferences," she replies, her voice dipping seductively as she sizes him up. "So, sir, how can I ensure you have the best experience possible?"

Jongseong shifts uncomfortably under the weight of the hostess's scrutiny, his mind racing with uncertainty. He hadn't expected this encounter to be so challenging. Every instinct tells him to tread cautiously, to protect himself from potential danger while still satisfying his hunger.

"I... I'm looking for something," Jongseong finally manages to say, his voice barely above a whisper. "Something... off the menu, so to speak."

The hostess raises an eyebrow, her expression unreadable as she considers his request but she doesn’t budge, in fact, she crosses her arms, clearly having enough of this encrypted conversation. Jongseong needs to be straightforward if he wants to leave here fully satisfied.

The password.

How could he forget that Jake had texted him a password? Once Jake had asked his friend Jungwon for more details, he said the only way to get into the back area with the other vampires was with a password. Jongseong’s brain has been so clouded since he walked in here that he completely forgot the one important detail.

"Dracaena Trifasciata," he manages to utter, though his pronunciation leaves much to be desired. Still, the hostess's reaction tells him he got the message across, her bored expression transforming into a sly smirk.

As Jongseong watches, spellbound, the hostess's transformation leaves him momentarily breathless. Her once closed-off demeanour now radiates warmth and familiarity, as if she's greeting an old friend rather than a stranger.

"My little crimson crusader," she purrs, her voice sending a shiver down Jongseong's spine. "Why didn't you just say so?"

Her words are like a siren's call, drawing Jongseong closer until he stands before her, unable to resist her magnetic presence. As she reaches across the desk, her hands beckoning him nearer, Jongseong obeys without hesitation, his curiosity mingled with a sense of trepidation.

With deft fingers, she undoes the first few buttons of his crisp white shirt, her touch sending sparks of electricity dancing across his skin. He feels a flutter of nerves in the pit of his stomach as her hands glide over his chest, exploring with an intimacy that leaves him feeling exposed and vulnerable.

She tilts her head, her gaze locking with his in a silent exchange of understanding. Jongseong can't tear his eyes away from hers, captivated by the depths of emotion swirling within them.

Despite the warmth of her touch, Jongseong can't shake the feeling of unease that gnaws at the edges of his consciousness. There's something about her that feels off, something that sets his instincts on edge. She isn’t a vampire, the heat of her touch is enough to clarify, but she is certainly no human.

But as he stands there, caught in her gaze, he finds himself unable to pull away. Whatever she is, whatever secrets she holds, Jongseong knows one thing for certain: he's in deeper than he ever imagined, and there's no turning back now.

As she pulls away, a sense of relief washes over him, though he can still feel the lingering intensity of the hostess's gaze. Standing upright behind her desk once more, she regards him with a mixture of curiosity and amusement, "You're a lot younger than those we see around these parts. You can't be any more than 160," she muses, her perceptive gaze honing in on Jongseong's youthful aura.

"I'm 148," Jongseong admits quietly, a hint of embarrassment colouring his tone. He's never given much thought to his age, existing as a perpetual 21-year-old who happened to live through 3 plagues and 2 world wars.

Pouting playfully, the hostess holds a hand over her heart in mock sympathy, "Aw, you're just a baby," she coos, her tone patronising. The remark sends a surge of irritation coursing through Jongseong, his shoulders tensing and his jaw clenching involuntarily.

He suppresses the urge to retort, reminding himself to tread carefully in this unfamiliar territory. Despite the hostess's seemingly jovial demeanour, there's an underlying edge to her words that sets him on edge.

Circling the desk, the hostess stands in front of the young vampire, her body dangerously close to his as she leans up and presses her lips to his ear, “Follow me, I’ll lead you to everything you’re starving for,” she whispers. Jongseong feels a shiver run down his spine as the hostess's warm breath caresses his ear, her words sending a jolt of anticipation through him. Despite the warning bells ringing in the back of his mind, he finds himself unable to resist the allure of her invitation.

_____

As Jongseong weaves through the crowded club, his senses are assaulted by the mingling scents of sweat, alcohol, and, most tantalizingly, human blood. Each passerby sends a wave of hunger coursing through him, his fangs threatening to descend at any moment. But he clenches his jaw, reminding himself of his resolve to abstain from feeding on humans. Yet, isn’t that what he’s on his way to do?

Beside him, the hostess effortlessly navigates the throng of clubgoers, her presence commanding attention wherever she goes. She greets familiar faces with a knowing smile, exchanging pleasantries with ease. Jongseong can't help but marvel at her confidence and poise, even as his own nerves threaten to betray him.

Eventually, they reach a door marked "Staff," but as the hostess swings it open, Jongseong is met with an unexpected sight - a long, dimly lit brick corridor stretching out before him. The hostess glances back at him, urging him to follow with a subtle gesture.

With a mixture of apprehension and curiosity, Jongseong steps through the doorway, the weight of uncertainty heavy on his shoulders. He can't shake the feeling that he's venturing into uncharted territory, but with the promise of satisfying his hunger looming before him, he presses on.

As they reach the end of the corridor, Jongseong's heart quickens with anticipation, his senses heightened as they stand before the heavy, rusty door, “It’s just through here…” she trails off, silently asking for his name.

“Jongseong,” he replies, bowing his head in politeness.

"Jessica," she offers in return, a slight grin playing on the corners of her mouth. Her simple gesture of introducing herself somehow eased the tension that had been coiling in his chest.

Jessica pushes open the door, revealing what can only be described as another reality. As Jongseong crosses the threshold, he feels as if he has been transported to a place beyond his imagination. The space before him is bathed in a delicate, ethereal glow, and the air vibrates with a palpable energy that awakens his senses. Peculiar symbols decorate the walls, their significance unknown to Jongseong but imbuing the place with an aura of ancient mysticism.

Jongseong's eyes widen in astonishment as he takes in the scene before him. The space beyond the heavy door is bustling with activity, filled with vampires from every generation lounging on plush couches and perched on bar stools. Gone is the facade of the club he had entered earlier; this is the true heart of Red Ocean.

The lavish area makes Jongseong question everything he has ever known. How many places are there like this? He hadn’t heard about this secret club until only a few days ago, so how long has it been here?

More importantly, “Uh, how much is this service?” he asks timidly as his eyes still scouting around the area where vampires are chatting away as if they aren’t deadly creatures of the night.

“Oh baby boy, don’t worry about that,” she smirks, turning to face him. It’s an ominous response, one that doesn’t fill him with much confidence, but he’s so hungry and weak that he can’t afford to pass up this opportunity due to mere scepticism. As long as it doesn’t break the bank, he’s willing to pay whatever he needs to quench this thirst.

The air in this new section of the club only serves to make him feel weaker like it’s sucking the breath from his lungs.

As Jessica looks around the room, his eyes follow, leading him to see a beautiful girl leaning against the bar, nursing her drink. The hostess’ face beams as she ushers the mystery girl over, much to Jongseong’s delight.

He might only be here to feed but who says he can’t indulge in these needs with someone beautiful like her?

“Y/N! Over here,” Jessica shouts, gesturing her friend forward.

As you hear Jessica's call, you set your drink down, licking the remnants of the sweet beverage from your lips. It’s been a slow night for you, your usual boy cancelling last minute, leaving you in desperate need of someone new, someone to play with.

Snaking your way towards the awkward boy, you make sure your movements are purposeful, each sway of the hip intentional as you lure him into your vice. He’s a pretty little thing, much prettier than half of the men here, so you find yourself trying to grip him with your movements, beckoning him closer with every step.

As you approach him, you can't help but feel a surge of excitement coursing through you. There's something about him that sets him apart from the others in the room, something that makes your pulse quicken with anticipation.

This is going to be a fun night.

"You are just the girl I need to treat my little sucky cup here well," Jessica states with a teasing grin, tracing her hand down Jongseong's arm, causing him to swallow deeply, "Could you take him off my hands?"

As you get closer, a rush of exhilaration runs through you. Jongseong's lingering gaze on you, hunger and desire in his eyes, just adds gasoline to the fire that is blazing within you.

Stepping closer, you rub his chest, much like the hostess had done but your touch is a lot more enticing, the way your fingertips linger on his skin a little too long causes his dick to twitch and his knees to crumble, as if he wanted to bow down and worship the ground you walked on.

Your leg slips between his, your knee rubbing against his inner thigh, close enough that he can feel it near his cock but far away enough to have him whining for more contact, "What's your name, baby?" you ask softly, your voice dripping with seduction as you look up at him through hooded eyes. You can see the desire burning in his gaze, the hunger for something more, and you're more than willing to give him what he craves, even if he doesn’t quite know what that is yet.

Jongseong's chest tightens at your touch, and his senses are overwhelmed by the magnetism you exude. With each passing second, he becomes fascinated by your presence, unable to resist the pull of attraction that draws him closer to you.

"Jongseong...Jay....Jongseong," he replies, his voice a frantic whisper. Your proximity, mixed with the gentle motions of your body against his, causes him to feel dizzy with need.

You stifle a laugh as your nails dig into his chest, eliciting a sharp intake of breath from Jongseong. "Jongseong Jay Jongseong, I’m Y/N," you purr, your voice dripping with seduction, "Would you like me to take you somewhere with a little more privacy?"

Your gaze meets his with an intensity that sends a shiver down his spine, your fingers digging into his flesh with a mixture of pleasure and pain. "Or would you like to have an audience?" you continue, your eyes wandering to the left.

Jongseong follows your gaze, his heart pounding in his chest as he takes in the scene before him. To the left, round couches are cluttered with vampires indulging in their primal desires, feeding from their claimed workers, fucking into them with velocity. Some couples are locked in passionate embraces, their bodies entwined in a frenzy of lust, while others simply watch on, their eyes gleaming with arousal.

One particular couple catches Jongseong's attention, the sight of blood dripping down the girl's body as she relishes the feeling of a vampire pounding into her from behind, their shared moans only silenced by the loud music that surrounds the club. He hates to admit it, but it makes Jongseong’s dick twitch.

Peeling his eyes away, he returns his gaze to you, “Private, please.”

You withdraw your body from him, leaving him aching for your touch. You held so much power over him despite being a supernatural creature, "A gentleman, huh?" you tease, your voice dripping with amusement. "Let's see how long that lasts." He can't help but feel a sense of longing as you tease him with your words, your playful demeanour only adding to the intensity of his need.

If he was starving before, he’s ravenous now.

You lightly intertwine your fingers with his as you pull him towards your private room, the knuckles of his hand brush along your ass as you stay a step in front of him. His eyes rake over the back of your body and take in the sight of you. You are perfect in every way, your body exactly his type, the lingerie set you have on is a beautiful white laced number that leaves nothing to the imagination.

Jongseong is too busy admiring the way your ass cheeks jiggle as you walk that he doesn’t even notice you opening the door and leading him in. Your presence is like a drug all on its own, like he needs to surrender himself to you to experience the full pleasure.

The moment Jongseong sets his eyes on the room and not your body, he's enveloped in a world of sensual decadence and luxury. The walls are draped in rich, red and gold fabrics, casting the space in a warm, inviting glow. Intricate patterns adorn the walls, adding a touch of opulence to the intimate setting.

In the centre of the room sits a large, lavish round bed, its sheets adorned with intricate designs that shimmer in the soft light. The bed beckons invitingly, promising hours of pleasure and indulgence for those who dare to partake.

To one side of the room, a collection of toys is splayed out in the corner, their presence adding a hint of playful excitement to the air. From silk restraints to feathered ticklers, the array of implements promises endless possibilities for exploration and delight.

But that’s not what he is here for, he is here for a quick feed to tide him over for the next few weeks until he can go out hunting again. This is transactional and absolutely nothing more.

Lighting a few candles on the mantlepiece, you hear him speak up behind you, “Uhm, you should know that I’m not here to have sex or anything, I just need to feed a little,” he confesses.

The room, though exquisitely decorated, suddenly feels charged with tension as Jongseong's words hang in the air. The candles flicker softly, casting dancing shadows across the red and gold decor as you turn to face him, your expression unreadable.

"Excuse me?" you respond, your voice laced with disbelief. For a moment, Jongseong can sense a flash of anger in your eyes, a flicker of indignation at his suggestion.

But before he can backtrack, Jongseong rushes to explain himself, his words tumbling out in a frantic rush. "I'll pay for the full service!" he blurts out, desperation evident in his voice. "But to be honest, I just need some blood, that's all."

You laugh, slowly sleeking your way back to him. If he was turned on by the view of you from the back, he was foaming at the mouth as he took in the sight of your breasts spilling slightly out of the white-laced cups.

“Jongseong, who told you about this place?” you ask, leading him to sit down on the edge of the bed.

“A friend of a friend,” he replies, trying not to touch your sides with his big hands despite the urge that flows through him.

To make matters harder for him, you straddle Jongseong's lap and a surge of arousal courses through him at the feeling of your barely covered pussy pressing against his covered cock. His breath catches in his throat as you wrap your arms around his neck, your proximity overwhelming his senses.

"And did this friend of a friend tell you about our services? What it entails?"

With a playful pout, you gaze into his eyes, your seductive gaze leaving him feeling helpless under your spell. His mind goes blank, his thoughts scattered as he struggles to gather his thoughts in the face of your overwhelming allure. All he can do is shake his head in response to your question, his lips parting slightly in silent anticipation.

Blinking slowly, you draw him in closer, your silent command irresistible as he leans towards you, drawn by an invisible force he can't resist. And as your lips hover mere inches apart, you whisper words that send a shiver down his spine.

"You feed from my blood," you murmur, your voice sending a thrill through him as you grind down onto him, eliciting a shallow moan that you swallow eagerly, "And I feed from your desire."

It’s like something finally clicks in his brain; the lack of energy, the pull you have on him, his hunger replaced with a burning desire, the password being a succulent snake plant. You were no human.

“You're a succubus,” he whispers, the words hanging in the air as confirmation of what he's known deep down all along.

Placing your hands on his cheeks, you hold him in place as you swipe your tongue along his lip, tasting him for the first time. He tastes like honey, the sweetest taste you won’t be able to get enough of.

Taking his hands that are clenched tightly by his sides, you open them up and place them on your breasts which he happily obliges, “We can be called many things, succubi, Lilith’s angels, demons, the list is endless.”

As Jongseong squeezes your tits, you feel a surge of pleasure course through you, the sensation heightened by the contrast between the supple softness of your skin and the rough texture of your lingerie. Despite his attempts to resist, he finds himself unable to break free from your hold, drawn deeper into the web of desire you've woven around him. Even if he wasn’t under your spell, he doesn’t really know if he would want to stop anyway.

"We can be called many things - succubi, Lilith's angels, demons," you murmur, your voice dripping with seduction as you revel in his touch. "The list is endless."

As you speak, Jongseong can feel the weight of centuries of history and lore pressing down on him, the knowledge that vampires and succubi have long been intertwined, using one another to get what they need. But while vampires may pose a threat to humans with their insatiable thirst for blood, succubi wield power far more dangerous, feeding off human desire and emotional vulnerability.

Thus, Archangel Michael made it his mission many years ago to rid God’s great earth of any incubi and succubi, summoning his choir to catch them and burn their souls. The purge started in the 1910s, causing most demons like you to go into hiding, to save yourself from obliteration.

It makes sense why Jongseong had never heard of this secret part of the club before, they had a lot to lose if news got out. For Michael’s choir, if they were to find out about this place, they would have a field day, picking apart each and every one of them.

You see his brain ticking and it makes you giggle, “We can help one another out, no?” you pose the question, knowing you can make him say whatever you need him to, to do whatever you please with him. Flicking your hair to the side, you expose your pure nape, “C’mon Jongseong, aren’t you starving?” you say seductively, your tone hushed as you emphasise the word starving.

Jongseong’s hand reaches up to touch your exposed neck to feel the blood pumping through your veins. He can hear it coursing along your neck, begging to be drunk by him. He licks his lips in longing, knowing that what he craves is just under your thin layer of skin.

As Jongseong's body reacts to your touch, his primal impulses take control, pushing him to the brink of want. His trousers tighten, a physical indication of his intense yearning. In his mind, he tells himself that you, your power, that is causing him to feel this way. But deep down, a nagging doubt persists: is it truly you, or are his own primitive urges driving him to the point of desperation?

Lost in the haze of lust, Jongseong finds himself unable to distinguish between reality and desire. The line between craving your blood and yearning to be buried deep inside your heat blurs, leaving him consumed by a frenzied need that threatens to overwhelm him.

His finger pricks your neck, drawing some blood as a taster out of the tiny wound. Involuntarily, his fangs protrude as he smells your sweet crimson blood, his mouth watering at the idea of devouring you right here, right now.

You know you’ve won, you’re going to get what you need and all at the expense of a tiny bit of blood, “That’s it, baby, give in to temptation,” you urge him, pulling his face closer to your neck. You can feel his breath ghosting over the wound and it makes your body press itself against him, seeking your own form of satisfaction.

Finally, he gives in, licking up the droplet of blood that seeps out of your neck before piercing you harshly. He savours the taste of your blood on his tongue, his senses ablaze with euphoria. Demon blood is intoxicating, having the same effect on vampires as alcohol does on humans, leaving vampires delirious with pleasure. He’s gentle compared to the older men you’ve had, meaning he has some form of restraint in him left.

Undoing his buttons, you slip off his shirt past his shoulders, hands roaming over his tanned skin as you crave to feel every inch of him. You tickle up his sides softly, causing his arms to instinctively pull you closer, pressing your tits against his bare chest as he revels in the sensation.

Retracting from your neck, his mouth stained with your blood, Jongseong's eyes meet yours with a newfound determination, "Stop controlling me," he demands, his voice laced with defiance as he challenges your hold over him.

But you shake your head, refusing to relinquish your grip, "Sorry, I can't do that," you reply, your tone unapologetic, "It's the only way I can get my end of the deal."

Jongseong bristles at your refusal, his determination only growing stronger, "Stop controlling me, and I'll fuck you properly," he challenges, his words a bold declaration of his intent.

Capturing your lips in his, he bites down on your bottom lip, sucking the sweet blood from it as he loses himself in the moment, bucking his hips up to rub his jeans against your clit, sending a wave of pleasure through your body.

In that moment, Jongseong proves himself to be more than just another vampire under your control. With his youth and vigour, he possesses a raw intensity that sets him apart, igniting a fire within you that burns hotter than ever before.

Licking along his right fang to taste your own blood, you moan out, craving him more than anyone ever before, “Fine. But don’t disappoint me, baby. I would hate to use you like a puppet,” you whisper back, your tongue collecting more of your blood from his chin.

In a flash, Jongseong feels like he finally has his energy back, that weight of your control finally lifted, leaving him the opportunity to do whatever he wants with you. Although he knew the intensity of your manipulation, he hadn’t realised how freeing it was to be in control of his own body.

Quickly, he lifts you up and tosses you on the bed, his strength showing as you fly up to the middle of the large bed. His display of strength only fuels your desire for him further.

You pull him by his neck to hover over you, kissing him messily as you breathe in his need for you, “Tell me what gets you off,” you say quietly, a smirk playing on your lips as you lend your hand down to cup his cock through his jeans, “You want me to suck you off?”

Jongseong groans into the kiss, the idea of your pretty lips around his shaft only sending him further into a tizzy, “Fuck yes, Princess. You think you can handle it?” his grip lands on your throat, squeezing it tightly as he shuts off your airwaves for a millisecond, “You think your tiny little mouth and throat can take me all the way?”

He originally came in here for your blood, but now all he’s thinking about is how he needs you bent over every surface, in every position, and having you begging for him. Something is appealing to him to hold so much power over one of hell’s strongest demons. Especially in your own playground.

You haven’t seen his cock, but your mouth starts to water just at the thought of it. Honestly, you didn’t expect him to be so vocal and demanding considering when you saw him he looked like he turned into the wrong club.

Maybe he was full of surprises.

Pushing him off you with all your might, you take control once again, “Edge of the bed, baby,” you instruct, sticking by your promise to not manipulate him into doing what you want, however, if he proves to be difficult, you might need to take things into your own hands.

Luckily, he’s an obedient little bat, taking off his bottoms before sitting down, stroking his thick cock as he waits for you to get into position.

You give him a light kiss on his lips before trailing down his neck. Your actions leave your wounds seeping in front of him, inviting him to drink your blood once more. It stops you in your tracks but you don’t mind, the sensation of his hot, wet tongue licking over your wounds somehow made your pussy throb.

His fangs are anchored into you, stopping you from moving. He can’t get enough of you, your blood slowly turning into an addiction as he drains you, feeding himself full of you.

Reaching your hand down, you grab his cock and yank it, causing him to yelp and withdraw his mouth from you. Jongseong’s eyes are wide as if questioning your intentions but you only offer him a laugh as a response, kissing into his mouth as you stroke him slowly.

Your soft hands feel amazing on his member, the way you expertly tug and squeeze him in all the right ways, it’s sensational, but he needs more. One of his hands pulls your face, holding it tightly in place as he stares deep into your eyes, “Are you going to suck my cock like you promised? Or do I have to fuck your throat instead?”

If you weren’t already wet, you were now. It’s as if he knows exactly what to say to get your motor running like he somehow knows all your turn-ons. Placing one last kiss on his lips, you snake down to his hardened length, tip pink with arousal. It’s so inviting, practically begging to be sucked.

Swiftly, you take his head into your mouth, sucking eagerly as you look up at him, eyes glistening with want and need.

Jongseong moans out, the sight of you taking his cock in your pretty mouth while your blood is smudged all over your lips, it’s a sight he wants to etch into his brain forever. For all the years he’s been alive, this might be his favourite moment.

You love it too. As Jongseong's desire amplifies, you feel a surge of energy coursing through you, fueled by the intensity of his lust. It's a sensation unlike any other, the raw power of his desire feeding into your own, replenishing your energy with every breath he takes.

Taking him deeper into your mouth, you lay your tongue flat and bop your head up and down at a perfect pace. Jongseong grips your hair tight, creating knots in the strands as he pulls at your roots. The motion elicits a hum from your throat, sending a vibration through his cock straight to his tight balls.

“Fuck, Princess, you’re so fucking good at that,” he states the obvious, knowing that you do this often, but this was a new experience for him, not one person has ever come close to sucking cock as good as you do.

You smile as you look up at him, your cunt dripping from his praises. It means something more when the men you’re with are saying those sorts of things out of their own free will, not because you’re feeding those thoughts into their minds.

Jongseong can feel himself getting close, ready to cum down your throat and have you swallow it. He thrusts into your mouth, now taking charge as he pushes your head down and bucks up, the back of your throat not stuffed with his fat cock.

“I’m gonna cum, Y/N,” he warns before shooting his load down your throat, each spurt making you gag as you struggle to swallow it.

With his hand on your neck, Jongseong massages your throat, coaxing you to open wider and take in everything he has to offer. As he presses deeper into you, he can feel his length snugly nestled within your channel, the pressure from his hand adding to the pleasure coursing through him.

Finally, sensing your need for air, Jongseong pushes you off of him, allowing you to finally catch your breath. Despite not having even fucked you yet, you feel completely satiated, your body thrumming with the energy you've drawn from him.

You’re throat and face is red as you regulate your breaths, your voice hoarse as you begin to speak, “Did I meet your expectations?” you ask, biting your lip as you straddle him once more, his cock laying against your thigh.

Nodding, he pushes your hair back from your forehead, “You’re fucking unreal,” he whispers.

Laughing, you take hold of his spent cock, pumping him softly, “Can you fuck me, or is our session done?” you ask, hoping for a certain answer.

With his sensitive cock in your hand, he hisses, shutting his eyes as he revels in the sensation. He wants nothing more than to bend you over and fuck you senseless, but he needs to replenish the energy that he’s given away to you.

Jongseing takes your other hand, bringing your wrist to his lips. As he kisses your veins, his eyes remain locked onto yours, his teeth ready to sink in and take what he needs once again. Swiftly, he sinks his fangs in, causing you to tighten your grip on his dick, causing the vampire to moan out loudly.

You take it as a sign to keep going, stroking him until he is hard again.

The mixture of your hand working his oversensitive length and the blood he’s slurping out of you push his adrenaline to a new level, his energy replenished and his need to take you even more prominent than before.

Reluctantly, he removes himself from your wrist, kissing it softly before giving you it back, “I’m going to fuck you so good, you’re going to beg to be my personal blood bag,” he whispers, primal thirst for blood overtaking his body. But you don’t mind, truthfully, you like this side of him, it gets you off seeing him take control of you.

With a firm grip on your ass, Jongseong lifts you effortlessly, carrying you to the centre of the bed and laying you down gently. Your heart pounds in anticipation as he moves your thong aside, exposing your glistening pussy to his hungry gaze.

Desperate for release, you wrap your legs around his hips, grinding your folds against his throbbing cock in search of any form of relief. The friction sends waves of pleasure coursing through you, igniting a fire that spreads up to your stomach.

Jongseong's desire burns hot as he positions himself between your legs, his eyes locking with yours as he prepares to claim you as his own. At that moment, there's no room for hesitation or restraint - only the need to lose yourselves in the ecstasy of each other's embrace.

You arch your back, urging him to take you completely. The anticipation builds between you, each moment stretching out into eternity as you both crave the release that only each other can provide.

“Tell me you want it,” he demands, his mouth finding its way back to your neck. Mewling out, you try to push his cock inside of you but he holds steady, resisting your advances, “You were being so good earlier, what happened?” he tuts.

As hot as it is for him to be in charge, you can’t stand him getting too cocky, "I want you, but that's the difference, isn't it? I want you, but you need me," you tease, running your tongue across your bottom lip in defiance.

Jongseong clenches his jaw, and his eyes deepen with want. Despite his efforts to retain control, your words create a fire within him, creating a need that threatens to swallow him completely. But he pulls himself back, determined to show you that he is still in control.

With that, he thrusts into you with a force that leaves you gasping for breath, your walls clenching around him in response to the sudden intrusion. Each movement is calculated and deliberate as he sets a punishing pace that leaves you trembling with pleasure.

He takes you roughly, his cock sliding effortlessly in and out of your wet heat. A moan escapes your lips as you feel him stuff you to the brink, the sensation overwhelming in its intensity. He’s holding no punches, making sure you know exactly who needs who.

Your nails dig into his back, leaving crescent-shaped marks in their wake as you cling to him desperately, your body writhing beneath his with unbridled passion. Every touch, every kiss, sends shockwaves of pleasure coursing through you, igniting a fire that threatens to consume you entirely.

“Jongseong!” you cry out as he drives into you harder, making sure you feel every inch of him, your walls being battered by the strength of his large dick. He’s incredible, top 5 best fucks you’ve ever had.

As Jongseong sits up, his hands pressing firmly against your back to arch you, you feel a surge of pleasure course through you as he drives himself even deeper inside you. His commanding presence leaves you breathless, lost in the intensity of the moment, “Tell me you need me,” he hisses out, spanking your ass as he thrusts faster, “Go on, beg for it.”

His demand sends a shiver down your spine, and you can't help but cry out in ecstasy. Each thrust drives you closer to the edge, your body trembling with anticipation as he takes you to new heights of pleasure.

With your resistance cracking beneath the force of his want, you find yourself entirely succumbing to him. Your raw, needy voice fills the room as you scream for more, your words a desperate plea for relief.

"I need you, Jongseong," you cry, your voice full of longing, "I need you to fill me up, to give me your cum." Despite the roughness of his previous ministrations when he was fucking your throat silly, you find your voice somehow, driven by an intense yearning that runs through you.

A triumphant grin spreads across his face as you give in. He drags you up by your hair and makes you sit on his cock as he piledrives into you harder, the tip of his cock hitting your sweet spot. Your neck is still pumping out blood but he knows he can do better than that; his teeth sink into you again, tearing the flesh as he rips into you, feeding from you like a man starved for centuries. The blood drips down onto your white lingerie, turning it pink.

In the throes of ecstasy, pure bliss envelops you both as you reach the pinnacle of pleasure, screaming out each other's names in a symphony of release.

"Jongseong!" you cry out, your walls clenching tightly around him as he spills his seed deep inside you. His movements slow but remain powerful, each thrust sending waves of pleasure coursing through your body.

Your limbs go limp as you bask in the aftermath of your shared climax, your heat still clinging to him desperately, unwilling to let him go. Every inch of your being feels alive with pleasure as if you've been transported to another realm of existence.

Collapsing on top of you, Jongseong’s pants are short as he tries to catch his breath, his entire body exhausted. His tongue licks your wounds lazily, hoping it can heal you somewhat while also drinking every last drop of his dinner.

“You’re amazing, Y/N,” he whispers into your nape, “Are you okay? Was it too much?” he asks with genuine concern, warming your chest a little.

“I’m good, thanks, Jongseong,” your voice is hushed, the effort to speak proving too much.

He rolls off of you, examining your body to make sure there’s nothing bleeding out. You spot him doing this and laugh, “I’m fine, it takes a lot more to kill me than some vampire bites.”

It fills him with relief to know you’ll be okay. He hasn’t ever gone that far before, giving into his vampire urges so easily. He had lost complete control tonight, but as scary as that is, he wants to experience that again.

No deer or cow will ever compare to the sweet taste of you.

Almost like reading his mind, you lean against the headboard and speak up, “If you see Jess, she’ll be able to book you in for a next time.” Your eyes glimmer with mischief and also promise. You want to be devoured by him again by any means necessary.

Nodding, Jongseong begins to get dressed, using the wet cloths provided by the club to clean his face of any blood. It’s a shame that all that beautiful red nectar going to waste.

“What if I don’t come back?” he teases, a smirk gracing his beautiful face as he turns to you.

“You will, they always do.”

#enhypen smut #enha smut #enhypen x reader #enha x reader #jay smut #jongseong smut #park jongseong smut #aj writes

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girlgenius1111 · 3 months

Text

i always know what you need

Alexia x R [soft and sweet] smut 18+ after a rough game, and a result you blamed on yourself, you ask Alexia to punish you. she has other ideas.

huge thank you to @occasionallyaurora for the inspiration 🙃

------

If there was one thing Alexia wished she could change about you, it would be your insistence to blame every bad result for the team on yourself. Granted, you did miss the penalty that would have won the game. And the goal scored by the other team had kind of been your fault. But it was an off day for you, and everyone had them. The rest of the team had every opportunity to push ahead, and they hadn’t been able to either. Would Alexia have blamed herself, if the roles were reversed? Most definitely. But as she watched you fight off tears while walking towards the tunnel after the game, Alexia could only think that she didn’t really care that you’d played poorly. All she cared about was making you smile again.

Her hope that it would only take a few encouraging words from her to make you feel better faded quickly when you pulled away from her in the tunnel, heading right for the showers. You were able to avoid her through the rest of your post match routine, and when Alexia escaped media duties, it was to find that you’d already gotten on the bus. Of course, this match couldn’t have been in Barcelona, and Alexia couldn’t bring you back to her house and keep an eye on you. No, she had to rely instead on Mapi to console you, who you were rooming with. Speaking of the defender, she pulled Alexia to the side as the captain headed to the bus, a solemn expression on her face.

“Switch with me tonight?” She asked. Alexia rolled her eyes; she was rooming with Ingrid. Of course Mapi wanted to switch.

“María, are you really taking advantage of my girlfriend being upset so you and your girlfriend can break the rules in the hotel?” Alexia asked, tone biting and filled with annoyance.

Mapi frowned at her friend. “No. Ingrid has a migraine and I want to stay with her. And I heard your girl crying in the shower. I was trying to be helpful.”

Alexia sighed. Today was really not her day. “Sorry, amiga. Yeah, let’s switch, thank you.” It wasn’t taking you home, but it was better than lying awake in her hotel room, worried about you when you were just right down the hall.

------

You were lost in your thoughts when Alexia sat next to you on the bus. She instantly wrapped her arm around your shoulder and pulled you into her, which surprised you a bit. Alexia liked to keep things professional, often going so far as to avoid touching you when you were all around the team. It seemed as though your need for her superseded her need to be perfectly professional at all times, though, because the way she kissed your forehead was far from friendly.

“Mapi and I are switching rooms, vale? I stay with you tonight.” She murmured, her words heavily accented, as they always were when she tried to whisper.

You wanted to deny her, rid her of the burden that you knew you would be this evening, but you couldn’t manage it, not when she was holding you so tightly, and when she smelled so comfortingly familiar.

“Thank you.” You replied, well aware of how uncommon it was for Alexia to break the rules, even for you.

Your girlfriend shook her head. “Do not thank me. I will always give you what you need.”

It was with that thought that you began to think about what it was that you needed. By the time you reached the hotel, you were absolutely convinced you had the answer.

------

Alexia was expecting you to cry upon return to your hotel room. Or, at least, pull Alexia into bed, bury your face in her chest, and try to go to sleep. Anything to avoid talking about it, and anything to avoid thinking about it. She was not expecting you to pounce on her the minute the door shut, her bag in hand, having just switched with Mapi.

Regardless, she met your kiss eagerly, reaching down to lift you easily into her arms. You wrapped your legs around her waist, and wound your arms around your neck, completely intending to lose yourself in the feeling of her. She seemed to come to her senses after a few minutes though, pulling away somewhat breathlessly and settling you on the bed.

“Let’s slow down, sí? You just played a full 90, we have to fly tomorrow…” she trailed off as you shook your head, pulling on her shirt to get her to climb on top of you. Alexia was a willful person, normally, but the one place that this was not the case was with you. Almost involuntarily, she leaned back down, allowing you to guide her lips towards yours.

This time, when you broke the kiss, Alexia looked much more convinced to give in to what you clearly wanted, and what she wanted too, rules and logic be damned.

That is, until you spoke, grabbing her hand and pulling it towards your throat. “Punish me.” You whispered, a desperate look on your face.

Alexia instantly withdrew her hand, cupping your cheek instead, a very sad look on her face. “Mi amor, I do not know if that is a good idea.”

“Please, Ale, I need you so bad. I can’t feel like this, I need you to punish me, please.” You begged, gripping her wrist and pulling it back towards your neck.

She still didn’t look sure, so it surprised you when she nodded her head slowly. “What my girl needs, she gets.” She murmured, pressing her lips to yours once more.

Alexia had no intention to punish you. She knew that wasn’t really what you needed, and she was determined to give you what you needed. So she let herself kiss you, for a while, until you began to get impatient and squirmy under her. She kept her kisses sweet and slow, withdrawing slightly every time you tried to get her to be a bit harsher.

“You aren’t being rough” You huffed impatiently, glaring up at Alexia’s face above you. She just hummed in response, returning her lips to your neck and suckling softly at the skin. “Ale,” you complained again. This time, she did respond, leaning up off you to look sternly into your eyes.

“Who decides what I do? Is it you? Or is it me?”

“You,” you replied softly. “But, Ale, I need-”

“Who decides what you need, amor? You? Or me?” You didn’t reply, only glaring up at her halfheartedly. She answered her own question when it became clear that you weren’t going to. “I do. And you are not being very nice to yourself today. So I will do that for you.”

“Alexia I don’t deserve-”

“Shh, amor. I know what you deserve. Now relax, and let me make you feel good, vale?”

“Okay.” You replied softly, almost in a trance. Alexia could get you like that fairly easily, she just needed to say the right thing and pair her words with some intense eye contact, and you were ready to do whatever she asked of you.

“Buena niña,” she breathed into your ear, her hand beginning to trail down your body. You didn’t acknowledge what she said, stiffening slightly at her words. You didn’t feel like her good girl, not right now. Alexia knew this, and she also knew that by the time she was done with you, you would feel like her good girl.

Alexia sat up off you, pulling at your shirt. You stripped it off, your bra quickly following.

“You are so beautiful.” Alexia said softly, her finger tracing a line down your abdomen, her eyes fixed on yours.

You squirmed uncomfortably at her words, and Alexia tilted her head just slightly. “You are, amor. The most beautiful girl I have ever seen.” She reiterated, this time not waiting for a response before she began to kiss at your bare chest, working her way down your abdomen, and pausing at your shorts.

“Do you want me?” She husked. As if you would ever say no to that question from her.

“Yes, please.”

“Then tell me that you are good.” Alexia said, resting her cheek on your lower abdomen, as if she knew it would take you a minute to get the words out. Looking at her from where you were propped up on your elbows, it was hard not to feel good, to feel beautiful. Alexia looked at you like you imagined people looked upon the Ark of the Covenant; like they knew they’d only have a short time to enjoy something so divine, and they weren’t planning on wasting a second.

You knew she wouldn’t move until you’d said what she wanted you to, and you decided to say it, even if it felt like a lie.

“I am good.” You mumbled, so quietly Alexia almost didn’t hear you.

“Perfecta,” Alexia smiled, finally sliding her fingers under the waistband of your shorts, and pulling them down. She pulled your underwear off, too, smiling to herself at the wet patch already on them; she’d never get over the effect she had on you. If it made her cocky, then it made her cocky; was she supposed to be humble when the most beautiful person she’d ever met always wanted her so desperately?

Much to your annoyance, Alexia didn’t immediately put her mouth on you. Instead, she switched her focus to your inner thighs, leaving light kisses up one, ghosting over where you really wanted her, and down the other leg. After her 2nd lap of this, you grew frustrated.

“Please,” you whined, hoping that asking for what you wanted would get it.

“You said you wanted to be punished. This is your punishment, I am going to go slow until you are dripping for me.” Alexia replied, one finger teasing over your clit rather lightly, yet you still shuddered.

“Am- am I not dripping for you already?” You grumbled, your words losing some edge to them when Alexia pressed down just barely, before retracting her hand. She grinned up at you rather smugly, finally pushing your legs further apart, and spreading you open.

“Mmm, you are.” Alexia allowed.

“Well then what- oh fuck,” you cut yourself off when Alexia buried her face in your pussy, lapping and licking at your folds like it was the last thing she’d ever do. The blonde’s tongue was unlike anything you’d ever experienced before, and you were quickly arching your back, and grinding yourself up into her face.

You were used to not being able to touch. To being tied up, or told to keep your hands off when Alexia got working on her favorite activity. You were used to having to tug at the restraints, or pull at the bedsheets, until the urge to grab Alexia’s head and pull her even closer eventually floated away, like everything always did when she fucked you.

This time, though, Alexia grabbed your hands in hers, humming against you with pleasure at the sounds you were letting out, and placed them on her head, encouraging you to lace your fingers into her soft blonde hair.

Once Alexia had done that, allowing you to set a rhythm of fucking yourself down against her tongue, holding her face where you wanted it, it was just a matter of minutes before your hands were tightening and you were getting louder and louder.

Alexia knew she should care, your teammates were right next door, but she couldn’t bring herself to mind, not when you threw your head back against the bed, writhed underneath her, repeated her name over and over like it was the only word you remembered.

“Ale, Ale, please, I’m so close,” you chanted, words broken up by breathy moans sliding easily out of your lips.

“Let go, amor,” she said, barely withdrawing her mouth to speak, and the vibrations of her voice against your pussy did it, along with her lips attaching themselves to your clit and sucking, hard.

“Fuck fuck fuck, jesus Alexia,” you cried, eventually pushing her head away when it became too much. You’d always been loud, and it never ceased to amaze Alexia how easily you let go when you came.

Your girlfriend slid back up your body, hand settling over your core as you grinded softly down into it, still working through the aftershocks. Alexia kept her face close to yours, wanting to hear the desperate little whines and breaths that you always made after you came.

“You sound so pretty when you come for me, do you know that? I love hearing you say my name.” Alexia told you. All you could do was wrap your arms tighter around her, and haul her in even closer as you came back into yourself.

You whimpered slightly when Alexia’s fingers abruptly dragged through your core, your mouth falling open almost on instinct when she raised her hand up to your mouth.

“Taste yourself.” She instructed, pushing her 2 large fingers right past your parted lips. You sucked on them eagerly, more interested in having something of Alexia’s inside your mouth than you were with tasting yourself.

“Buena, tómelo todo,” she hummed, not embarrassed in the slightest at how good it felt to have you suck eagerly on her fingers. “Tan buena, mi niña, la niña mas perfecta del mundo,”

The whine you let out at that let Alexia know just how desperately you needed to hear her praise you. She didn’t have much time to think on that, though, before your hand was pulling hers away from your face, and directing it back between your legs.

“More,” you said softly, blushing when you felt Alexia smirk into your neck.

“You want more? You want my fingers in that perfect pussy?” She teased, loving the way your whole chest and neck turned red at her words.

“Sí, I need your fingers.” You told her, tilting your neck to the side when she nibbled slightly on the skin there.

“Anything for you,” Alexia mumbled, pulling both her hand and mouth away from you in a way that felt rather contradictory to her statements. When she flipped you around, though, and pulled you up the bed to settle in between her legs, your back to her chest, you realized why. If you were blushing before, you weren’t sure what you were doing now could be described as. Maybe turning permanently red.

On the wall just across from you was a full length mirror, rather obscenely placed so that most of the first bed was visible in it. Alexia wanted you to watch. You didn’t want to watch, at least not watch yourself.

“Gonna fuck you now,” the blonde whispered, frowning slightly when you shut your eyes and turned your head slightly to hide your face against her neck. “No, amor, you are going to watch.”

“Alexia,”

“You are going to watch.” She insisted. “You are beautiful, and perfect, and you have nothing to be ashamed of. I want you to see yourself like I do. Falling apart on my fingers, and screaming my name.”

You felt like you were getting whiplash with how quickly she was switching between being almost painfully sweet, and being painfully filthy.

“Can you do that, mi niña bonita? Can you watch yourself take my fingers?”

“I can.” You muttered, feeling Alexia grab your chin and turn your head back towards the mirror. You were spread open wide, your cunt glistening in the dim lighting of the room, one of Alexia’s large hand holding your leg back.

A soft “good” was all you got before Alexia was sliding her hand down your stomach, right down to your entrance, tracing two fingers over it before easily sliding them in. Her fingers were absurdly large, and it was a bit of a stretch, even with how wet you were, and she kept them still for almost a full minute, before your body was very unsuccessfully trying to grind down on them.

“Look at you,” Alexia cooed, beginning to pump her fingers in and out. She filled you so perfectly, it was almost mesmerizing to see, if not slightly embarrassing to see yourself drip all over the sheets. “Taking me so well. You are so wet. Do you want another finger, bonita?”

You could only nod frantically, all your energy focused on not looking away.

When Alexia slipped her third finger in, you grabbed on to her forearm tightly, breaths leaving your mouth rapidly.

“Look at your tight pussy, taking 3 fingers.”

“Ale,” you mumbled, the only coherent thought you were able to form at this point. Alexia was making you feel good, and Alexia was all you wanted; what else was there to say?

“Sí, tell me how good you feel,” she encouraged.

You took a few stuttering deep breaths, trying not to let the wet sounds of her fingers sliding in and out of your cunt to distract you.

“S-so good, baby, you make me feel so fucking good,” you managed, feeling Alexia speed up at your words. You realized your eyes had shut, and you forced them back open, not wanting your girlfriend to stop, not when you were so close.

Alexia fucked you harder, her hand making a loud smack when it connecting with your body, her fingers sounding almost pornographic as the moved inside of you. The blonde began to curl her fingers, which were long enough to brush perfectly over the spot deep inside of you that made your toes curl.

“Ale, your fingers- on my, shit,” you tried, unable to get the words out. Luckily, your girlfriend knew just what you were asking for.

“So good, asking for what you need.” She praised, moving her other hand from your leg over to your core, instantly circling your clit, rubbing eagerly against it with the perfect amount of pressure.

“Ale, coming,” you managed, your back arching up off Alexia’s chest, thighs clenching around her hand. Your walls tightened so much that Alexia could barely move inside of you, and the volume at which you screamed her name was sure to bring a lot of teasing both of your ways tomorrow, but Alexia didn’t care. Not when she made you feel good. Not when she made you come so hard, all you could do afterward was flop back down onto her body, panting heavily.

Her fingers eventually removed themselves from deep inside of you, and Alexia quietly shushed the whimper you let out at the sensation. Her less messy hand rubbed comforting circles over your stomach, and her lips pressed kiss after kiss to your cheek. You didn’t really notice any of this. You felt it all happen, but you were much to content to remain completely fucked out for the time being.

Though one thought did break through the haze, and you tried to move your hands down Alexia’s body, muttering something about her not having a turn yet.

“No, tonight is for you. You are all done, amor, it is okay.” She encouraged, feeling you relax back into her. You laid there for a few more minutes, feeling every inch of your skin pressed up against Alexia’s, and thinking somewhere in your brain that there was no better sensation.

Eventually, Alexia very carefully slid out from under you, promising that she’d be right back, before she disappeared briefly into the bathroom. You could only groan in response, already wishing that she was back in contact with you.

When she did return, it was to delicately pick you up, cradle you close to her chest, and carry you into the bathroom. She tried to lower you into the bath she’d drawn, but you wouldn’t let go of her.

“Don’t let go, please.” You requested, and Alexia smiled softly, stepping into the tub with you. She laid you carefully on her chest, hoping the warm water would revive you some.

It did, and only a few minutes later, you turned your head, resting your chin on your girlfriend’s chest, looking up at her with an adoring expression on your face.

“Hi you,” she whispered, the English phrase she’d picked up from you making you smile yourself.

“Hola,” you replied, and she laughed quietly.

“Thank you. For knowing what I needed. And knowing what I didn’t.” You said, the mood suddenly a lot more serious.

“Always.” She promised. “Do you want to talk about it?”

“Not really. I just want to be here with you.” You stated carefully, cheeks flushing at the way Alexia’s entire face seemed to soften and melt at your words.

“Okay, amor. It is important to me that you know, though. I always love you. You are always good. Even if you have a bad match. Even if you have 100 bad matches. I love you the same. Forever, I love you the same. Okay?”

There were tears falling down your face when you responded, tears that Alexia easily wiped away.

“I love you.”

“Te amo mucho mucho mucho,” she promised, leaning down to press a soft kiss to your lips.

You’d never get over this intimacy. The ease with which you let Alexia see every ugly part of you. And the ease with which she met everything you hated about yourself with overflowing amounts of love. Alexia loved you more than you could ever hate yourself.

-------

this entered my brain and refused to leave :)

#alexia putellas x reader #woso one shot #woso imagine #woso fanfics #woso x reader #woso

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buckybabesonly · 7 days

Text

as long as we're together (does it matter where we go?)

Summary: You don't want to be a burden to Bucky, knowing he has the weight of the world on his shoulders.

Pairing: Bucky x Female!OC

Genre: Angst

Length: 7.8k

Two years ago

“I don’t think I want to be with you anymore.”

Bucky had expected it. Weeks of you being distant, making secret phone calls, avoiding his touches like they physically hurt you. Countless times Bucky had asked, what's wrong?, only for you to shut him down and say that everything was fine. Bucky was sick of hearing that empty, meaningless mantra, but it didn’t mean that he reveled in your confession now.

Even though it didn't come as a surprise, it still felt like a punch to the gut. It physically winded him to hear those words leave your lips.

He wondered what he did wrong. He wondered where they went wrong. They were so in love, so wonderfully content in each other's company. You were his person. Steve had once told Bucky that he would find someone unexpectedly, when Bucky made an off-hand comment about how lucky he was to have met Peggy.

“You’ll find your Peggy.”

Things had been perfect. Or maybe Bucky had just been in denial, ignoring all the problems between you because he thought that his feelings for you triumphed over everything, no matter what hardships you may have been suffering from. How could he ever face the reality that you might actually leave in pursuit of something better?

Now, Bucky’s chest was tight with an indescribable feeling, both of you stood in your shared apartment. Your belongings stuffed into a black suitcase, Bucky’s heart in pieces on the hardwood floor.

He had expected it, but it didn't stop him from wanting to die.

"Why?" It was all he could ask. He wanted to know the reason, wanted to understand. Wanted to know if he could fix it. He was desperate to make you stay.

Bucky stared at your face. You looked so...indifferent. Unattached, in contrast to the woman he had met all those years ago. Where had the softness in your eyes gone? Why couldn’t you meet his pleading gaze, even now? At what point did your feelings for him start to fade, and was there anything he could have done to salvage it?

Your face was a blank slate, emotionless, and it made Bucky feel a truly troubling combination of sadness and anger. It was as if you had already said your goodbyes to their relationship, completely ready to move on whilst Bucky was still trying to process your words. You were ready to leave him behind to mourn.

“I don’t think we’re right for each other,” you had said quietly. “I don’t think we can give each other what we need.”

"Bullshit," Bucky said, his voice cracking. You grimaced ever so slightly at his tone, still unable to meet his eyes. "How can you say that?"

He took a step forward; you matched it with a retreating step, but with wide strides he seized your wrists. He silently willed you to say something which could somehow lessen the excruciating pain.

“Will you just look at me?”

He wanted so badly for you to meet his stare, to find some source of comfort within your eyes which usually held so much love for him.

Finally, you relented and lifted your head. They did not fill Bucky with any hope. You pressed your lips together firmly as he searched your face desperately for any sign of residual affection.

"We - we're in love. How can you say after all these years that we're not right for each other? For fuck's sake, will you just tell me what happened?"

"People change, Bucky," you said softly. The look on your face - was it sadness, or apathy? "We've become too distant."

"And whose fault is that?" Bucky released you then. He was so angry, wanting to elicit some sort of reaction from you, that he wanted to punch the wall beside them. It made him feel nauseous at how stoic you were now, like a piece of unyielding rock. He knew you hated it when he took his anger out physically. You had been the one to teach him how to manage his rage more constructively, to talk things out and use his words rather than his fists.

"Are you trying to say it's mine?" Your tone was sharp, finally demonstrating some emotion. "Are you saying that all those nights waiting for you to come back home, all those evenings alone whilst you stayed at the Tower, all those hours I spent staring at the four walls of this apartment were my fault?"

"You left me!" Bucky retorted, gritting his teeth. "You left me long before today! You think I haven't noticed? You can barely stand touching me. You're always on your phone, always texting, always out seeing your 'friends'," he said, making air quotes. "I asked Wanda, she said you haven't been meeting her or your other friends for weeks. Who's this 'friend’? Who the fuck is it that's so important that you can't spare any time for me, never mind your actual friends?"

A long, pregnant pause filled the air, an indecipherable mask on your face once more. Bucky’s eyes were wet, and if he hadn't been so angry, he would've seen the way your lower lip was trembling ever so slightly, the way it did whenever you were trying not to cry. It had been the biggest telltale sign for him over the years to know when you were upset and trying your best to hide it.

He was usually so good at reading you, but he was blinded with sadness.

"Fine," you said eventually, slicing the silence with a shaky exhale. "I'm seeing someone else."

You might as well have struck Bucky across the face.

Suspecting it and hearing the words fall from your lips were two different things. He physically reeled back in anguish as he stared at you. He took in the sight of his girlfriend in front of him, swallowing the lump that was forming in his throat. This was, without a doubt, the woman he had met five years ago. The woman he spent five years loving. The woman whom he recognized no longer.

"Why?" Bucky whispered, all the fight leaving his body. He physically seemed to sag, forehead creasing at all the other questions running through his mind, visions of you being touched and fucked by some faceless, nameless man.

You were almost pitiful in the way you looked at Bucky, and he hated it.

"I care for you, Bucky. But I’m not in love with you anymore. And I'm sorry I had to do this to you. Things just got out of control."

I’m not in love with you anymore.

You offered no further information, but he had stopped listening, anyway. The finality in your voice pierced him slowly, tortuously, through the heart. He barely moved when you took your suitcase and pulled it out behind you, out of their apartment. Out of his life.

The door slammed shut.

Present day

You are cordially invited to attend the wedding of Mercedes Knight & Samuel Wilson

Sam had become Bucky’s closest confidant in the past few years, and the latter had been a close witness as Sam met Mercedes ‘Misty’ Knight, a former NYPD officer who had somehow become roped into their crazy world. It was no surprise to Bucky when they announced their engagement just six months into dating.

Bucky found himself being pulled into their wedding planning discussions far too often. He tried to keep an amused smile at bay whilst listening into Misty and Sam’s wedding talk at the Tower. They were using one of the many conference rooms - a Knight-Wilson union was official business, Misty insisted.

"Are you bringing a date?" Misty asked suddenly in the middle of everything, the question directed at Bucky.

"Of course he's bringing a date," Sam smirked. "Heard things with Sharon are going well, right?"

Bucky smiled non-committedly, shrugging. "She's great." It didn’t go unnoticed by Sam that this didn’t quite answer his question.

"You two look good together," Misty offered. She glanced at her watch and widened her eyes theatrically, grabbing Sam’s hand. "Oh crap, we need to go meet with the wedding planner."

"But it feels like we just sat down," Sam complained.

"There's no rest for the bride and groom, Sam," Misty said, pulling her fiancé out of his seat as she waved goodbye at Bucky.

As soon as they departed, the smile on Bucky’s face dimmed. He was beyond happy for his two friends, he really was - but every couple he knew was a fresh reminder of his own failed love life.

Ever since you, he hadn't been in a long term relationship. Sharon is different, he told himself, and she was. They had been friends for a long time, and of course spent a lot of time together carrying out missions and the like. Over time, somehow, they had gotten closer, and one day Sharon had just asked him, “So when are you going to ask me out, Barnes?”

At that point, Bucky was still frequently thinking about you. Sharon had never met you before, but Bucky wouldn’t be surprised if she had heard stories about you from the others, since he had been notoriously affected by the breakup. Even though he was dealing with the aftershocks of the broken relationship, he was forcing himself to get past it.

They had been dating for two months now, and it only seemed right for Sharon to be his date at the wedding.

He had moved on. He was no longer the depressed, dark wreck he was when you left.

Sometimes it’s better to lie to yourself than to face the reality.

“You invited Bucky’s ex to the wedding?” Misty asked curiously.

“Uh, yeah. She’s not just his ex,” Sam explained gently. “She’s my friend too, and I haven’t seen her since she left town.”

"You told Bucky?"

"Nope," Sam snorted, shaking his head. "I can't. I don't think he'd turn up if I did. I want them both there on the day - I'm sure they can be civil for one night."

“I wonder how Bucky will react," his future wife pondered.

Sam shrugged. Not well, probably.

"What else can I do? I can’t not invite her, I really want her to be there. You never met her, so you don’t know, but she’s been through some shit.”

“I know, I know, you told me,” Misty said. “I just don’t want anyone to get hurt. Do you think she'll be okay seeing Bucky again? Especially if he'll be there with Sharon?"

"She said she can handle it. She would be happy to see that Bucky was happy. She was the one who practically begged me to encourage him to move on."

“Do you think he has?”

Sam paused, considering the question carefully.

“He has to.”

Several weeks later, Misty Knight and Sam Wilson were officially wed at the local registration office. The day was full of hugs, cacophonous laughter, friends and family, and Bucky watched with a wide beam on his face as he witnessed his friends glow. Those kinds of smiles were few and far between nowadays, but he was truly happy for once.

"They look so good together," Sharon murmured as hundreds of guests filled the hotel ballroom, the party commencing in full swing. The newlyweds were in the center of the room, Misty being twirled around wildly by a laughing Sam before his wife collapsed against his chest in fits of giggles, looking up into his eyes adoringly.

More and more people joined them on the dance floor after the conclusion of their official first dance.

"Barnes, would you like to dance?" Sharon asked suddenly with a smile, extending a hand.

Bucky chuckled, allowing her to take his hand and lead him out to the dance floor.

An hour passed, and Bucky had to truthfully say that he was enjoying himself, assisted by all the alcohol he had consumed. Sharon was draped all over him as they swayed to the music, and Bucky found himself appreciating the feel of her body against his all too much, the scent of her intoxicating. His hands felt the fabric of her silky, emerald green dress, buried his nose into Sharon's blonde hair, sighing softly as he tightened his grip on her waist.

Her perfume was strong and woodsy, like a forest. It irritated his nose ever so slightly. You had preferred a more subtle, floral perfume, one that smelt like sakura blossoms.

Sharon was more confident and seductive in the way she danced, whilst you used to always let yourself become putty in his arms, enjoying how he took the lead and managed to make you look like you knew how to dance despite your two left feet.

However, despite the differences, if Bucky closed his eyes and just tried a little harder, he think he could pretend that -

"Sorry to interrupt.”

Bucky pulled away from Sharon suddenly, and he turned to mock glare at Sam. "What do you want, Wilson?"

"Need to borrow you for a minute," Sam said, an undecipherable expression on his face. Bucky tried to see where Misty had disappeared off to, but saw no trace.

"Um, sure..." Bucky tried to read Sam’s face but gleaned nothing.

"I'll just go say hi to Natasha," Sharon said, giving Bucky’s forearm a squeeze before she disappeared.

Sam’s smile faded, and he caught Bucky’s arm in a vice grip. "I need to tell you something. Don't get mad, okay?"

"What?" Bucky scowled as Sam dragged him to the side of the room, weaving through the crowds of guests. "What good news starts with, ‘don’t get mad’? Are you gonna tell me you want to run out on Misty or something?" He joked.

Sam pulled him out through one of the open French doors which led to a pretty, outdoor stone balcony. He shut them behind him as Bucky continued to babble, a little tipsy from the champagne he'd had. "I gotta tell ya, if she asks me to kick your ass I will literally do so -”

"Bucky," Sam said, taking a deep breath. "She’s here." Meeting Bucky’s nonplussed eyes, your name rolled off Sam’s tongue in clarification.

He felt like the breath was sucked from his lungs as he stared back at Sam, who looked uncharacteristically anxious.

“What?" He asked hoarsely, instantly sobering up. “What do you mean?”

Chills were running through his body. The name he had avoided for years was suddenly causing him to feel breathless. How did you still have such an affect on him?

"She couldn't make it to the ceremony earlier today, but she just arrived."

"You - you invited her here? She’s here, now?"

"Yes," Sam replied, nodding. "I invited her.” He straightened up and crossed his arms over his chest almost defiantly.

Bucky was speechless for a moment, taking a step back and scoffing. He shook his head. “Do you remember what she did to me?”

“I'm sorry, Buck..."

Bucky suddenly laughed, startling Sam. His laugh was curt, humorless. "What are you sorry for? I'm over her, Sam. It was two years ago. I haven't seen her in two years. I don't care anymore," he said quickly. Too quickly.

"Listen -"

"Look, it's okay." Bucky raised his hands in small surrender. “You have the right to invite whoever you want. I’m not mad. But I just don’t want to be held accountable for whatever happens now.”

He turned and wrenched the French doors open with such force that the handle buckled slightly. The noise inside the ballroom spilled out to replace the painful silence on the balcony.

He disappeared inside before Sam could say anything else, and he tried to hide it, but Sam could clearly see that his hands were shaking as he marched inside.

For the next twenty minutes, Bucky found sanctuary in the restrooms. He stood inside the stall, trying to stop himself from mentally collapsing.

He didn’t know what was happening. He had never felt this overwhelming panic rush over him before, immobilizing him. Anger, sadness and yearning swirling inside a melting pot of emotions that was crippling him.

She was here. The woman he hadn't seen in two years, the woman who broke his heart, the woman who betrayed him, the woman who left him in tatters.

Your infidelity had had an unforeseen impact on him. When he first found out, he was devastated. Terrified of how you became someone he didn’t recognize - or had you always been someone capable of betraying him, just good at hiding it?

You had poisoned all the happy memories they had once shared. Bucky found himself recounting all the years you were together, micro-analyzing everything, wondering if there was a hidden lie behind it all.

That was one of the things which made him angriest. You turned all the beautiful years of your relationship into a lie. None of it was real, Bucky had told himself.

You crushed him.

Of his feelings, anger prevailed, slowly simmering to the surface, like a volcano about to erupt. How dare you walk back into his life like this? He would show you, Bucky thought with determination. He was over you. He had no reason to be angry, he thought bitterly, because you were nothing to him.

Just like Bucky was nothing to you.

When he emerged from the toilets, the first thing he did was find Sharon. She looked relieved to see him, although confusion was clear on her face as she eyed Bucky.

"Where have you been? Are you feeling okay?" She commented, brow furrowed with concern.

"I'm fine," Bucky assured her. "Have you seen Sam?"

Sharon pointed, puzzlement still painted across her face, and Bucky snapped round quickly.

And there you were.

It was as if you had never left. As if the past two years filled with Bucky trying to eradicate every memory and feeling he had for you had never happened, because as soon as Bucky’s eyes found you through the crowd, everything came collapsing back down on top of him like an avalanche. Suffocating.

You were still so beautiful, strikingly so. Like a burning beacon among the crowd, Bucky’s eyes found your face as easily as anything. For a second, he allowed himself to ignore anything except you, and how the sight of you still managed to take his breath away.

You looked thinner than he remembered, your face gaunt. Bucky frowned slightly at this acute observation and found himself wondering if you had been taking care of yourself.

"Barnes? You okay?"

Bucky registered Sharon shaking his arm, but his eyes remained fastened on yourself and Sam. Neither of you had spotted Bucky yet, who was rooted to the spot like a statue. Sam’s mouth was moving, words that Bucky couldn't hear escaping his mouth, but his expression was angry. Almost as if he was scolding you for something.

"I have to...I..." Bucky stumbled over his words, voice faint. He could feel those tendrils of anger slowly seizing him again, wisps at first, until they grew more and more potent by the second. He remembered every single thing he felt when you left him, and instead of trying to hold back the emotions, Bucky just saw red.

"Let me introduce you to someone," he said suddenly, his voice strained as he took Sharon's hand.

"You said you were better," Sam said, expression torn.

"I am," you lied, trying to put on a smile. Truth was, you were exhausted, just like how you always felt. The ballroom was so crowded and loud, and you just wanted to go back to the hotel and sleep, which you would the moment you finished congratulating Sam and Misty. And perhaps, even though you didn't want to admit it, you wanted to catch a glimpse of Bucky, too.

"Look at you, you're -"

“Sam, please don’t,” you interrupted gently. “Just drop it, please? It’s your big day, I don’t want you to worry about anything else.”

Sam opened his mouth to talk, but stopped suddenly, his eyes flitting to look behind you.

"Hey."

You froze. You knew that voice, of course. Heard it enough times, the deep, gravelly voice that had once whispered sweet pet names, proclamations of love, and plagued your dreams ever since you left him.

You had longed to hear his voice again, hear your name being spoken lovingly. His voice was your favorite sound in the world. Except tonight, hearing it for the first time in two years, you heard nothing but ice.

"Bucky?" You turned slowly, and your breath hitched. He was just the way you remembered him. Even more handsome, if possible. Clad in a sleek black tux, tall and dark and sexy, everything you had missed and dreamed of, and...

He was holding another woman’s hand.

"Bucky," Sam repeated, voice tense. Bucky could hear the underlying warning.

"It's been a while," he said stiffly, acting as neutral as he could. As if he hadn't spent months after their terrible break up being a shell of who he used to be, barely repaired even now. Bucky felt like any other venomous words from your mouth would shatter him again, but he had to take the chance. He had to talk to you, show you that he had moved on. He didn't care about you anymore, or how you so ruthlessly left him.

"Yes," you said weakly, smiling softly. God, he still thought that you looked beautiful, clad in a periwinkle blue dress, a thick coat draped around your shoulders. You were shivering, and Bucky resisted the urge to ask you what was wrong. Now that he was closer, he could see that didn’t look well at all. You had dark circles under your eyes and your collarbones were too prominent, your gaze devoid of any livelihood.

You glanced at Bucky’s fingers interlaced with a gorgeous blonde. You had seen her on the news before, you were pretty certain. Your smile forcibly stretched wider, blinking a few times, not knowing what to do with yourself.

"This is Sharon," Sam said, clearing his throat and exchanging introductions.

“It’s very nice to meet you,” Sharon said politely. She was gorgeous, you thought, watching as she sent Bucky a subtle, questioning glance.

Bucky was still staring at you, unmoving. You took the initiative first.

“Bucky, can we talk for a second?"

You could see the way he was trying to control himself by the way his lips stiffened, his Adam’s apple bobbing as he swallowed. He gave a curt nod. He didn’t want to cause a scene in front of Sharon and the other hundreds of wedding guests.

“Let’s leave these two to catch up,” Sam said lightly, trying to hide his discomfort as he led Sharon away.

"So now you want to talk?" Bucky asked as soon as they were out of earshot, his voice sharp. You cringed, almost folding into yourself at Bucky’s hard stare.

"Yes," was all you managed to whisper, eyes darting to the ground to avoid meeting his glare. “Let’s go somewhere quieter.”

You turned and walked towards the exit of the ballroom, turning back to look at Bucky. He followed after a second, his jaw set like stone as you led the way to the empty lobby outside, away from the noise.

"It's been a while, Buck.” You voice was sad as you turned to face him again.

"Yes," he said, fighting an internal battle. He was so torn. Seeing you again made him want to wrap you up in his arms like he would've done two years ago, when you were still together. And feeling like that made Bucky angry. What right did you have to make him feel this way? Who gave you the right to mess with Bucky’s heart again after so long?

"How have you been?" You asked eventually after a painfully awkward silence.

He scoffed at that. "How have I been?" He repeated incredulously. He doubted you really wanted to hear about all those nights he spent in his apartment, refusing to talk to his friends, being a complete social introvert (more than he usually was) because he felt like he just couldn't live anymore. Not without you.

"Great. Fantastic," he said without a shred of sincerity.

You stared at him for the longest time, your lips pressed into a thin line. You looked so regretful that it made Bucky feel uncomfortable.

"I'm sorry," you said eventually, your voice wavering like you were struggling to breathe properly. "I'm so sorry for leaving you like that. We...we could have ended things better. You didn't deserve how I treated you."

You flinched when Bucky scoffed derisively. He dropped any remaining restraints he had previously put in place, letting all his feelings run free.

"Are you kidding me? Why? Why are you coming back here and apologizing after all this time?" He felt like he wanted to tear his hair out in frustration as he stared at you, making sure to keep his distance lest he found himself wanting to pull you closer. God, it was all so confusing. He despised you, and yet seeing you here in the flesh was everything he had ever wanted in the last few years.

He hated how you were making him feel.

"Look, it doesn't matter anymore. What's done is done," he spat through gritted teeth, all the while completely unaware of how your heart clenched painfully at Bucky’s scornful eyes. “Do you have any idea how unfair this is? You fucked up big time, disappeared off the face of the earth, then come back standing in front of me now asking how I am?”

“I know. You’re right, about everything. I just wanted to let you know that I’m sorry.”

“No. You have no right to do this,” Bucky seethed. “You have no right to come back here and try to - what, settle your guilt? Make amends?”

You didn’t say anything, choosing to let him vent instead.

“I still remember the way you left. What you did. I will never forgive you for that. So don’t you dare stand in front of me today with all this bullshit and expect me to have something nice to say.”

"You really hate me, don't you?" You asked then, taking Bucky off guard. You lifted your head properly to stare at him, and the look in your eyes was unsettling.

"I hate you," Bucky confirmed unwaveringly, his voice hard. "I hate what you did to me and by extension, you."

You didn't respond. You bit your lower lip hard, trying desperately not to cry in front of him. Your heart hurt so much.

It was the worst feeling in the world, maybe, seeing the man you loved so dearly tell you that he hated you. It was excruciating, the clenching inside your chest as Bucky’s words rang in your head.

"I know my apologies will never be enough. I just wanted to see if you're happy now," you whispered.

"I'm happy," Bucky replied almost immediately. "I'm happy with Sharon. Does that bother you? Did you hope that I'd still be pining after you? I'm not that pathetic anymore." The barriers were broken, and the hurtful words were falling from Bucky’s mouth, two years worth of it.

“I never said you were pathetic,” you retorted, slightly indignant. “I’m glad that you’re happy.”

Bucky was breathing hard, unconvinced by your words.

“And how's the man you left me for?"

"He...it didn't work out," you shrugged, trying to keep your face as straight as possible.

"Good," Bucky said harshly. "Because you don't deserve happiness." If he wasn't so mad, he wouldn't say such irrational things. But he just wanted you to hurt. He wanted you to feel all the pain you caused.

Bucky pretended he didn't hear you gasp. He pretended that he didn't see your eyes gloss over at the sheer amount of hate in his voice.

"Okay," you said finally, your voice clearly shaking. "Okay," you repeated again, nodding your head. Bucky watched you take a step back, away from him.

“I -”

“I'm sorry, Bucky. Please take care," you interrupted, smiling sadly before you turned and walked away as quickly as possible.

That was not how you envisioned the reunion to go. All you wanted was to apologize, know that he was happy, so that you could go in peace.

But maybe that was the consequence of your decision. Maybe he was just always going to hate you for the rest of his life and remember you as someone awful.

You didn’t know that all Bucky wanted to do was run after you. Tell you to stop. He wanted to apologize and tell you how he didn’t mean a word of what he just said.

Rage and pride kept him shackled, and he watched your retreating back, feeling like a coward.

The last thing Bucky expected when he opened his apartment door a few days later was Sam’s dirty glare.

"You can be a mean son of a bitch, do you know that?”

"Hello to you too,” Bucky retorted.

“Why did you say all that stuff to her?” Sam asked, pushing his way past Bucky.

Bucky closed the door, knowing exactly who he was referring to.

"Why is this any of your business?"

"You acted like a dick!" Sam said furiously.

“Look, I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have done something like that on your special day. But-”

“I want you to feel sorry to her.”

"She left me,” Bucky exclaimed. "You were there, Sam, you saw how fucked up she made me. She cheated on me! You want me to apologize to her?” His face was incredulous.

“You’re so fucking frustrating.”

“Oh, excuse me for not being the bigger person,” Bucky sneered. “But you don’t know how she made me feel, Sam, so don’t you dare try to give me a fucking lecture now.”

Sam was quiet for the longest time, looking exasperated. He stared up at the ceiling, sighing.

“Bucky, look man. She never cheated on you,” Sam said finally, an apologetic look in his eyes.

The apartment became filled with nothing but the sounds of Bucky’s heavy breathing.

“What are you talking about?” He spat, realizing now that Sam knew something he didn’t.

Sam let out a resigned sigh, rubbing the back of his neck.

"I promised her I wouldn’t tell you. But fuck it, man, cause I think this is messed up. She’s sick, Bucky," he said solemnly. "Like, really sick."

Two years ago

"It's cancer, Sam."

You physically couldn't cry anymore. You had done enough of that the day the doctor had told you, your eyes puffy and swollen. Funnily enough, the first person you had sought out wasn’t your boyfriend, but rather his best friend.

Bucky wasn’t even in town that weekend, and you really didn’t want to tell him over the phone. In fact, you never wanted to tell him. How do you tell the man you love that you're dying?

"You can get treatment, right?" Sam asked.

"I don't know. It’s not looking good. They're doing some sort of new clinical trial in England, but even that’s a long shot. I - I’m going to try, though.”

Sam sat up straighter. “And Bucky?”

"You can't tell him," you said firmly. You had thought about it all night, and you knew you couldn't let him know. You didn't want to put him through something like this. "My father had cancer too, Sam," you said softly. "He died in so much pain, he had so much treatment but it didn't help. He was throwing up all the time, having fevers, his body was so weak, and by the end he wasn’t the same anymore. I don't want him to see me like that."

“But-”

“No buts,” you said. You had given it enough thought already. You knew that you would have to be very, very lucky to make it through this - the end was essentially inevitable. There was no way you would make Bucky bear witness to you succumbing to this illness the same way you had to watch your father.

It was the worst time of your life. You had told Bucky about it in the past, as he had never had a chance to meet your father since he passed away years before you met Bucky. Knowing what you did, you would never inflict that same experience on him.

"So what are you going to do?"

"I have to leave him.” You had been preparing yourself for what you needed to do all night. "If I go, there's a chance I might not come back, you understand that, right?"

"Don't say things like that," Sam said forcefully, clenching your hand. "Just stop. Bucky will support you all the way, you know that!"

"That’s exactly why I have to go by myself. I can't be selfish, Sam. I want him to be happy. That's all I've ever wanted. I can’t make him drop everything to make me his number one priority. Looking after me will take time and constant care. If I go to England, he will abandon everything and come. Manhattan is his home.”

Sam looked anguished and you knew that he was disagreeing with everything you had just said, but you plowed on.

"It’s not just a matter of time and effort. If he stays, he will watch me die, and I don’t want him to do that.” You began to cry, and Sam hugged you, wishing he could say something comforting.

“It’s okay," you said through the tears, even though every fiber in your body was telling you the opposite. You had been repeating these words to yourself all night, as if you would believe it if you said it enough times. "It’ll be okay."

Maybe you were being stupid, but you didn't care. You knew Bucky loved you with his body and soul, as did you. But you weren’t going to let him suffer over your illness. You wouldn't let the person you cared most about in the world see you slowly deteriorate.

You had been witness to how your father was clearly in a depressive state, and yet tried his hardest to pretend to be happy and fine around other people. You didn’t know if you had the strength or bravery to even pretend.

You began distancing yourself. Stopped trying to make conversation with Bucky, until the long, endless, random talks you used to share diminished into curt sentences. You stopped waiting for Bucky to come home, simply pretending that you didn't care. You became more secretive, furtively hiding your calls with your doctor and your mother.

There was no other man. You loved him and only him, and had been nothing but faithful. You didn't know what hurt more: having to lie to Bucky or the fact that he so easily believed you would betray him like that.

In the end, you had really regretted fabricating a story of infidelity. You should have just gone your separate ways without making him think that you had been unfaithful. But at that time, you wanted to find a quick solution that would make Bucky voluntarily detach himself from you. It seemed like a wise decision, but you really, really wish you hadn’t let him believe that you didn’t love him. It was truly the worst feeling in the world.

It was all over in a few weeks. You packed your things and left, trying not to cry with every heavy step you took towards the door of your apartment. You knew you were making the best decision for them both, surely.

Time would heal Bucky, and he would be happy again one day.

It just couldn’t be with you.

Present day

"She just didn’t want to feel like a burden to you, man," Sam said, shaking his head. "Why did you have to say all those things to her at the wedding?"

Bucky could register nothing else after Sam finished explaining everything. He was in disbelief, though he knew that there was no way Sam would fabricate a story like that.

Now, he could only think of the way he had shouted at you. The way he told you how much he hated you. The way you had left.

"Where is she?" Bucky whispered.

"She’s leaving today," Sam said tersely. "She’s going back to England. She was real sick for a long time, and she recovered a few months ago, but the cancer came back.”

He slipped a hotel business card into Bucky’s hand. “This is the address she’s staying at," Sam said.

He grasped it like a lifeline, eyes unable to see Sam standing in front of him. His vision was completely filled with images of you.

"Go," Sam said forcefully. "Go and find her.”

The tears wouldn't stop falling.

You didn't know words could hurt so much. Sure, you had expected Bucky to hate you, but you weren’t prepared for the way every single word seemed to embed themselves into your skin like splinters into your heart.

They were once so happy. They were so perfect.

You hated yourself. Hated yourself for getting ill, for ruining what you had. The logic was irrational, but the self-hatred had become second nature.

You had spent the last few days holed up in your hotel. You had planned to use the time to see a few friends before returning to England, but you no longer had the heart.

You left your room that morning only because Wanda was furious that she missed you at the wedding, and you agreed to have coffee with her. She almost cried at the sight of you, but you put on a brave face, refusing to talk about Bucky. You begged her if you could just talk about happy topics and she eventually obliged, smiling sadly when you hugged each other goodbye.

“I’ll see you again, dear,” Wanda had said, and you hoped to God she was right.

As soon as you got inside your hotel room, you felt a switch click internally.

Everything hurt. You were tired, unhappy and you really didn’t know if you would ever make it out of this emotional blackhole. You felt so weak, like you would keel over at any given moment.

Cancer really was a bitch.

You kicked off your shoes and entered the bathroom. You lay down in the bathtub, fully clothed, turning the cold water on until you were almost completely submerged, wanting to numb all the pain inside your body and mind.

You eyes were red and swollen, and you couldn't remember crying so much since that day the doctor diagnosed you. Why was life so unfair? You wanted your old life back again. The life where Bucky didn't detest you, the one where he was happily and wonderfully in love with you.

You lay back, letting the water cover you completely. You closed your eyes, your hair gently swirling around your face. You opened your mouth and screamed, bubbles erupting to the surface.

Eventually you emerged, gasping and coughing, your tears hot in contrast to your frozen face. Your body wracked with sobs, shaking uncontrollably.

You sank back down into the water, your mouth opening once more to scream in uncontrollable rage. It was cathartic, your fists clenched into balls as you willed the feelings inside you to just - disappear.

When you opened your eyes beneath the water, you nearly gasped at the sight of a blurry, warped figure above you. You didn't have time to do anything when arms were suddenly encasing themselves around you, lifting you to the surface.

You spluttered and coughed, your ears assaulted by the voice that once whispered sweet nothings in your ear.

"- the fuck are you doing? Are you okay?"

Bucky.

You blinked past the water in your eyes, bewildered at the sight of him, kneeling beside the bathtub with his hands gripping your shoulders. His bright blue eyes were scared, wide open with concern.

You were startled at his sudden appearance, unable to say anything as he scooped you out, lifting you with ease. You were clearly in shock and scared.

You collapsed against him as he sat down on the bathroom floor with you in his arms.

"What were you doing?” Bucky was appalled as he pulled you close to him, watching how you continued to weep, blinking blearily at him. Your body was ice cold, every inch of you soaked.

He whipped a towel down from the railing beside you, wrapping it around your body as you shivered uncontrollably.

"Bu - Bucky?" You asked, as if you couldn't fathom why he was here. You were almost convinced you were hallucinating.

"Fuck, we need to get you out of these clothes," Bucky said, gritting his teeth as he tried not to cry. He had so much to say to you. He wanted you to know how sorry he was, how he didn't mean anything he said, but now wasn’t the time. He had to be strong for you.

You felt like a baby as Bucky removed your soaking wet garments until you were naked, then immediately swaddled you with more towels. He picked you up completely off the floor and took you out of the bathroom.

He chose to place you down on the edge of the bed, positioning himself to kneel down in front of you.

"Bucky," you whispered, voice thick, trying to pull away from him. “I think you should just leave me alone."

He stiffened. It scared him to hear you talk like this, to see you look at Bucky with such defeat in your eyes.

“No,” he said resolutely. “I'm here now, okay? I'm here, I'm not leaving, and I need you to be with me. I need you here, talking to me.”

"I can't. I can't do this anymore. Just go, please."

Bucky looked at you then. Really looked at you. The woman he loved and misunderstood for so long was now a trembling wreck in front of him, skin paper thin and trembling like a leaf. You looked so vulnerable and sad, and it made his heart twist.

Bucky suddenly held you tight against his chest, tucking his nose against the crook of your neck, and you didn't resist.

"Do you have any idea how much I hate myself? I hate myself for letting you go through this alone. I hate myself for telling you all those lies that night. I love you, I love you, I love you," Bucky said, wishing that you would see it.

“Don’t.”

“I wish you had told me. I would have helped you. You should have told me. I can’t believe you -”

You realized now that Sam must've told him the truth, and you sighed softly.

"I'm not good for you, Bucky," you whispered. "I will only ever hurt you, put you through more pain."

"I know everything now," Bucky said firmly. "No matter what happens, I will gladly endure it as long as it means we're no longer apart."

“Don’t be so stupid,” you said, anger tearing through your voice, though the tears were still falling. “I’m broken, Buck. I can’t give you a future. Please just find someone else - stay with Sharon.”

“Sharon?” If you hadn’t mentioned her name, Bucky would never have even thought about her. “No - we’re not serious, doll. She was never going to be the one.”

“No,” you insisted. “If not her, then fine, find someone else. Just not me.”

“Why aren’t you listening?” Bucky asked furiously. “I love you. I’ve always loved you. Please don’t do this. I need you." He was desperate to make you see, to make you understand. It was you or nothing. "You don’t know how awful the past few years have been. I don’t want to be apart from you, please.” He was prepared to grovel at your feet and beg.

He hated himself for how easily he gave up two years ago. This time, he was not letting you leave him.

His beautiful blue eyes pleaded with you, and you felt your barricades crumble. Your arms finally moved to wrap around him, and he felt a wave of relief as he encircled you in his arms. You had missed this, the feeling of Bucky holding you so tenderly.

You didn’t know if you were making the right choice, but you wanted to give in so badly and just let yourself be selfish and enjoy what time you could have together. And now that Bucky had you back by his side, he was definitely not going to let you go.

Even if they were in pieces, at least they were together. And Bucky was positive that they could put those pieces back into a whole, as long as you gave it a chance.

"You're so stupid," you said through your tears.

"I don't think so," Bucky said, managing the smallest smile. "Just stupidly in love with you."

You wanted to stay like this forever, entangled in each others arms. He pulled back slowly to study your face, and leaned in to press a gentle kiss against your lips. He kissed you again, deeper this time, breathing you in.

“You owe me two years of kisses,” he mumbled.

You laughed softly, but it soon died. First, you had a lot of talking to do. You used the following hour to tell him the details about your illness, why you had left, how sorry you were for treating Bucky the way you did when you broke up with him.

"You're so dumb," Bucky had said, sounding furious for a moment. "You had no right to decide something like that for me. You know I would support you.”

"I know, Buck," you had interrupted. "That's exactly why I had to leave. I didn't want you to see me die, okay?"

You had looked like you were about to cry again, so Bucky stopped scolding you immediately. He would never make you cry again, he swore.

"You're here now," he said, kissing your temple. "We're together now. Everything feels...right again."

You swallowed, biting your lip. "I told you, my cancer is back and -"

"You'll get better again," he said, refusing to look at you. You knew that tears were in his eyes. "You'll get better, okay?" His voice wavered slightly.

"It's worse this time, Bucky," you said. "Look at me. I'm practically withering away."

"You'll get better," he said, clenching his teeth.

You didn't say anything, just nestled against Bucky’s chest, relishing the way he wrapped his arms securely around your frame as if you would disappear at any moment.

Maybe he was right. Maybe by some miracle, with Bucky by your side, you would be able to give him all the time in the world.

"I'll try to stick around," you whispered.

#bucky x reader #bucky x you #bucky x female reader #bucky barnes #bucky angst #sebastian stan #bucky barns fanfiction #bucky barns imagine #bucky barns x you #bucky

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mypoisonedvine · 9 months

Note

Tommy’s teenage love, whom he got separated from when he went to france.. Sad, bitter and heartbreaking end for them.

But now years later he sees her again, and the tension is 👀👀

I know this doesn't have to be dark but of course I made it a little dark 🤣 tommy just can't take no for an answer...

warnings: DUBCON DARK SMUT 18+ ONLY!, yandere, infidelity/cucking, breeding

It wasn't until he tried to kiss you, and you backed away, that he really got angry. Up until that point, it seemed like he'd thought the life you'd made for yourself while he was gone was just a minor inconvenience at most-- but your resistance irritated him. You didn't remember being so nervous around him when he was upset.

"Why won't you kiss me?" he asked softly, and you weren't even sure how to answer that question... wasn't it obvious?

"Thomas," you mumbled, "it was nice to catch up, but..."

He tightened his fists as you trailed off, making you feel oddly trapped while standing in your own kitchen. "I kept my promise," he told you firmly. "I never loved anyone else."

"You can't be angry with me," you scoffed. "Tommy, we were children! We didn't understand what any of it really meant--"

"You didn't really love me?" he assumed sharply.

"O-of course I did," you sighed, "Tommy, of course. I loved you so much. But I grew up."

Your fingers absent-mindedly twisted your wedding ring around your finger, guilt stirring in your chest. If you were honest with yourself, you knew you never moved on from Tommy completely-- no one ever forgets their first love. But you'd managed to put it all in the back of your mind, telling yourself that was all over... until you saw him again. Your heart could've stopped, seeing him at your door; it was like seeing him for the first time all over again, even though you could see how unkind the years had been to him.

But you had to shove all those feelings down now, and think of your husband. "You should go," you whispered, "before he gets back."

"I grew up too," he sneered, taking a step closer that made your heart race for multiple, conflicting reasons. "You have no idea the man I am now. People do what I say or they suffer consequences."

You swallowed thickly, horrified to see the darkness in his eyes-- something totally unlike the gentle, passionate young man you'd known all those years ago.

"If I want something, I take it," he continued. "Doesn't matter if it's a horse, or a gun, or another man's wife."

"Tommy," you whimpered, "my husband will be home soon... you need to leave before he comes back."

He stepped closer again, grabbing you and holding you tightly against him when you tried to step away. "Good," he decided flatly. "He can see what a little whore you are when a real man takes you."

He shoved you down onto the table harshly, ignoring your whine of pain as he pushed the bowls and plates out of the way, most of them falling off and shattering; none of that bothered him, he was too busy roughly pulling up your skirts, unfastening his trousers, holding you down. "T-Tommy, please," you choked.

"I know," he sighed, "I know, you need me so badly. How long has it been since anyone properly made love to you, darling? He could never take care of you like I do."

Sliding his fat head through your folds, you choked on a little sob.

"You still get so wet for me," he grinned happily, "still dripping, just like I remember."

Truth be told, your body still responded to him... that couldn't be denied now. You had a natural urge to give in and let him take you, let him bring you the pleasure you hadn't known since he left; but your logic and your dignity kept up the fight, though it was pretty useless against Tommy's strength-- with only one hand, he held you down while he guided his cock to your entrance.

He sighed a heavy, dark sigh of relief as he sheathed himself inside you, relaxing all over like a burden had been lifted off of him. "Oh, love," he purred, rubbing your back soothingly to try to help you stop shaking. "Oh, I'd nearly forgotten... nearly lost the memory entirely of how warm you are inside..."

You, meanwhile, were whimpering and willing your legs not to shake-- you couldn't let him see how much you loved the feeling, how you'd longed to take him inside you again, or he'd never leave you alone.

"My beautiful," he panted, "my darling..."

Setting a rough and desperate pace, his hands grabbed greedily at your body, forcing you to bite down harder on your lip to keep from moaning.

"You wouldn't believe how I missed this," he breathed. "Thought of you every day in France-- only way I survived, thinking of you... said you'd wait for me, love..."

You tried to hold back your tears, all of this bringing back emotions you thought you'd buried forever-- I would've waited for you forever, Tommy, you wanted to say, I wish I had, but I was scared that I'd never see you again.

You didn't say it, though, because you wouldn't be able to keep yourself together. You were struggling enough now, impossibly conflicted by what he was doing to you. For years you'd imagined seeing him again, but it never went quite like this in your head.

"T-Tommy," you managed choke out, and he cooed your name back at you sweetly.

"I know," he offered again, "it's really me, love-- we're really together again. I won't let you go this time."

You hadn't been lying about your husband coming home soon-- maybe Tommy thought you were, as an excuse to make him leave, but you weren't. You sobbed in shame and fear as he unlocked the door and walked in, finding you two in the kitchen with the most (understandably) bewildered look on his face.

Tommy didn't even stop.

"Wha-- Christ?! Who the fuck are you?!" your husband spat out, stammering over himself.

"I'm Tommy fuckin' Shelby," Tommy growled.

"O-oh," your husband choked, stepping back shakily towards the door. You hid your face, unable to look at him, so you only knew he left when you heard the door shut a minute later. Tommy purred and leaned down to rest his head on your back, between your shoulder blades.

"Don't think he's gonna give us any more trouble," Tommy chuckled darkly. "Fuck, love, I'm so close already-- never knew how to control myself with you..."

The way he breathed against your skin-- that hadn't changed at all. You hadn't even realized you remembered it until you heard it, and it was like you were that girl again, the girl he loved so long ago-- but you weren't anymore, or at least, that's what you had thought.

"Almost ready to fill you up nice and deep, hm?"

"Tommy," you choked, tensing up under him, and he groaned happily.

"Can't wait for our little family, darling," he cooed, "all the babies we're gonna have-- like we talked about back then, remember?"

His thrusts came faster and harder, shaking the whole table under you, and you kept hiding your face so you could try to deny your pleasure. Maybe you could hide it from yourself, but it was useless trying to hide it from him.

"I know how badly you need it," he groaned, "how long you've wanted this-- I'm yours, love, all yours again. You'll never have to be away from me again."

You knew what that really meant was that you'd never get a chance to be away from him again. It scared you just as much as it comforted you.

He came deep inside you with a long, low moan-- and for a long time, he just stayed within you, catching his breath. He only pulled out so he could lift you up a bit, turning you to face him, and finally getting you to kiss him this time. You struggled to focus on kissing him back when you could feel his come running down your thighs.

"You were always mine," he informed you with a gentle whisper against your lips. "Doesn't matter whose ring is on your finger. You'll always be mine."

#tommy shelby x reader #tommy shelby smut #dark!tommy shelby smut #dark!tommy shelby x reader #tommy shelby dark fic #cillian murphy x reader #cillian murphy smut

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bloodlust-1 · 6 months

Text

•·.·'I’m Right Here'·.·•

Gale x fem Tav — Fluff

Summary: Healing deep wounds isn’t so easy. Especially when it’s from the one he loves most. Tav already lost so much blood, and Gale has only one option left to comfort her.

Notes: Soft Gale <3 lots of cuddles and confessions. I’ve been craving some fluff. Short and sweet ♡

Gale murmured foreign words, his hands glowing with a deep, purplish hue. The magical energy pulsed through Tav's body, flowing directly to her wounds, soothing and healing them as they went. Tav lay in her tent, eyes squeezed shut and teeth gritted against the pain. Tav winced harshly to the magic.

“Hey, hey…shhh, you’re okay.” His voice trembled.

Gale’s eyes narrowed with a heavy somberness that tugged at the deepest parts of his heart as he watched Tav, the woman who had so kindly welcomed him with all of his burdens, in such pain. Despite Shadowheart's best efforts to heal her, she had lost too much blood to just magically feel better. And now, he tried too.

Gale felt terrible. How could he have not protected her better in battle? Her screams echoed in his head as he recalled the memory of her falling down. It haunted him.

"Gale...enough, it's no use." Tav weakly lifted her hand, touching his and sinking it to the floor. "I just need rest, everything will be okay."

Gale shook his head firmly, "No." He wanted to keep at it until the pain in her eyes disappeared. Especially when her hands were so cold to the touch.

Before he could utter another spell, Tav sighed and looked at him tiredly, "Please don't fight me on this."

Gale saw Tav shudder in a chill. Oh- of course. She had lost so much blood and she was cold. She brought the thin blanket of her bedroll closer to her face, shivering as she did.

Gale placed his hand over her forehead, causing Tav to sigh in relief at the warmth his palm brought her. Her face seemed to change into a blissful one just from his small touch.

"You're so warm," Tav hummed softly.

"And you're freezing."

Gale peeked at the entrance of her tent. It was closed and he realized that someone had already put out the fire for the night. He couldn't leave her like this.

The only warmth he could provide was that of his own body. Gale hastily pulled the shirt off his back, tossing it to the side. Before Tav could realize what he was doing; Gale had already snuggled himself beside her cold body.

Tav's eyes widened at the sight of his chest. Her and Gale's relationship was practically new, and even then they'd only kissed. But this- seeing Gale's chiseled chest, and the thin layer of hair that trailed down into his crotch. Her mind was going crazy already.

He wrapped his arms around her waist, tugging her closer to his chest. Tav melted into his embrace, feeling his warmth radiating off him. She snuggled her face into the nape of his neck and tightened her arms around him. She felt safe.

"I hope this isn’t unwelcomed…”

She took in a deep breath, filling her lungs with the sweet bergamot of his skin. A bliss of goosebumps littered her skin and a sigh of relief left her lips, “What? Of course not. You feel so nice-“

Gale could feel his heart thumping in his chest. He worried that Tav would feel just how nervous he was. Gods, is this what it felt to even be nervous? How ironic it was, He had never been this nervous around a goddess, yet here he was, trembling with nervousness at the thought of being around a mere mortal.

Gale fell silent for a moment, as he tried to calm himself down. He cared what Tav thought of him, and he didn’t want to seemed like he couldn’t control himself. He could feel the goosebumps rise on her skin, “I couldn’t leave you like this. I feel like this is partially my fault.”

“Oh— Gale, it was never your fault.” She spoke softly into his neck.

He closed his eyes, feeling the weight of regret settle on his shoulders. His head shook gently, a croak forming in his throat as he remembered the image of her lying on the ground, her body covered in so much blood that she was barely recognizable. "I should have been there," he murmured, his voice heavy with guilt. "I feel like I let you down, and I almost lost you. That's the hardest thing for me to accept." He exhaled slowly, trying to keep his emotions in check. He knew that no matter how hard he tried, he could never undo what had been done.

She squeezed his warm body gently. Tav couldn’t blame him for feeling so guilty, because she would have felt the same if it was him. She could offer nothing but comfort. “We’re here now, safe.”

Tav raised her pinky finger and hooked it around his. Gales eyes crinkled with amusement and a warm chuckle escaped from his lips as Tav spoke, "For now on, I’ll have your back and you’ll have mine.”

“Deal, my love.” Gale held the small grip and gazed down at her. Even unwell, her eyes still sparkled. He was so impressed with her being.

Gale leaned in, softly pressing his lips against Tav’s forehead. His strong arms held her tight, cradling her body close to his. Gale really did love her. He'd been in love with her for so long now, and it was past time he finally told her how he felt.

He looked into her eyes with sincerity. Feeling a wave of relief as he expressed his deepest feelings.

"I'm so thankful that fate brought us together," his voice filled with emotion. "I've come to realize just how precious you are to me, and how fleeting life can be."

Gale took a deep breath, then let out a gentle sigh. "My love for you surpasses anything I've ever felt before - for myself, and even for my goddess." He held her gaze, his eyes filled with a tenderness that spoke volumes.

“I love you.”

Tav's mouth parted, but no words came out. Her heart started to beat rapidly. What little blood she had race to her cheeks, as she reached to cup his face, "I love you too."

She timidly looked up at his soft brown eyes, faintly whispering when she finally spoke. Tav slowly brought her lips to his, a small and gentle kiss that was full of passion.

Tav and Gale were stuck in that moment for what felt like an eternity. Tav's eyes were slightly glossy, and Gale was alamared by the tears forming in her eyes, "My love! Why are you crying?" His voice laced with concern.

Tav chuckled and wiped the small tears, "Not sad tears, I'm just happy." She sniffled a couple times before flashing a reassuring smile. “You make me so happy.”

Gale held Tav tightly in his embrace. She was the first person to accept him for who he was, not for the magical powers he possessed. In that moment, Gale finally understood what it meant to be in love, and he never wanted the feeling to end.

He brushed his thumb tenderly over the contour of Tav’s cheek, his touch soft and gentle. He tucked a strand of her hair behind her ear before pressing his forehead against hers. His eyes stared at her with so much love,

“I never want to lose you.”

Any thoughts? Comment 👇🏼 I love to engage!

#bg3 headcanons #gale bg3 #bg3 fanfiction #bg3 tav #bg3 fic #bg3 fluff #tav x gale #gale fic #gale fanfic #gale of waterdeep #bg3 gale #gale smut #baldurs gate gale #gale x reader #gale dekarios #gale x tav #gale romance

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houserautha · 2 months

Text

These Destined Ends

Part 1

Summary: Jessica fulfilled the wishes of the Bene Gesserits to produce a daughter. You’re now burdened with the task of not only marrying the na-Baron, but also bearing his child — the Kwisatz Haderach. Will you take your fate into your own hands? Or will it always belong to those who control you?

Pairings: Feyd-Rautha x F!Reader

Word Count: 2.1k

Warnings: none for this chapter. Masterlist of warnings overarching the series

A/N: Hello! If you’re here then there’s probably something wrong with you too, so let’s be friends. I haven’t been able to write anything lately until I saw the latest Dune movie and then all of my thoughts became dedicated to Feyd-Rautha. I must get these thoughts out. Help. Me.

“Chin up.”

Your mother brushes your hair back, bronze, like hers, and lifts your chin. Her gaze is critical. You stare back, thinking only of the things that she will find fault in you. An endless amount, you muse. The slightest flicker of expression on Lady Jessica’s face informs you that she suspects what you’re thinking. Your teeth grit.

“Must you do that?” You hiss through your painted lips. The servants have dressed you specially for the occasion. A floor-length black dress and, settled on your shoulders, a red cape clasped together with the House of Atreides insignia.

Jessica withdraws her hand. Your mother radiates femininity and power, a feat you’ve yet reached. Even the cool way in which she regards you drips with regality.

“Do what?” She asks, feigning innocence.

“Don’t make me say it.”

Jessica’s blue eyes harden. “You don’t have to, daughter. It’s plain enough.”

Mother and daughter stare at one another.

She tried to teach you the ways of the Bene Gesserits, but you failed to take to it. You were too expressive, too…volatile. You struggled to detect the slightest change in voice, you could never sit still long enough to study, and your facial features always betrayed you. The only aspect you succeeded in was combat — there was no need to mask your feelings, your thoughts, able to just completely lend yourself to the blade.

But it wasn’t enough.

“You’re fortunate the Reverend Mother has chosen to see through with this arrangement,” Jessica all but snarls. “There’s hope for you still, in form of an heir.”

The Kwisatz Haderach.

The only reason your mother still spoke to you, affords you any attention at all. The fact that you’ve been painstakingly bred to produce him: a Bene Gesserit of male origin, capable of accessing the memories of his ancestors and see through time and space itself.

A terrible mantle for an unborn child.

In the black of night, you sometimes lay your hand on your abdomen and utter apologies to the egg nestled in your ovary; burdened with horrible purpose. If only you could avoid its fate. But you were not even in control of your own.

“I want to stay here,” you plea finally, pitifully.

Jessica steps away from you, brushes off her skirt. “You know that you cannot.”

“I can help Father,” you insist. “You know that he worries about gaining the approval of the Fremen. I can —”

“Enough!” The Voice. It snaps your mouth shut and renders you mute. “This is bigger than both of us.” Jessica snatches your upper arm, pulls you close enough to feel the heat of her anger. “Your father wanted a son. A heir. But it was my duty to produce a daughter. I ignored the pleas of your father because I understand what it is to serve. Don’t make me regret my decision.”

You swallow your disgust, though it lingers like a foul taste on your tongue.

This isn’t the first time that your mother has told you this. Nor did you think it would be the last.

Perhaps making a home among your enemies would be better than staying here among family.

“Fine,” you say. You wrench your arm from her grasp then turn away. It’s futile, you know the heighliner will be here soon to whisk you away, but you can’t stand to be in the presence of your mother any longer. Fortunately she lets you go.

You’re not even aware of where your feet are taking you until the familiar sound of the baliset meets your ears. Gurney rests lazily on the ground in the massive corridor, back against the wall and string instrument in his scarred hands. He doesn’t look at you as you approach nor when you collapse down beside him.

Usually Gurney’s situationally appropriate songs bring you a modicum of comfort, but today it seems more ominous than insightful.

“I won’t miss your singing,” you say.

He stops playing. “You jest.”

Playfully, you crack open one eye and peer at his baffled expression. You try not to laugh. “I don’t.” A sigh escapes your mouth then, and you slump further down, uncaring if you rumple your gown. “I will, however, miss the singer.”

“Don’t bother appealing to an old man like me. It won’t get you anywhere.”

“Hm,” is all you say, lost in thought.

Gurney sets the baliset to the side. His hand finds your knee and he squeezes. “You will be fine, Lady Y/N. I’ve taught you well.”

“Not even what you’ve taught me will suffice for what I’m up against.”

“Nonsense.”

Both eyes open now, you stare pleadingly at the swordsmaster. “Just come with me. Please.”

It’s Gurney’s turn to sigh. With a groan he heaves himself to his feet and offers you a hand. “You know that I can’t,” he murmurs.

His loyalty to your father doesn’t extend to you.

He is Leto Atreides, Duke of Arrakis, after all. And you are just his daughter. A pawn. A womb and nothing more.

You reach out to ghost your fingers over the scar on Gurney’s cheek. “Tell me about them.”

The Harkonnens.

“There’s nothing you don’t already know or haven’t learned from the filmbooks,” Gurney says to you in a terribly soft voice. It’s unfitting of the great soldier. “They are a cruel people. Do not trust them.”

You nod, irrationally devastated that your final plea to Gurney did not work. But his words were not anything new.

Nothing you learned about the Harkonnens has been pleasant — from their oppressive rule and misogynistic society down to their industrialized homeworld. Your chest aches.

First you were forced to leave the lush beauty of Caladan for Arrakis. You had even grown admittedly fond of the desert planet, just to yet again be snatched from another home.

“Thank you, Gurney. For everything.”

He dips his chin in acknowledgment, then holds out his arm for you to take.

Gurney has been like a second father to you over the years. While Leto was out securing political alliances and holding meetings, it was Gurney who kept you company. He aided in your combat training and believed in you when no one else did. To lose him would be to lose a great friend, indeed.

By the time you return to the antechamber where you’d been, Leto has arrived. He looks as cunning and handsome as ever, and the smile he flashes you is enough to cut you to the bone.

If what Jessica said was true about your father wanting a son and being sorrowful he did not get one, you would never know. He has only ever made you feel loved.

“My beautiful daughter,” he greets you. He smells wonderful. The same way he did all of those years ago when he would tell you stories of your grandfather and tuck you into bed, his beard tickling your cheek.

You breathe him in for one of the last times. “Hello, father.”

“You look marvelous,” he says. His smile falters slightly. “Are you ready? I wanted to ensure that you’ve said your goodbyes before we leave.”

Bitterly, you think, Before I leave. Everyone else will return to Arrakis and you will be moored on Giedi Prime, married to a bloodthirsty monster and forced to grow round with his child.

The thought makes your knees tremble.

The Harkonnens controlled the fiefdom of Arrakis before your family and were unbelievably outraged that it, and the flow of spice, had been stolen from them. You couldn’t even begin to imagine what your reception on their planet will be like. It’s any luck if you don’t get slaughtered upon arrival.

Especially since the Baron’s nephew, the na-Baron Feyd-Rautha — your betrothed — was known for his brutal nature. You hoped stupidly that the arrangement of marriage and promise of an heir would be enough to keep you alive.

At least for awhile.

Feyd-Rautha killed his own mother. Who knew what the status of wife meant to him?

“I’m ready as I’ll ever be,” you answer Leto. He squeezes your hand.

You hug Gurney goodbye then board onto the heighliner after your parents. It’s difficult to suppress the tears threatening to fall as the ship takes off in a flurry of sand and departs.

Normally you’d be completely enraptured with the endless golden dunes, but today you stay rooted to your seat and refrain from crying.

The flight to Giedi Prime happens much too quickly for your liking. Already your heart is in your throat, hammering out your nerves in a steady rhythm.

The view from your seat reveals the strange nature of your new home — a black sun. Never again will you see the stretch of blue sky from Caladan or feel the formidable heat of Arrakis. The entire world outside the ship stood in sharp black and white contrast, all color drained from the surroundings and its people.

You spy hoards of Harkonnens gathering beyond the ship, awaiting the arrival of the na-Baron’s wife and their future Baroness.

Your stomach churns. How could you ever lead such ugly, wicked people?

Jessica’s voice engulfs you. “Chin up,” she says again to your dismay. “You mustn’t show any weakness. Not here.”

You raise your chin the slightest amount. Jessica nods stiffly in approval, and it’s in that moment you understand that your mother’s harshness has been preparing you for this. While you hardly feel the urge to forgive her, an odd sense of calm washes over you.

You are an Atreides. And you always will be.

No one can take that from you.

The boarding ramp disengages and you’re the first one to step onto it. A hush of silence befalls the crowds.

You stride forward with as much confidence as you can muster, focusing not on the leering eyes of the Harkonnens but instead on the Baron’s fortress. A large pathway separates you from it, granting you plenty of time to get your fill. It’s as grand as it is excessively boastful; tall, pointed towers cleverly connected, all sharp lines and edges. It leaves the impression of a finely crafted dagger.

A display of power and wealth.

Behind you your parents emerge and the carefully observant crowd launches into disarray — shouts and yells of anger, of hatred, grate your ears. You know that they take it in stride, however, and their strength fortifies your own.

By the time you’ve crossed the distance from the heighliner to the inner walls of the fortress, your eyes are blurried by the strong contrast outside now given away to darkness. It takes a few moments for you to adjust. When you do, you quickly look over your surroundings.

There’s few decorations or art. It’s cold and impersonal and extremely clinical.

Your slippered feet reverberate off the high ceilings.

Bracing yourself, seemingly, has been for no reason. For it’s not the Baron and his nephew that meet you but rather a line of Harkonnen soldiers. Their faces are stoic.

You bristle. “Where is the Baron? And my betrothed? Do they not wish to receive us?”

The soldiers do not answer.

A man appears then from down the hall, a Mentat by the look of him. He’s pale and bald and clad in black like the other Harkonnens.

“My apologies, Lady Y/N,” the Mentat says. “My name is Piter de Vries. I am here to escort you. The Baron and na-Baron will receive you now in the throne room.”

Leto lays a hand on your arm as if to stifle your response. “Please, Piter, lead the way.”

You can’t help but glance curiously at your father. This entire situation was delicate, you knew, but you wonder at his subservience. It’s an insult not to be immediately greeted by their hosts, especially when your guests happen to be the Duke of Arrakis, his concubine, and their daughter. If Leto agrees with this affront, though, he doesn’t show it.

Leto simply strides after Piter with you and your mother in pursuit.

The fortress boasts sleek walls and floors, polished to perfection. Piter guides you to the throne room a short distance away, the sight of it stealing the breath from your lungs. It’s larger than any room you’ve seen before, outfitted on the far side with steps leading up to a grand dais.

And upon the dais, demanding your attention, is Baron Vladimir Harkonnen. The man is as large as the throne room itself but not nearly as impressive, pale and beastly, his enormous weight supported by suspenders. He makes no movement as you enter.

Your gaze moves quickly, eagerly, away from him.

Standing on either side of the dais are his two nephews. Aware that you can’t stand to face your betrothed yet, you fix your attention on his brother. Rabban, you recall his name.

Rabban is bound with hard muscle and swathed in what you can only describe as thinly veiled anger. At his side, his fists clench and unclench restlessly.

Then, without permission, you look to your future husband.

Feyd-Rautha stands as tall as Rabban but roped instead with lean, attractive muscle. His brow sits above dark eyes and a generous mouth. There’s a frightening intensity to the way he stands, encapsulating both nonchalance and a dangerous arrogance. Clearly this man is used to getting his way and will stop at nothing to do so.

And it’s this man that makes no effort to disguise the way he studies you, starting at the top of your head and trickling languidly downward.

A chill dances down your spine.

When he catches this, catches you watching him — he must’ve known that you were — his lips twitch into the faintest of smirks.

Part 2

#dune part two #dune #feyd x you #feyd x reader #feyd rautha #feyd smut

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adelheidvonschicksal · 3 months

Note

I beg of you, your the only person who wrote such a good zayne story 😍 it makes everything tingle, can we get a story of us sucking him off PLEASEEEEEE

⋆｡°✩ PWP Smut, Banter, Oral (M-receiving), no pronouns. Please let me know if I missed something, and I'll fix it.

Your nerves are on fire, each one a tiny beacon for arousal to run its rickety, lurching course through you. Overwhelmed, you bring your hands up and brace them against the headboard of the bed, clasping them into tight fists to calm the adrenaline rolling like waves through your veins.

It’s been too long since you felt this way, burdened with trembling limbs and stomach-knotting excitement, something that could only be accomplished when you have a certain surgeon between your gripping thighs. It’s been too long since you’ve seen Zayne, let alone have his hard, defined abs taut where you cradle his stomach.

He props his shoulders on dark blue satin pillows, his head in the perfect position for you to look at him. The unyielding gaze he holds does nothing to calm your heaving chest or aching nether regions as you take your time soaking and drinking him in.

Zayne has already changed so much since you last were with him. Your eyes are anchored to the widening of an already broad physique and the stretch and bulge of his biceps when he runs his hands down your back and over your ass to grip at the meat of your thighs. The golden glow of the nightstand lamp setting off against dark hazel eyes and battle-worn skin tempts you to squeeze his slowly fluctuating chest.

Before you can seal the deal on your spiraling dirty thoughts, Zayne catches your intentions, as if the position you were in didn’t already make it obvious. It’s a game that both amuses and frustrates you at the same time.

“It seems someone worked themselves up rather quickly.”

Lifting your sight from his chest, you meet a playfully mocking glint hidden behind a firm gaze. To keep your annoyance, or impatience rather, from showing, you set your attention on the intricate designs of the headboard.

“Just admiring the finish on the wood,” you excuse. “Lacquer?”

Zayne lifts a hand and pinches at your chin to force you to concentrate on him causing you to take your first shuttering breath that night. With piercing eyes, he searches for something in your face, so hauntingly that it makes you throb, and you silently hope he doesn’t feel your legs clamp harder at his waist or how much you're beginning to leak.

He doesn’t need it. As always, Zayne finds what he wants. His voice is inquisitive but the look in his eyes is teasing when he finally asks, “Are you sure that’s what it is? Your pupils are dilated, and I don’t think you’re one to really care about woodwork to that degree.”

You huff at his observation, always the smart-mouthed one. Could he blame you for being hot and bothered when you have an undeniably attractive man under you, especially when you haven't been able to touch him in weeks? It’s so hard with your schedules. Even now, it’s thanks to an unexpected sick day that your schedules managed to align. So, yeah, maybe you were more worked up than usual, but Zayne was a lot of things, stern, serious, reservedly kind, and very much aware of his commanding good looks and the effect it has on you.

Luckily, you’re not the only one who is having trouble maintaining a calm visage. His face holds a barely recognizable flush, his chest strains with too-deep breaths, and his large, scarred hands squeeze the back of your legs to an almost painful point before he swipes your tender skin with manicured thumbs.

It doesn’t take a genius to see that the tepid atmosphere is growing too tense for both of you. Who admits to it first is anyone’s guess, but it’s not likely to be Zayne without some encouragement.

So, you prance your fingertips across his angular jaw before drawing a seductive line from the point of his chin through the center of his pectorals, a line you plan to use to start your reacquaintance with his body very soon. The sticky heat radiates from him and seeps into you, knotting the aching twists in your lower stomach even tighter.

“You’re one to talk,” you remark, displaying your own mischievous thoughts. Your hand finds a place to roost over his left side and sprawls open over his heartbeat, reading the steadily rising pace. “I can hear you breathing from here, and your skin is so hot and sweaty.”

For someone whom others wrongfully describe as cold, something about him is smoldering when he rakes his eyes over your body. It’s hungry, and you’re so ready to devour and be devoured, as he forces himself to meet your face again.

“It’s the fever.”

Holding in your laughter, you smack your lips at him. “Didn’t you say you were feeling better today? You didn’t lie to me, did you, Zayne?”

The man doesn’t respond, usually a sign that he was thinking but the only thing on his mind was your hand running orbits around his nipple, outlining the smooth round expanse circling it. You grope lightly at his chest, marveling how full it makes your hand, before cascading that touch lower and lower.

The girth of his cock twitches against your ass, and you think you almost got him as he begins to ripple under your exploration; alas, he manages to keep in his sighs until you start to comb through the delicate valley of shallow black hair that curls from his lower stomach and disappears under his sweatpants.

“I knew you would blow it out of proportion otherwise,” he plays off, releasing another low groan. “It didn’t seem to stop you from marching right over, however.”

“Oh?”

Pitifully pouting, you roll onto your side next to him, press your chest into his arm, and lean in to kiss under his ear.

“You don’t like me taking care of you?” you whine with a pathetic infliction and a whimper, all the while adding pressure as you begin to massage his groin over his briefs, close enough he can feel the sensitive flesh right above the base of his cock imprinting with your touch but not quite where he wants it or how he wants it. “That’s so mean.”

Playfully, you blow against his ear, and there’s the smallest shudder that makes your heart pound hard. There’s nothing like seeing him slowly give in, trying to act in control when his cock readily jumps and stiffens as if to reach your hand. The reaction encourages you to shuffle your hand under his briefs in a few ticklish swipes only to be met with disappointment when his voice catches, hiding a guttural sound you could only curse him for not letting you hear when you wrap your fingers around his cock.

It frustrates you how he won’t even give you an inch of nonresistance, but his cock pulses at your touch, and you smile to yourself at how he couldn’t hide the eager hard-on that you were quickly encouraging with only a few twists and pets.

“When you forced me to let you take care of me,” he begins, pausing only to hiss softly when your fist tightens, which causes the warm slick of precum to seep into his pants and a brief fluttering of his eyes before he recollects himself. “I assumed that meant you’d make a wreck of my kitchen like last time.”

Slowly, you slide your calf over the top of his knee.

“My soup made you better though.”

Zayne groans as you pull him free from his clothing, holding onto his cock as it springs from too-tight confines. Your thumb follows the thick pulsing vein running up the side of his cock before tracing his dripping slit. His head slides back against the pillow, tilting back as he quietly gulps, and his thick throat stretches with the swallow.

“At the cost of my best pot.”

“A win's a win,” you mumble against the crux of his neck, which turns into a sigh when his arm makes space to slide under you, wrap around your upper hip, and squeeze at your ass.

“Now, I see you only had one thing in mind when you came over, after all.”

“That’s not it,” you mewl, squirming when he pinches your cheek harder.

“Are you saying you didn’t come over to take advantage when you have me like this?” he asks.

“You make it sound so calculated!” You shake your head. “I just know this will fix you up in no time. Besides, I missed you.”

There’s a short and irritatingly self-satisfied chuckle from him that makes your chest vibrate with the makings of a moan as his deepening voice rumbles in your ears. “I’m in your capable hands then,” he finally relents, not that you expected any other outcome, and you make your move to flip on top of him again.

There’s a snap somewhere finally releasing any inhibitions when your lips meet. It’s passionate, filled with every desire that’s been burning in him since he’s seen you. Zayne can be gentle, but he can also be bruising. Sometimes he’s a mix of both like when his tongue glides on top of yours and his teeth graze against your bottom lip during the short moments you break for air before capturing each other’s taste again.

You moan into his mouth when he cups the back of your neck and pulls you closer, deepening the kiss to the point you're becoming dizzy. It takes some strength to break free from the passion of it all, but you want more of him, and you’re not willing to wait anymore. So, you pull away and allow your mouth to collide against his collar before he has time to capture you again. Zayne’s eyes glower, half-lidded as he watches every pucker of your lips and every kiss and bite on his body.

Zayne slides a palm up the small of your back, the other going to rub the crux of your thigh, dipping inward to stroke at the yielding flesh right at your center. You moan against him, doing your best not to start dry humping him like you’re in heat whenever his cock pulse against your lower belly, but the scent wafting from him was becoming too much. So, you quickly begin to make your way to the promised land, trailing kisses along the way.

“I missed you,” you puff out softly before wading your tongue across his nipple then under his chest and to his stomach. Releasing his cock, you slide your hands down his sides, making sure to keep them aligned with the movement of your kisses. “You don’t know how much.”

Zayne brushes his fingers along your hand, following down your arm before gently cupping the side of your face, his thumb gliding over your cheek in a tender return of your sentiment as his once proud demeanor in his eyes softens with the smallest of glances from you.

“Is it more than I’ve missed you?” he whispers, and when you nod, he smiles. “I don’t think that’s possible.” Seeing you like this, so beautiful, all his, is a luxury. “I never tire of seeing you.”

Feeling a rush of shyness overtake you, you muffle the small sigh of his name against his stomach. Butterflies filling your stomach, you slide further down and kneel, your knees digging into the end of the bed as you sit back on them, your ass in the air as you hover your face over his lap. He’s so big that you’re never entirely sure where to start. You could go for where he’s most sensitive or—

“You can always use your hands instead if you don't think you can fit it all in your mouth,” he instructs half-jokingly, causing you to grow flustered at your overthinking.

“This isn’t the first time, I know how—” You clamp your mouth shut when you remember the first time you tried, something you’re sure he wouldn’t let you forget. “Don’t,” you order before sliding your tongue over his tip to clean away the pre-cum.

Your tongue laps along his glans as you slowly take his head into your mouth. It’s only when you finally get to work, sliding your mouth halfway down then back up that he finally stops his teasing and lets you have your way with him.

There’s an audible sound of relaxation when you squeeze his base with your palm and purse your lips around him. There’s a certain pride that comes with knowing you’re the only one who can see him like this, with his shoulders lax, eyes closing in bliss, and jaw slightly slacked as he groans. It’s not an easy sight to imagine on someone as stern as Zayne but the look of arousal was also something that seemed like it was made for him, which only causes your legs to squirm with need when it evolves into a low grumble from his chest.

You push it a little further to turn it into a growl by relaxing your throat and allowing it to press against the back, pulling back up and slurping the sheen of saliva clean from him before lapping your tongue over the tip. When you repeat the process, his hips twitch and buck, causing you to whimper when you feel more liquid scalding down your throat.

With a quick reposition to sit up more and force you closer, he presses both hands to cup at your cheeks, lifting your head partway up as he lightly strokes your cheeks with the pads of his thumbs. Briefly, you look at him, heart fluttering a bit at the flush dusting the bridge of his nose and the wetness of his parted lips.

“You’re so good,” he breathes out, a chilly flow emanating from him, “so good for me.”

Blinking away the water in your eyes, you moan around him, the vibrations rolling down his heated flesh as you suck your cheeks around him as he holds your face. One hand goes to the back of your head, and you bob once again with the encouragement of his hand pressing down on your head.

“Fuck,” he hisses out when you pop him out your mouth and brush your lips down the side of his shaft. You pepper it in kitten kisses before nipping lightly. You squeeze around his tip, making it your mission to keep your thumb grinding his slit and blushing head while you cup and suck his balls.

When you feel them strain and tense, not once but twice in your mouth you have enough warning to know he’s about to cum. It’s with one last stroke of his shaft and one last quick suck around his head that he paints your mouth white, the excess seeping from your mouth and flooding over his length.

You take your time cleaning your mess, like you promised. It’s with slow, deliberate movements as you allow him to ride out his much too quickly fading high, the last throbbing spilling the last drops of his finish on your lips. You release him with a pop and a sigh.

“How messy,” he quietly remarks, causing you to tense as his thumb ghosts over your lips. “You missed a spot,” he explains and slides the finger into your mouth for you to readily close around. He wipes it clean against your tongue before sealing your mouth with a kiss. He slides his finger free from your kiss, and you can feel the lingering wetness of your saliva against your face when he holds you in place to kiss you more passionately.

His strength starts to become too much when he grips your shoulders, pushes you towards the bed, and pins you on your back.

Breaking the kiss and pushing against his arms, you puff out, “Wait, I’m supposed to be in charge today.”

“Sorry to change your plans, but I don’t think I can hold back anymore,” he explains with a growing smile that makes shivers climb up your spine from the sheer hunger in it. “Allow me to show you how much I missed you as well.”

#zayne x reader #love and deepspace x reader #zayne smut #lads x reader #lnd x reader #zayne love and deepspace #adelssmut #notsfw #sorry for the wait hon #i kept getting posting anxiety

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thedensworld · 2 months

Text

Flower Bloomed | K.Mg

Pairing: Mingyu x reader

Genre: angst, romance, marriage AU

Summary: it's been a year since Mingyu and you were married. Once united by a good feeling, has started to scatter, both you and Mingyu couldn't find reason to stay together.

Author note: mention of abortion, miscarriage, murder, depression, divorcee. Don't hate me after this because i prepared one more part hehe.. Also, don't blame my baby boomer ass, i don't understand how to tag people TT

Part 2 of Falling Flower

***

"It's been a long time..." The words hung heavily in the air, mingling with the clatter of utensils in the expansive dining room of Kim's Family estate. The atmosphere was tense, palpable even in the silence that enveloped the room. No one dared to speak, their thoughts weighed down by an unspoken topic that lingered, begging to be addressed but forcibly restrained within their minds.

Mingyu, ever observant, had noticed the tension the moment you and he stepped into the room. His gaze flickered over the faces of those present, catching glimpses of suppressed emotions and silent pleas for release. Yet, he chose to remain silent, opting instead to watch the subtle shifts in your expression, which spoke volumes of your desire to escape this suffocating atmosphere.

You cast furtive glances around the room, your eyes betraying a silent plea for someone to break the stifling silence. But as the seconds ticked by, it became apparent that the weight of unspoken words held everyone in its grip, chaining their tongues and stifling any attempt at conversation.

The clatter of utensils seemed to echo louder in the silence, punctuating the tension that hung heavy in the air. Each clang reverberated through the room, a stark reminder of the unresolved emotions simmering just beneath the surface.

Despite the urge to flee, you remained rooted to your seat, your discomfort etched into every line of your face. Mingyu watched you closely, his own expression a mirror of your silent distress, yet bound by some unspoken agreement to maintain the facade of normalcy.

In the midst of this oppressive silence, the unspoken topic loomed large, casting a shadow over the room and stifling any attempts at casual conversation. It was a burden that weighed heavily on each person present, a weight that threatened to crush them under its unrelenting pressure.

And so, the minutes stretched on, each one filled with the deafening sound of silence and the unspoken words that hung suspended in the air. In the vast expanse of Kim's Family dining room, the absence of conversation spoke volumes, revealing more about the tangled web of emotions than any words ever could.

"The last time you joined us was New Year's Eve, and it's August now." Mingyu's hand faltered mid-cut, his gaze lifting to meet his mother's eyes as she voiced what had been weighing on everyone's mind since your unexpected appearance. He was poised to intercede, ready to defend you with the excuse of your busy schedule and your efforts to carve out time for today. Yet, he was caught off guard when you spoke up in your own defense, your words ringing out unexpectedly, "I'm sorry, it won't happen again."

Mingyu's father intervened, seeking to diffuse the tension that had settled over the table like a heavy fog. "Forget it. Y/n is with us today, and we should celebrate it," he declared, his voice carrying a note of finality as he attempted to steer the conversation onto a more positive path.

"Thank you, father," you responded softly, a hint of relief lacing your words as you acknowledged his attempt to ease the strained atmosphere. But beneath the surface, a whirlwind of emotions churned, a mix of guilt, regret, and a longing for acceptance that lingered unspoken between the lines of your apology.

Mingyu watched the exchange with a furrowed brow, his thoughts a tumultuous jumble as he grappled with conflicting emotions. He wanted to defend you, to shield you from the judgmental stares and whispered criticisms that hung heavy in the air. Yet, he also understood the weight of expectations that bore down upon you, the pressure to conform to the standards set by his family, even at the expense of your own happiness.

As the conversation shifted, Mingyu's gaze flickered between you and his family, a silent plea for understanding passing between them. In that moment, he wished for nothing more than to bridge the divide that separated you, to mend the fractured bonds that threatened to tear you apart. But he knew that such reconciliation would not come easily, that it would require patience, understanding, and a willingness to confront the underlying tensions that simmered beneath the surface.

Mingyu found himself sinking into the plush cushions of his father's office couch, the weight of the evening's tension still heavy upon his shoulders. Dinner had been a bitter affair, marked by a palpable silence that hung like a dark cloud over the table. Mingyu couldn't help but feel the weight of everyone's unspoken thoughts, knowing all too well that your presence after an extended absence had cast a shadow over the evening.

As his father poured two glasses of whiskey and handed one to him, Mingyu accepted it with a grateful nod, the amber liquid offering a fleeting sense of solace in the midst of the swirling emotions that threatened to engulf him. With each sip, he felt the tension in his muscles begin to ease, though the knot of apprehension in his stomach remained stubbornly intact.

Then, his father's question cut through the stillness of the room like a knife, jolting Mingyu out of his thoughts. "Why is she here?" he asked, his tone laden with a mix of curiosity and thinly veiled disapproval as he gestured towards you.

Mingyu hesitated, his mind racing as he searched for the right words to convey the complexity of the situation. He knew that his father's question carried with it a weighty implication, a silent challenge to justify your presence in the midst of familial discord.

"She didn't even come to Minseo's wedding last month," Mingyu's father remarked, his tone laced with a mixture of disappointment and frustration. Mingyu let out a weary sigh, the weight of his father's words settling heavily upon him. It was yet another reminder of the growing chasm between you and his family, a divide that seemed to widen with each passing day.

"I thought you didn't bother at all," Mingyu interjected, his voice tinged with a hint of defensiveness as he braced himself for his father's response.

His father shrugged nonchalantly, though there was a flicker of something unreadable in his eyes. "I was," he admitted begrudgingly, his voice betraying a hint of vulnerability beneath the facade of indifference. "But the more I think about it, the weirder it becomes."

Mingyu furrowed his brow in confusion, struggling to decipher his father's cryptic words. "What do you mean?" he asked, his curiosity piqued despite his reservations.

"I know you two sleep separately," his father stated matter-of-factly, the blunt revelation sending a jolt of surprise coursing through Mingyu's veins. There was no attempt to mask the source of his knowledge; it was clear that Mingyu's maid had betrayed their secret, laying bare the truth for all to see.

Mingyu felt a surge of anger and embarrassment rising within him, the sting of betrayal cutting deep as he grappled with the implications of his father's words. He had hoped to shield you from the judgmental eyes of his family, to preserve some semblance of privacy in the midst of their scrutiny. Yet, it seemed that their secrets were no longer safe, laid bare for all to see in the harsh light of his father's scrutiny.

As Mingyu struggled to find his voice amidst the swirling tide of emotions, he couldn't help but feel a sense of betrayal, both by his father's lack of discretion and by the revelation of their private affairs.

"I'm going to divorce her," Mingyu finally uttered, breaking the heavy silence that hung between him and his father like a suffocating shroud. His words echoed in the air, carrying with them the weight of a decision that had been looming over him for far too long.

His father's response was immediate, a mixture of surprise and skepticism etched into the lines of his face. "Are you sure? Didn't you marry her to gain leverage at JIS Corp?" he questioned, his tone betraying a hint of doubt as he sought to understand Mingyu's sudden change of heart.

Mingyu nodded, the admission hanging heavy on his conscience. "Yeah... At first," he admitted reluctantly, the weight of his confession settling like a stone in the pit of his stomach. "But I don't think it's worth it anymore. Her mother still runs the company anyway."

His father's expression softened, a flicker of understanding passing between them as they both acknowledged the futility of clinging to a marriage built on ulterior motives. "She's a bad person," his father murmured, his words tinged with bitterness as he echoed Mingyu's unspoken sentiments.

Mingyu couldn't help but agree, the memories of your mother-in-law's manipulative tactics and ruthless ambition still fresh in his mind. But as he cast a sideways glance at his father, he couldn't shake the nagging sense of guilt that gnawed at his conscience.

"She raised one too," Mingyu whispered under his breath, his words barely audible above the low hum of the room. But they fell on deaf ears, lost amidst the weight of their shared silence and the unspoken truths that lingered between them.

"How's the baby?" you asked, breaking the awkward silence that hung heavily between you and Minseo. Her hand instinctively went to her growing stomach as she replied, "She's alright," her words tinged with discomfort.

The distance between you was palpable, a stark reminder of the rift that had formed between you over time. The secrecy surrounding your families and your marriage to her brother had only served to deepen the divide, leaving your once-close friendship strained and distant.

Dongmin, Minseo's husband, approached with a plate of fruit, silently acknowledging the need for privacy between you and Minseo. As he retreated, Minseo cleared her throat, her gaze flickering between you as she struggled to find the right words to break the icy tension that hung between you.

In the pregnant pause that followed, Minseo's mind raced, torn between the desire to address the elephant in the room and the fear of opening old wounds. She knew all too well the reasons for your prolonged absence, but your sudden presence tonight had stirred up a sense of unease within her.

As she pondered her next move between bites of fruit, Minseo couldn't shake the feeling of apprehension that gnawed at her insides. The weight of unspoken truths and unresolved emotions hung heavy in the air, casting a shadow over the once vibrant connection you shared.

In that moment, Minseo found herself grappling with a myriad of conflicting emotions, longing for the closeness you once shared even as the distance between you seemed insurmountable. But as she looked into your eyes, she couldn't help but feel a sense of trepidation, unsure of what lay ahead for the fractured friendship that had once meant so much to both of you.

"Are you still working with Mr. Choi?" Minseo finally asked, breaking the strained silence that hung between you. You nodded your head in response, the motion almost automatic as you struggled to meet her gaze.

Minseo couldn't help but feel a pang of surprise at the confirmation. It seemed like just yesterday when her brother had excitedly announced his intention to marry you, catching her off guard with the suddenness of it all. In the blink of an eye, you had gone from being her best friend to her sister-in-law, and the whirlwind of emotions that followed left her reeling.

She remembered flying back to South Korea for the wedding, watching from the sidelines as you and her brother exchanged vows, a smile plastered on your face as you posed for pictures with friends and family. But beneath the facade of happiness, Minseo couldn't shake the feeling of unease that settled in the pit of her stomach.

As time passed, the once-close bond between you and Minseo began to fray, the demands of work and the pressures of marriage driving a wedge between you. The dinners and events that once brought you together became fewer and farther between, until eventually, you stopped attending altogether.

For Minseo, the sudden silence was deafening, leaving her to wonder what had gone wrong between you. She had tried reaching out, hoping to bridge the growing distance between you, but her attempts had been met with silence, leaving her to grapple with the painful realization that the friendship she had cherished for so long was slipping away.

And now, as she sat across from you, the weight of unspoken words and unresolved emotions hung heavy in the air, casting a shadow over the once vibrant connection you shared. In that moment, Minseo couldn't help but wonder where it had all gone wrong, and whether there was any hope of salvaging what was left of the bond that had once meant everything to her.

Mingyu approached, breaking the icy silence between you and Minseo with the simple declaration that it was time to head home. The drive wasn't far from where your conversation with Minseo had left off, but a chill lingered in your body, causing you to shudder involuntarily. Mingyu, seated beside you, remained motionless, perhaps due to the effects of the drinks he'd had at his parents' place. Yet, his sight had been closed off for months now; he hadn't truly seen you in all that time.

Once back at Mingyu's place, he left you in the living room without a word, disappearing into his room after a brief reminder about the charity ball hosted by Seungcheol's parents tomorrow. You trudged wearily to your own room, conveniently situated next to his, and locked the door behind you. Exhaustion weighed heavily on your limbs, a stark contrast to the lively dinner at Mingyu's parents' home earlier. Each step felt like a burden, as if carrying the weight of unspoken words and unresolved emotions.

"People in the company gossip about your relationship," Mingyu's mother words echoed in your mind, each syllable carrying the weight of a thousand whispers. "They even mentioned that you two are apart since March."

The rumor hung heavy in the air, suffocating the truth beneath layers of speculation and hearsay. Mingyu's mother insistence cut through the silence, a reminder of the urgent need to silence the falsehoods. "If you want to shut them up, you need to stop the rumor," she urged, her voice tinged with frustration and concern.

"You two should try to have a child again."

As you sat at your office desk, the weight of the accusations bore down on you, mingling with the scattered fragments of your daydream. Your gaze lingered on your boss's schedule for the upcoming weekend, but your thoughts were elsewhere, consumed by the relentless knocking on your door.

You realized with a jolt that you had locked the door earlier, and the persistent rapping could only mean one thing – Mingyu's arrival. With a deep breath, you prepared to face the confrontation, the anticipation building in your chest like a storm on the horizon.

"Wait a minute," you said, pausing mid-step as you rushed to open the door. Mingyu stood before you, his eyes betraying a hint of worry. He cleared his throat, quickly composing himself before asking if he could come into your room. You made room for him, allowing him to enter, and he settled onto the couch near your bed with a heavy sigh.

"I have something to tell you," he began, his tone serious as he handed you a piece of paper. Your eyes scanned the words, and a wave of unexpected realization washed over you. You looked up at Mingyu, silently demanding an explanation. He nervously bit his lip before speaking, his words laden with a mix of regret and resignation.

"This marriage... it has no reason to continue," he confessed, his gaze meeting yours with a sense of finality. You couldn't help but agree, feeling the weight of truth settle upon your shoulders.

"We rushed into this too quickly a year ago," he continued, his voice tinged with sadness. "We've lost the reason for it. And... I don't think either of us ever truly loved each other. Perhaps... I've fallen out of love too."

The words hung heavy in the air, a somber acknowledgment of the reality you both faced. As you sat on the edge of the bed, emotions swirling within you, you couldn't help but wonder how things had come to this point. It was a bittersweet realization, but one that needed to be acknowledged nonetheless.

You contemplated asking if there was someone else, but you quashed the thought, clenching your lips to stifle any potentially hurtful words. A heavy sigh escaped you, the reality sinking in sooner than anticipated.

"I thought we had another year," you murmured, the weight of the prenuptial agreement pressing on your mind. The contract stipulated a minimum of two years of marriage before considering divorce—a promise you both made before exchanging vows. Yet here you were, facing the prospect of dissolution, initiated not by you, but by Mingyu himself.

"I'm going to take responsibility for that," Mingyu uttered, his words hanging in the air, a mixture of regret and resignation evident in his tone.

Your gaze fixated once more on the divorce papers, each line a cruel reminder of shattered dreams and broken promises. Your head spun with disbelief; this wasn't the life you had envisioned just a year ago. Memories flooded in—of your childhood home, your mother's unwavering support, and the daunting uncertainty that awaited you beyond the confines of this crumbling marriage.

"How about my rights? My mother won't give up on me before our two-year anniversary," you whispered, your voice barely audible above the weight of disappointment.

He bowed his head, his expression pained with apology. "I'm sorry..."

In that moment, Kim Mingyu became the living embodiment of abandonment. It was a stark realization that perhaps, in this cold and unforgiving world, no one truly cared about you. As the weight of loneliness settled upon your shoulders, you couldn't help but feel betrayed by the very person you once believed would be your lifelong companion.

Months had passed since the last time he had seen you dress up, and as you approached him in the living room, clad in a long, enticing red dress that hugged your curves, he was reminded of just how much he had missed the sight of you all dolled up. He rose from the couch, urgency flickering in his eyes, gesturing for you to hurry as the event awaited, yet you both remained within the confines of your home.

As Mingyu prepared to step out of the entrance, you halted him with a subtle hand gesture, drawing him closer as you deftly adjusted his tie and smoothed down his suit. The sudden proximity caught him off guard, his breath catching in his throat as he felt the warmth of your body pressed against his. The scent of your perfume enveloped him, a familiar yet intoxicating aroma that never failed to stir something deep within him, a reminder of his adoration for you.

Upon arrival, the atmosphere crackled with a palpable surprise that mirrored the astonishment seen on Mingyu's family's faces during last night's dinner. Your unexpected presence amidst the socialite crowd stirred whispers and raised eyebrows, the subject of endless speculation and gossip during your absence from such gatherings.

As Mingyu guided you through the room, his hand lingering possessively around your waist, it was a scene reminiscent of days gone by, a familiar tableau that seemed to defy the rumors swirling around your relationship. The sight of the two of you together, united against the backdrop of societal expectations, left many gaping in disbelief.

Approaching Seungcheol, the host of the event and Mingyu's best friend, Mingyu couldn't help but notice the genuine warmth in your smile as Seungcheol greeted you both with enthusiasm. With a gentle tug, you were whisked away by Seungcheol's wife to mingle with other socialites, leaving Mingyu to engage in conversation with Seungcheol and Jeon Wonwoo, his trusted confidant from college.

"I'm going to be honest with you, Kim Mingyu. I don't like your wife's mood at work today," Seungcheol bluntly expressed, finally voicing the concern that had been weighing on his mind since his interactions with you earlier that morning.

Wonwoo's eyebrows shot up in acknowledgment, recognizing the unique influence Mingyu held over the situation. "Only Mingyu could manage that," he remarked, a subtle nod to your exceptional professionalism and dedication as Seungcheol's trusted secretary.

Mingyu's sigh resonated with a sense of resignation, his shoulders slumping slightly under the weight of Seungcheol's observation. "I haven't done anything," he admitted wearily, the frustration evident in his voice as he sought refuge in the simple act of sipping his wine, a temporary respite from the complexities of the situation.

Wonwoo's gaze bored into Mingyu, who nervously swallowed his saliva. The tension between them was palpable, Mingyu's discomfort evident in every shift of his weight. He despised Wonwoo's uncanny ability to read people, a skill that made him feel exposed and vulnerable.

Mingyu believed that Seungcheol, their mutual friend, was oblivious to the true nature of his marriage. He trusted that Seungcheol saw only what he wanted to see: a seemingly happy couple. After all, Seungcheol had witnessed firsthand how formidable you could be when dealing with Mingyu's shortcomings.

But Wonwoo was a different breed altogether. He possessed a keen intuition, capable of detecting even the slightest hint of deception. From the moment Mingyu had confessed his impending marriage, Wonwoo had sensed something amiss.

"Did you knock somebody?" Wonwoo's first sentence upon hearing Mingyu's announcement cut through the air like a knife, sharp and unforgiving. It was a direct challenge, a probing inquiry designed to unearth the truth buried beneath Mingyu's carefully constructed facade.

As Mingyu stood before Wonwoo, his facade crumbled under the weight of scrutiny, his discomfort laid bare for all to see. He could feel the weight of Wonwoo's gaze bearing down on him, exposing his innermost fears and insecurities. In that moment, Mingyu realized that he could never truly escape Wonwoo's penetrating gaze, nor could he hide the truth from someone who could smell deception from a mile away.

Once Seungcheol was called away by his parents, Mingyu swore he felt a shiver run down his spine as Wonwoo spoke. "What's with her presence tonight? I feel like something's up." The intensity of Wonwoo's observation sent a chill through Mingyu, his nerves already frayed from the tension between them.

Shaking his head, Mingyu cautioned his friend, "Don't jinx anything or it'll happen." He knew all too well the power of suggestion, especially when it came from someone as perceptive as Wonwoo.

But Wonwoo merely scoffed at Mingyu's warning. "I'm relieved I'm not married. Married men are sensitive, just look at Seungcheol hyung." He gestured towards the older man with a knowing smirk, emphasizing his point.

Mingyu nodded in agreement, taking a sip of his wine to mask his unease. "You're right. Don't get married," he replied, the weight of his own marital struggles weighing heavily on his mind.

Wonwoo's smirk only widened at Mingyu's response. "Got you!" he declared triumphantly, reveling in his ability to tease his friend mercilessly. The playful banter between them did little to ease Mingyu's apprehension, however, as he couldn't shake the feeling that Wonwoo saw right through him, unraveling his secrets with every word exchanged.

Mingyu let out a curse under his breath, his frustration evident as he averted his gaze from his friend. His eyes landed on your figure standing a few feet away, engrossed in conversation with an unfamiliar man. Mingyu's brow furrowed in concern as he turned back to Wonwoo.

"Who's that?" he asked, his voice tinged with suspicion.

Wonwoo followed Mingyu's gaze to where you stood, conversing with the stranger. "Ah, that's Lee Seokmin," Wonwoo explained, his tone casual. "He's the son of Dr. Lee from Seoul University Hospital. I heard he's also a doctor."

Mingyu's frown deepened. "Why is he talking to Y/n?" Mingyu's protective instincts kicked in, his mind racing with questions and scenarios.

Wonwoo shrugged nonchalantly. "Maybe they know each other," he suggested. "I've heard Seokmin is a really friendly and affectionate person. He's quite charming, from what I've heard."

Mingyu's unease grew as he watched the interaction between you and Seokmin, his gut twisting with a mixture of jealousy and concern. Despite Wonwoo's attempt to ease his worries, Mingyu couldn't shake the feeling that there was more to the encounter than met the eye.

Mingyu's brows furrowed deeply, his dislike evident in the creases of his forehead and the tension in his jaw. He couldn't help but feel a pang of unease at the sight of you conversing so effortlessly with another man. It was rare for you to befriend anyone outside your small circle, especially a man. As far as Mingyu knew, your only close friend was Minseo, and you rarely had any male friends aside from colleagues from work.

Mingyu had been prepared to approach you after handing his glass to Wonwoo. However, his intentions were abruptly halted when a groan echoed from the other side of the room, followed by urgent voices calling for a doctor. Mingyu's heart skipped a beat as he turned to see his father slumped into a colleague's arms, clutching his chest in pain. It was happening again—his father's heart troubles.

Without a moment's hesitation, Mingyu sprang into action, his adrenaline kicking in as he rushed to his father's side. Ignoring the curious gazes and the frantic murmurs around him, he focused solely on his father's well-being. With trembling hands, he called out for someone to dial the emergency number, his voice cutting through the chaos of the room.

Fear and urgency flooded Mingyu's senses as he knelt beside his father, his heart pounding in his chest. In that moment, nothing else mattered to him except ensuring his father received the help he desperately needed.

As Mingyu knelt by his father's side, panic and desperation etched on his face, you and Seokmin approached. Seokmin wasted no time in announcing himself as a doctor, offering his assistance in the tense situation. However, before Seokmin could fully extend his help, Mingyu shot him a gaze so intense it momentarily caught Seokmin off guard. The unspoken tension between them hung thick in the air, palpable to anyone observing.

You watched the exchange between Mingyu and Seokmin, sensing the growing discomfort and suspicion emanating from Mingyu. Recognizing the need to diffuse the situation and allow Seokmin to attend to Mingyu's father, you gently intervened. Placing a reassuring hand on Mingyu's shoulder, you spoke softly but firmly.

"He's a doctor, Mingyu. You need to trust him. Your father will be alright," you urged, your voice laced with conviction. With a gentle tug, you pulled Mingyu away from the scene, guiding him to a safe distance where he could observe without feeling overwhelmed by the unfolding events.

Mingyu sat alone in front of his father's patient room, his mind a whirlwind of emotions. He absentmindedly picked up a phone call from Wonwoo and Seungcheol, grateful for the distraction, but also using the moment to let himself calm after the pounding in his chest earlier. Leaning his head against the cool wall, he closed his eyes briefly, trying to steady his racing thoughts.

The soft click of the door opening broke the silence, and Mingyu's eyes blinked open to find you entering the room. Wordlessly, you settled beside him, a comforting presence in the midst of his turmoil. No words were exchanged, but the sounds of your breaths and sighs filled the space, offering a sense of solace.

"I'm sorry for earlier," Mingyu finally spoke, his voice tinged with remorse. "I was losing my cool."

He watched as you nodded understandingly, your expression gentle and empathetic. "It's okay, I understand," you murmured softly, mirroring his position as you leaned against the wall beside him. In that moment, Mingyu felt a weight lift off his shoulders, grateful for your silent support amidst the chaos of his emotions.

Mingyu's gaze shifted from the scene in front of him to your face, his heart clenching with a tumultuous mix of emotions. Anger simmered beneath the surface as he watched you sit beside him, your presence a stark reminder of the connection you once shared. The sight of you with another man reignited the flames of jealousy within him, fueling his inner turmoil.

Closing his eyes tightly, Mingyu struggled to make sense of his conflicting feelings. Where had the love he once harbored for you gone? Where were the tender emotions that used to fill his heart at the sight of your smile?

His chest tightened with an indiscernible ache as he wrestled with these questions, grappling with the realization that the love he once thought was eternal had somehow slipped through his fingers. In that moment of vulnerability, Mingyu couldn't help but wonder if there was any hope left for the fractured pieces of his heart.

He glanced at you once again, his gaze boring into yours with a mixture of resentment and disappointment. You turned your head to meet his stare, but the warmth and affection that once radiated from his eyes were now replaced by cold indifference. Everything about you seemed to fuel his growing disdain and anger, each breath becoming shallower, sweat trickling down his forehead, and his fingers clenching into tight fists.

As he sat there, consumed by memories of betrayal and heartache, Mingyu couldn't help but wonder how everything had unraveled so quickly. The pain of realizing that the person he once cherished was capable of such deception gnawed at his soul, leaving him feeling hollow and broken.

In that moment, amidst the silence that hung heavily between them, Mingyu knew that the love he once felt for you had been irreparably tainted by the bitterness of betrayal. And as he stared into your eyes, all he could see was the reflection of his own shattered dreams and misplaced trust.

His mind drifted back to the moment when his feelings for you began to sour, a pivotal moment etched into his memory like a scar. It was the day he stumbled upon that innocuous piece of paper tucked away in your desk, a note filled with secrets and lies that shattered his trust in you. From that moment on, the love he once held for you had gradually withered away, leaving behind a festering wound that refused to heal.

"Tell me, what is it?" Mingyu's voice cut through the tense silence as he confronted you with the paper clenched tightly in his hand. You approached him cautiously, your heart pounding with apprehension as you took the paper from him. It was an abortion form from the hospital, a stark reminder of the decision you were contemplating.

"You want an abortion? After everything we've been through, I thought you finally could accept me, accept them, accept us!" Mingyu's words were laced with hurt and disbelief, his eyes searching yours for some semblance of understanding.

"Why are you so selfish, Y/n? Don't you ever think about my feelings?" His voice cracked with emotion, the weight of his words hanging heavily in the air between you.

"Mingyu, I can explain..." you began, but he cut you off with a weary sigh.

"Stop it, Y/n. You're a grown-up, you're capable of deciding what you want, considering the kind of childhood you had," Mingyu's tone was resigned, his disappointment palpable.

"I'm sorry for what happened to you because of your mom, but our child doesn't deserve the same treatment. You want to... to kill them? That's evil, Y/n," Mingyu's voice wavered with a mixture of anger and sorrow, his heart breaking at the thought of losing the child he had already grown to love.

"You're just like your mom," the words hung in the air, heavy with accusation and pain, as Mingyu turned away from you, unable to bear the weight of the truth any longer.

.Weeks later, you found yourself standing in front of Mingyu's door, your hand poised to knock. With a deep breath, you hesitated, nerves fluttering in your stomach as you prepared yourself for what lay beyond that threshold. But before you could make a move, the door swung open, revealing Mingyu standing there in his pajamas, a mug in hand.

Surprise flickered across your features as you met his gaze, uncertainty mingling with a glimmer of hope in your heart. Mingyu's expression was unreadable, his eyes guarded as he studied you in silence. For a moment, neither of you spoke, the weight of unspoken words hanging heavily in the air between you.

Finally, Mingyu broke the silence, his voice tinged with a mixture of resignation and curiosity. "What are you doing here?"

You swallowed hard, searching for the right words to convey the turmoil swirling within you. "I... I wanted to talk," you replied hesitantly, your voice barely above a whisper.

Mingyu nodded, his gesture a silent invitation for you to enter. "I was about to grab some water. Do you want some?" he offered, his voice tinged with a hint of warmth that belied the tension lingering between you.

Grateful for his kindness, you accepted his offer and followed him into his sanctuary. The room felt familiar yet foreign, a sanctuary for both of you months ago before you decided to sleep in the other room. He motioned for you to sit on the sofa next to his bed while he settled himself at his office desk, the glow of his computer screen casting shadows across his features.

As you watched him, a pang of guilt tugged at your heart. Mingyu seemed lost in his thoughts, his brow furrowed with concentration as he continued to work even in this late hour. The sight of him laboring away despite the heaviness weighing on his shoulders filled you with a sense of admiration and regret.

"If I'm disturbing you from working, we can talk tomorrow morning," you offered tentatively, the doubt evident in your voice.

Mingyu shook his head, his expression softening with understanding. "I'm done anyway," he replied, his fingers moving to shut off his computer with a decisive click. Turning his full attention to you, he leaned back in his chair, his eyes searching yours for answers.

"What is it you want to say?" he asked, his voice gentle yet tinged with a hint of apprehension. In that moment, as you sat face to face with Mingyu in the quiet solitude of his room, you knew that the time for honesty and reconciliation had finally come.

You took a deep breath, steeling yourself for the difficult conversation ahead. "I'm aware that Seungcheol might have already told you about this, but I'm resigning," you began, your voice steady despite the turmoil churning within you.

Mingyu nodded, his expression somber as he removed his glasses, the weariness evident in the lines etched on his face. "Yeah, he called me right away," he confirmed, his hand moving to massage his forehead in a gesture of exhaustion.

"After we divorced, I'm going to move to Canada," you continued, your words heavy with the weight of impending change. "I'm going to have treatment there."

As you spoke, Mingyu's gaze softened, a mixture of understanding and sadness flickering in his eyes. Mingyu's brow furrowed, his expression a mix of confusion and concern. "Is our psychiatrist here not enough that you have to get treated there?" he questioned, his voice tinged with a hint of frustration.

You nodded, unable to muster the strength to offer a further explanation. Despite his inquiry, Mingyu's gaze seemed distant, his attention drifting away as if the topic held no significance to him. It was a stark reminder that the care and concern he once held for you had long since dissipated, replaced by an indifferent detachment.

As you looked at Mingyu, a pang of sadness tugged at your heart. The realization that he no longer had any interest in your well-being only served to deepen the rift between you, highlighting the distance that had grown between you over time.

"What about you? Do you have any plans after our divorce settlement?" you asked, your voice barely above a whisper, the weight of the impending separation hanging heavily between you.

Mingyu shook his head, his response clipped and devoid of emotion. "I'm just going to live my life like usual," he replied, his tone betraying the indifference he felt towards the situation. It was a stark reminder of the disconnect that had grown between you, the sense of being mere strangers occupying the same space.

As the conversation turned towards your impending move and your relationship with your mother, Mingyu's demeanor remained distant, his words lacking any genuine concern. The tension between you hung in the air like a heavy fog, suffocating any hope of reconciliation or understanding.

With each passing moment, the discomfort in your stomach grew, a physical manifestation of the emotional turmoil swirling within you. You struggled to maintain your composure as the pain intensified, your mind racing with unanswered questions and unspoken fears.

Feeling lightheaded and nauseous, you knew you couldn't continue the conversation any longer. With a trembling voice, you declared that you were done talking, desperate to escape the suffocating atmosphere of Mingyu's presence.

As you rose from your seat, the cramps in your stomach intensified, sending waves of agony coursing through your body. With every step, you fought to conceal your pain, unwilling to show any weakness in front of Mingyu.

But as you turned to leave, a burning question lingered in your mind, demanding to be heard. With a shaky breath, you uttered his name, your voice barely a whisper in the silence of the room.

"Mingyu..."

"Don't you wanna know my feelings about our divorcee?"

There was a pregnant pause as you awaited his response, the tension thickening between you like a taut string on the verge of snapping. And then, finally, his answer came, cold and final.

"I know you've been waiting for this. I'm sorry for holding you long enough."

His words pierced through you like a dagger, the finality of his apology crushing any lingering hope of salvaging what was left of your relationship. With a heavy heart, you turned away, the weight of his indifference crushing you as you stumbled towards the door.

But before you could escape, the pain became too much to bear, and darkness closed in around you, pulling you into unconsciousness. And as you crumpled to the floor, the last thing you saw was Mingyu's impassive gaze, a silent witness to the collapse of everything you had once held dear.

Three weeks before Seungcheol's wedding, life was a whirlwind of chaos and excitement. As his trusted assistant, you juggled his hectic schedule while also overseeing the wedding preparations. However, there was an added complication: you were five months pregnant. Only a month had passed since your honeymoon, and taking leave now would burden everyone. Despite feeling a severe burning sensation in your chest, you soldiered on, determined not to let anyone down.

On that fateful day, after wrapping up a meeting with a client alongside Seungcheol and Junhui, the sensation in your chest escalated, leaving you gasping for air. You motioned desperately to Junhui for assistance, the panic evident in your eyes. Seungcheol, occupied with driving his own car, was unaware of your distress as you shared a vehicle with Junhui. Sensing the urgency, Junhui wasted no time and swiftly steered the car towards the nearest hospital.

The drive felt agonizingly long as you struggled to maintain composure, each breath a struggle against the tightening grip of fear. Junhui's concern was palpable, his hands gripping the steering wheel with a mixture of urgency and worry. With each passing moment, the weight of the situation pressed down upon you, threatening to overwhelm.

Finally, the hospital loomed into view, a beacon of hope in the midst of turmoil. Junhui guided you inside, his steadying presence offering a sliver of reassurance amidst the chaos. As you were ushered into the emergency room, a flood of emotions washed over you – fear, uncertainty, and a profound sense of vulnerability.

In that moment, as you awaited medical attention, the true magnitude of the situation dawned upon you. The wedding, the responsibilities, all faded into insignificance in the face of this sudden health crisis. All that mattered now was the well-being of yourself and your unborn child.

For the first time, you heard the dreaded words: preeclampsia. The burning sensation that had plagued you for days, you now learned, wasn't just discomfort—it was a warning sign, a miniature heart attack triggered by hypertension during your pregnancy.

"Mrs. Ji," the doctor's voice pulled you from your thoughts, "from your health records, it appears you were in a car accident twenty years ago. Do you recall what injuries you sustained?"

Your head shook slowly, memories from that time shrouded in fog. "No," you murmured, "I barely remember anything from back then."

Doctor Lee Seokmin nodded, his expression grave. "It seems you underwent both heart and neurosurgery as a result of that accident. Unfortunately, those procedures have contributed to your current struggle with preeclampsia during this pregnancy."

A furrow formed between your brows as you processed the implications. "What should I do?" Your hands instinctively moved to cradle your burgeoning stomach, a protective gesture.

"It's strongly recommended that you consider terminating the pregnancy before it's too late," Dr. Lee advised gently. "Carrying the baby poses significant risks to your health, even to the point of endangering your life."

The weight of his words settled heavily upon you. "In simpler terms," he continued, his tone sympathetic yet firm, "your heart is struggling to supply blood for both you and the baby. Not only does this jeopardize your own safety, but the chances of the baby surviving are also slim. I urge you to carefully consider your options."

Tears welled in your eyes as the gravity of the situation sank in. It was a devastating choice to make, a painful crossroads where the life of your unborn child hung in the balance against your own.

Your heart ached with the weight of the decision ahead. Every beat seemed to echo the uncertainty of your future, intertwined with the life growing within you. As you sat in the sterile hospital room, the silence enveloped you, broken only by the rhythmic hum of medical equipment.

The thought of ending the pregnancy felt like a betrayal—a betrayal to the life blossoming inside you, a betrayal to the dreams you had woven around the idea of motherhood. But the stark reality laid out by Dr. Lee left little room for sentimentality. It was a matter of survival, a harsh truth that demanded to be faced.

You turned your gaze to your stomach, where the faint flutter of movement reminded you of the fragile existence nestled within. How could you choose between your own life and the life you had already begun to nurture?

Questions swirled in your mind, each one a thorn digging deeper into your already burdened heart. Would you be able to live with the knowledge that your decision may cost the life of your child? Could you bear the guilt of choosing self-preservation over the chance of motherhood?

Yet amidst the turmoil, a glimmer of resolve flickered within you. As painful as it was, you knew that you couldn't risk leaving your family behind, couldn't bear the thought of leaving your loved ones to mourn a life lost too soon.

With a heavy sigh, you met Dr. Lee's gaze, steeling yourself for the difficult conversation ahead. It was time to make the choice that would shape the course of your future, a choice that carried the weight of both sorrow and hope.

At the end, you still choose chance of motherhood. You'll found solution along with Mingyu. You would never terminate your pregnancy.

One haunting truth lingered in the shadows of your mind, a specter of betrayal from the past. It was the knowledge that your own mother had once plotted to end your life in that fateful car accident. Night after night, you found yourself jolting awake from restless slumber, the echoes of that near-tragedy replaying in your nightmares.

Mingyu, your husband, was keenly aware of your nightly struggles. Yet, despite his understanding, a palpable distance had settled between you in the wake of the doctor's grim recommendation. The discovery of the abortion form seemed to widen the chasm, a silent testament to the gulf that had formed between your hearts.

You found solace in the nursery room, seeking refuge amidst the soft hues and gentle whispers of promise that filled the space. But even here, the weight of Mingyu's silence pressed down upon you like an unbearable burden. Each night, as you lay alone in the darkness, tears would silently trace their paths down your cheeks, mingling with the whispers of doubt that haunted your thoughts.

Breakfast became a solitary affair, the clink of utensils against porcelain echoing in the empty spaces between you. And though you shared the same table come dinnertime, the silence between you was deafening, each lost in the labyrinth of your own thoughts.

You longed for the warmth of Mingyu's embrace, for the reassurance of his presence in the midst of uncertainty. Yet, his absence—both physical and emotional—cast a shadow over your shared existence, leaving you adrift in a sea of solitude.

As the days stretched into a week of silent anguish, you couldn't help but wonder if this was the beginning of the end, if the fractures in your relationship would widen into irreparable chasms. And in the quiet of the night, as sleep eluded you once more, you found yourself grappling with the weight of unanswered questions and the ache of unspoken words.

As you stepped through the threshold of your home, a sense of unease gripped you at the sight of the moving crew bustling about, their movements purposeful as they carted away pieces of your life. The crib, once a symbol of hope and anticipation, now stood bereft of its place in the nursery.

Summoning a flicker of courage, you ventured into the room, your heart pounding with a mixture of trepidation and determination. Mingyu, usually ensconced in his office, was seated at his desk, his attention focused on the screen before him.

"Why are they moving our stuff?" you ventured, the words trembling on your lips as you sought his gaze.

His response was chilling, devoid of the warmth and familiarity you had grown accustomed to. "What stuff?" His tone was colder than the winter wind, sending shivers down your spine.

A surge of panic rose within you as you struggled to find your voice. "They moved out our baby stuff!" The words spilled out, laced with desperation and a tinge of disbelief.

But Mingyu's reply pierced through the fragile facade of hope, extinguishing it with brutal finality. "We don't have a baby." His words hung in the air like a heavy curtain, separating you from the life you had envisioned together.

The weight of his denial crushed you, leaving you gasping for breath in its suffocating grip. How could he dismiss the dreams you had nurtured, the plans you had woven for the future? It felt like a betrayal, a betrayal of the love you had shared and the promises you had made to each other.

Tears welled in your eyes as the reality of his words sank in, a painful reminder of the chasm that had widened between you. And as you stood there, face to face with the stark truth of your shattered hopes, you couldn't help but wonder if this was the beginning of the end—a silent requiem for the life that might have been.

The air crackled with tension as you took determined steps towards Mingyu's desk, your heart pounding in your chest. With a trembling hand, you reached out and turned off his computer, the abruptness of the action punctuating the charged atmosphere.

"What do you mean? Stop acting like this!" Your voice wavered with a mixture of frustration and desperation, the words tumbling out in a rush as you confronted him head-on.

Mingyu's gaze flickered up to meet yours, annoyance flashing in his eyes. "Do whatever you want, Y/n," he replied curtly, his tone laced with indifference.

"Kim Mingyu!" The use of his full name was a reflex, a testament to the gravity of the situation that hung between you like a heavy fog.

A bitter taste rose in your throat as his words cut through the silence like a knife. "Seeing them makes me sick, Y/n," he spat, his voice tinged with a venomous edge.

Your heart clenched at his callousness, the sting of betrayal slicing through the facade of composure you had struggled to maintain. "Don't you see how betrayed I am right now?" Mingyu pleaded, his voice cracking with emotion. "I love you! I love our life! But seeing that abortion form hurt me."

Tears threatened to spill over as you struggled to convey the depth of your pain, the weight of Mingyu's words bearing down on you like a crushing burden. The rift between you felt insurmountable, a gaping chasm that threatened to swallow you whole.

But amidst the turmoil, a flicker of hope remained—a glimmer of the love that had once bound you together, a fragile thread that refused to be severed. And as you stood there, locked in a battle of wills and emotions, you couldn't help but wonder if there was still a chance to bridge the divide and find solace in each other's arms once more.

"Stop acting like you're the only one suffering here!" The words burst forth from your lips, fueled by a potent mix of frustration and despair. "I don't want to do it either! But I have to, Mingyu! I have to!" Each syllable was laden with the weight of your anguish, the struggle to convey the depth of your turmoil.

Mingyu's gaze remained fixed on you, his expression unreadable as he listened to your impassioned plea. But when he scoffed in response, a surge of indignation rose within you like a tidal wave. "Don't you see I'm working on it?" you cried out, your voice trembling with emotion. "I'm trying my best to keep them. Stop telling me I'm selfish! You're selfish, you only think about what you're feeling this week and you left me! You left me alone!"

The accusation hung heavy in the air, a bitter truth laid bare in the starkness of your words. Mingyu's silence spoke volumes, his refusal to acknowledge your pain a sharp sting that cut deeper than any words could.

"So your feeling is the only one that's valid?" Mingyu's voice sliced through the silence like a blade, his tone laced with disdain.

Tears streamed down your cheeks, a silent testament to the turmoil raging within you. "You don't know what kind of sorrow I've been hiding until they turned into anger," you mumbled, the weight of your confession hanging heavy in the air.

With a heavy heart, you turned away from him, unable to bear the weight of his indifference any longer. "And now, I'm the bad person," you whispered to yourself, the words a bitter reminder of the rift that had formed between you.

Leaving Mingyu in his office, you retreated to the sanctuary of the nursery, seeking solace amidst the familiar surroundings. With a heavy sigh, you instructed your house assistant to have a bed and your belongings moved into the child's room, unable to face Mingyu with the swirling emotions that threatened to consume you whole.

Mingyu stood vigil beside your hospital bed, his heart heavy with worry and uncertainty. The sight of you collapsing before his very eyes had propelled him into action, rushing you to the hospital in a frantic blur of fear and desperation. Now, as he waited for you to wake, he could only hope and pray that the doctors would bring him good news.

The doctor's somber presence loomed over Mingyu, a harbinger of the grim tidings that were to come. His voice, measured and grave, cut through the silence like a blade, delivering the devastating news of your deteriorating health.

"I'm sorry to inform you, Mr. Kim, but the cancerous growth in your wife's cervix has progressed significantly," the doctor intoned, his words hanging heavy in the air like a dark cloud.

Mingyu's brow furrowed in confusion, his mind struggling to grasp the gravity of the situation. "What do you mean? What cancer?" he pleaded, his voice tinged with desperation.

The doctor's sympathetic gaze softened as he attempted to simplify the complex medical details for Mingyu's benefit. "The cancer has spread, Mr. Kim. It's worsening, and we need to discuss our options moving forward."

Panic surged within Mingyu like a tidal wave, threatening to overwhelm him as he grappled with the harsh reality of your diagnosis. "But she's young, she's healthy," he protested, his voice laced with disbelief. "How could this happen?"

In response, the doctor guided Mingyu through the medical history recorded in your files, shedding light on the shadowy truths hidden within. "In your wife's medical records, it's noted that she experienced a miscarriage in February, likely due to complications related to the cervical tumor."

The mention of the miscarriage sent a shiver down Mingyu's spine, a cruel reminder of the pain and suffering you had endured in silence. "A miscarriage?" he echoed, the word heavy with sorrow and regret.

"Yes, Mr. Kim," the doctor confirmed gently. "I'll arrange for you to meet with the physician who has been attending to your wife. We'll discuss the next steps together."

"I'm sorry that you have to find out this way, Mr. Kim," Dr. Lee Seokmin stated with genuine regret, his voice heavy with sympathy. He watched Mingyu closely, noting the confusion that flickered across his face before understanding settled in. Mingyu's expression shifted, revealing a mix of disbelief and realization.

Dr. Lee's regretful tone only deepened Mingyu's sense of unease. How long had you been living with this condition without even him knowing? The weight of the revelation settled heavily on his shoulders, and Mingyu felt a surge of conflicting emotions—anger, confusion, and a profound sense of loss for the time he could never get back.

As the truth sank in, Mingyu found himself grappling with a new reality, one he hadn't anticipated when he walked through the office doors. Dr. Lee's words hung in the air, a stark reminder of the fragility of life and the importance of staying vigilant about one's health. Mingyu nodded slowly, his mind whirring with unanswered questions and a newfound determination to confront whatever lay ahead.

"This is what her cervix looks like," Dr. Lee explained, his voice somber as he pointed to the results of your x-rays, highlighting the ominous spread of cancer. Mingyu's eyes widened as he took in the stark contrast between the current image and the last one, where the cancerous tumor had been detected.

"I already suggested Mrs. Ji to do her chemotherapy a week after her miscarriage, but I did understand why she didn't come. However, she hasn't come at all," Dr. Lee continued, his tone tinged with disappointment and concern.

Mingyu's heart sank as he absorbed the gravity of the situation. He felt a heavy weight settle in the pit of his stomach, accompanied by a sense of helplessness. His mind raced with thoughts of you, your missed appointments, and the potential consequences of your absence.

A heavy sigh escaped Mingyu's lips, betraying the turmoil raging within him. He bit his lip, trying to suppress the flood of emotions threatening to overwhelm him. But amidst the fear and uncertainty, a nagging question persisted, demanding to be acknowledged.

"Miscarriage?" Mingyu finally spoke, his voice trembling with a mix of disbelief and desperation. It was a question that had been haunting him since he first learned of your diagnosis. Denial clawed at the edges of his consciousness, but deep down, he knew he couldn't ignore the harsh reality laid out before him any longer.

"Yes, Mr. Kim," Dr. Lee began, his tone gentle yet firm as he sought to elucidate the complexities of your situation to Mingyu. "She had refused to undergo the abortion and chose to proceed with the pregnancy after experiencing her first bout of preeclampsia in the last week of January."

Mingyu listened intently, his brow furrowed in concentration as he absorbed the gravity of Dr. Lee's words. The choice you had made, despite the risks and uncertainties, spoke volumes about your unwavering determination and resilience.

"However," Dr. Lee continued, his voice tinged with regret, "she suffered a miscarriage on February 20th due to stress and exhaustion, which later led us to discover the presence of her tumor."

The weight of the revelation hung heavy in the air, a sobering reminder of the fragility of life and the trials you had endured in silence. Mingyu's heart ached with the weight of the knowledge, the pain of your loss etched into the lines of his face.

As Dr. Lee moved on to the next slide, outlining potential treatment options for your condition, Mingyu's gaze remained fixed on the screen, his mind racing with a flurry of emotions. Hope mingled with apprehension as he considered the possibility of a path forward, one that held the promise of healing and renewal.

With each word spoken by the doctor, Mingyu felt a glimmer of hope begin to take root within him, a beacon of light amidst the darkness that had clouded his thoughts. And as he looked towards the future, his resolve hardened, his determination to stand by your side unwavering in the face of adversity.

"In South Korea, we haven't had access to this technology," Dr. Lee explained, his tone tinged with a note of regret. "However, this treatment has been proven with an 80% success rate in terminating cervical cancer and is available in Ottawa."

As the words sank in, a realization dawned on Mingyu. You wanted to go to Canada for treatment all along. But why hadn't you mentioned it earlier? Why keep it a secret until now? Mingyu's mind buzzed with questions, each one a jagged edge cutting into the fragile fabric of trust between you.

Lost in his thoughts, Mingyu hadn't even realized that he had been studying your face, searching for answers in the depths of your expression. But all he found was the echo of his own confusion mirrored back at him, a silent testament to the barriers that had grown between you.

A swell of emotions threatened to overwhelm Mingyu as he grappled with the revelation, his heart heavy with the weight of betrayal and longing. Had you been hiding the truth from him all along? And if so, why? The questions swirled in his mind, a relentless storm that refused to be quelled.

But amidst the turmoil, Mingyu couldn't deny the flicker of hope that ignited within him—the possibility of finding a solution, a lifeline in the form of treatment abroad. And as he looked towards the future, his determination hardened, his resolve to stand by your side unwavering in the face of adversity.

Regret washed over Mingyu like a torrential downpour, each drop heavy with the weight of missed opportunities and misunderstood intentions. The abortion form you had brought home—the very same document he had reacted to with such cold indifference—was now a haunting reminder of the choices you had made: to keep the baby and the assumptions he had drawn.

It dawned on Mingyu with a gut-wrenching clarity that the moment you had returned home without a baby bump, it wasn't because you had terminated the pregnancy, but because you had suffered a miscarriage. The realization struck him like a bolt of lightning, electrifying his senses with the stark truth of your pain.

Tears welled up in Mingyu's eyes, his vision blurred as he grappled with the possibility that his actions, his lack of understanding and support, may have played a role in your suffering. The thought pierced through the armor of his pride, leaving him vulnerable and exposed to the raw emotions that surged within him.

Guilt clawed at Mingyu's chest, a relentless monster gnawing at his conscience as he wrestled with the consequences of his ignorance. Had he been too quick to judge, too blind to see the depth of your struggles? The realization gnawed at him, a bitter pill to swallow as he confronted the harsh truth of his own shortcomings.

In that moment, as tears silently trailed down his cheeks, Mingyu found himself consumed by a sense of profound remorse—a longing to turn back the hands of time and rewrite the narrative, to be the partner you needed in your darkest hour. But as the weight of his regrets settled upon him, Mingyu knew that he could only move forward, armed with the newfound clarity of hindsight and a determination to make amends.

"How far along are you?" Mingyu's voice cut through the tense air of the room as he sat confidently in front of your mother, the formidable CEO of JIS Corp. She exuded an aura of sharpness and rigidity, her piercing gaze sizing him up with every word she spoke.

You sat nervously beside Mingyu, acutely aware of the weight of your mother's scrutiny as she fired off a series of offensive questions, her demeanor dripping with arrogance. Mingyu, however, remained unfazed, his posture exuding confidence as he mirrored your mother's demeanor, ready to engage in the contest of wills that lay before him.

"I'm in my fourth month," you answered quietly, your voice barely above a whisper as you struggled to maintain your composure under your mother's intense scrutiny.

As your mother settled into her seat across from you and Mingyu, her body language radiated dominance, a stark contrast to Mingyu's calm and collected demeanor. Despite the tension that hung in the air, Mingyu pressed on, determined to make a favorable impression on your mother, the woman who held the key to your future.

Your mother asked you to leave her alone with him. Mingyu sent you an assurance nodd before you rose from your seat and walked away to the kitchen.

"You know Y/n is not my daughter?" your mother's question hung in the air, a challenge disguised as a statement.

Mingyu nodded calmly, his gaze meeting your mother's without hesitation. "I'm aware of that," he replied evenly, "but she was legally adopted by your husband before he married you. So while she may not be biologically related to you, she is legally your daughter."

"What do you want, Kim Mingyu?" your mother's voice dripped with skepticism, her tone a clear indication that she was not easily swayed.

Mingyu's response was swift and direct. "Your resort label is facing bankruptcy," he began, his voice steady and confident. "I propose a merger with my own label. You'll gain financial stability and a positive reputation, while also giving Y/n her rightful share and putting an end to your surveillance of her."

As your mother considered his offer, Mingyu continued, his tone unwavering. "After marrying me, Y/n will gain social power and influence. She'll be able to hold JIS Corp accountable if they continue to deny her rights as an heir."

Your mother hesitated for a moment before raising two fingers in a gesture of negotiation. "Two years. Two years of merger, and then I'll hand her the share."

Mingyu shook his head firmly. "A year," he countered, his resolve unwavering.

"Two," your mother insisted, her tone firm.

Mingyu leaned back in his seat, shaking his head once more. "Then forget it. My resort label is too valuable to be compromised. And besides, with Y/n's newfound social status, she'll have the power to hold JIS Corp accountable."

Your mother's expression softened slightly, the corners of her mouth twitching as she weighed her options. "Okay," she relented at last, "a year is enough."

As Sora finally drifted off to sleep, her tear-stained cheeks still hauntingly fresh in your mind, you tiptoed out of the bedroom with a sense of quiet relief. Closing the door behind you with practiced care, you exhaled slowly, the weight of the day's emotional turmoil settling heavily upon your shoulders.

Today marked Sora's third birthday, a joyous occasion overshadowed by the absence of her father, who was miles away on a business trip. The sound of her plaintive cries had echoed through the house, a poignant reminder of the sacrifices made in pursuit of success and stability.

Making your way to the kitchen island, you reached for a bottle of mineral water, the cool liquid offering a fleeting moment of solace amidst the chaos of your thoughts. The day had been a whirlwind of emotions, your work as a full-time writer left unfinished as you devoted every waking moment to comforting and caring for your daughter.

As a writer, your focus had shifted towards women's and healthy lifestyle topics, a reflection of your own journey towards wellness and empowerment. Even during your treatment in Ottawa, you had continued your studies in creative writing, determined to pursue your passion despite the challenges that lay in your path.

Returning to South Korea after completing your treatment, you had been met with a new opportunity—a promotion to Chief Editorial at the Seoul branch of a prestigious magazine. It was a testament to your resilience and determination, a testament to the strength that had carried you through the darkest of times.

But as you stood in the quiet of the kitchen, the echoes of Sora's cries still lingering in the air, you couldn't help but feel the weight of your responsibilities pressing down upon you. Balancing motherhood with a demanding career was no easy feat, but with each passing day, you found strength in the love you shared with your daughter, a love that knew no bounds and blood, fueled your determination to succeed, no matter the obstacles that lay ahead.

The sound of the door's password being unlocked drew your attention away from your thoughts, causing you to rise from your seat with a mixture of surprise and anticipation. Your husband had returned home, his weary figure a stark contrast to the usual air of confidence and charm that surrounded him. Yet, despite the exhaustion etched into his features, he still managed to exude a quiet sense of grace and poise.

As he entered the house, you couldn't help but chuckle softly at the sight of him, his disheveled appearance doing nothing to diminish his innate handsomeness. With a gentle smile, you stepped forward to greet him, offering a comforting hand to help him shed the burdensome weight of his suit and tie.

"I miss you so much," he whispered into your ear, his voice laced with a palpable longing that mirrored your own.

"How about Sora?" you inquired, your concern for your daughter never far from your mind even in the midst of your reunion with your husband.

A flicker of realization crossed his features as he almost forgot about his sweet little cupcake, Sora. "Is she asleep already?" he asked, his voice tinged with a hint of guilt at the oversight.

You nodded in response, offering him an exhausted yet understanding smile. The trials of the day had taken their toll on both of you, but in this moment, as you stood close together, the warmth of your shared love enveloped you like a comforting embrace, reminding you of the strength and resilience that bound your family together.

"I had to read her three books before she finally fell asleep. So don't you ever try to wake her up," you warned him playfully, a hint of exhaustion still evident in your voice as you recounted the bedtime routine with Sora. Despite the weariness, there was a sense of fondness in your words, a testament to the love and dedication you poured into your role as a mother.

Your husband let out a soft chuckle at your admonishment, his arms enveloping you in a warm embrace as he pulled you close. His presence was a comforting balm against the strains of the day, offering solace in the midst of the chaos that had defined your evening.

"I'm sorry," he murmured, his voice tinged with regret. "The seminar went longer than expected. My flight was delayed, and I had to book another one to get home quicker. But I'm still this late."

You offered a reassuring smile, your hand gently tapping his back in a gesture of understanding and support. "There's always tomorrow, babe," you whispered, your words a gentle reminder that in the grand scheme of things, time was but a fleeting commodity compared to the enduring bond you shared as a family.

Your husband's touch was gentle yet firm as he pushed your body back slightly, his eyes locking onto yours with a depth of emotion that stirred something within you. "Tomorrow is February 20th," he whispered softly, the weight of the date hanging heavily between you.

You nodded in acknowledgment, your heart fluttering with a mixture of apprehension and longing as you contemplated the significance of the day. It was a day etched into your memory, a painful reminder of the loss you had endured and the scars that still lingered.

"Do you want to introduce Sora to him?" your husband asked gently, his voice a tender caress against the quiet of the room. "I think she's ready for that."

A surge of emotion welled up within you at the suggestion, a bittersweet blend of hope and trepidation. It had been a journey marked by grief and healing, a journey you had traversed with Sora by your side every step of the way.

"I'd love to," you replied softly, your voice trembling with emotion. "I think... I'm ready too."

Your husband's eyes softened with pride and admiration as he gazed at you, his words a soothing balm to the wounds that still lingered within your heart. "I'm so proud of you," he whispered, his voice filled with warmth and affection. "You're doing so great."

In that moment, as you stood together on the precipice of a new chapter, you couldn't help but feel a flicker of hope ignite within you—a glimmer of light amidst the darkness that had once threatened to consume you whole. And with your husband by your side, you knew that whatever tomorrow may bring, you would face it together, united in love and resilience.

Your steps faltered as you heard Mingyu engaged in conversation with someone inside his office. You had come to discuss something with him this morning, but now your attention was fully captured by the voices drifting out through the open door.

"You knocked somebody?" A deeper voice queried, causing your breath to hitch in your throat.

"Hm... Not entirely false! Yes, but she's not just somebody. She's someone I care about," Mingyu's voice replied, sending a ripple of confusion and curiosity coursing through you.

"It's pretty odd to hear that you care about someone. Who is she? Do I know her?" The other person's voice sounded vaguely familiar, prompting you to hazard a guess at their identity.

"She's Seungcheol hyung's secretary," Mingyu revealed, dropping your name into the conversation without preamble.

There was a pregnant pause before your name was spoken again, this time with a note of surprise. "Ji Y/n?"

"Yeah, she reminds me of her," Mingyu's voice confirmed, sending a jolt of uncertainty coursing through you.

"That's not enough reason to marry her, Kim Mingyu," the other person's voice retorted, their words hanging heavy in the air.

Your mind raced with a flurry of emotions as you struggled to process Mingyu's revelation. The realization that he saw shades of someone else in you, someone you didn't even know, left you feeling adrift in a sea of confusion and doubt.

As snippets of memories flooded your mind—moments of tenderness and affection shared between you and Mingyu over the past few weeks—a pang of sadness gripped your heart. Had his gestures of romance and chivalry been driven by genuine affection, or were they merely echoes of a love he once knew?

Caught between the pull of your growing feelings for Mingyu and the unsettling revelation of his comparison, you found yourself at a crossroads. What should you do? You had fallen for him, despite the uncertainty that now clouded your heart. But could you truly build a future with someone who saw you as a reflection of another?

As the tall figure emerged from Mingyu's office, you felt a knot form in your stomach. He paused as his gaze locked onto yours, and you rose from your seat, attempting to maintain a composed facade despite the whirlwind of emotions swirling within you.

"You're Ji Y/n? Seungcheol hyung's secretary?" His voice was deep and authoritative, yet there was a hint of curiosity in his tone as he addressed you.

You offered him a polite smile and nodded in confirmation. "Yes, that's correct. It's nice to meet you, Mr. Jeon."

"I've seen you around, but this is our first time talking," Mr. Jeon remarked, his demeanor friendly yet reserved. "Nice to meet you too. Let's be more friendly in the future."

With those words, Mr. Jeon bid you farewell, leaving you to grapple with the weight of his presence and the implications of his unexpected encounter. Mentally preparing yourself for what lay ahead, you took a deep breath and steeling yourself for the challenges that awaited you.

As you entered Mingyu's office, your mind buzzed with a flurry of thoughts and emotions. With each step, you reminded yourself of the decisions that lay before you, the choices that would shape your future.

Keep the baby.

Get your share.

Have a happy life.

The words echoed in your mind, a mantra of determination and resolve as you braced yourself for the difficult conversations that lay ahead.

To be continued.

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