alrighty , aphrodite !

molly. sagittarius. blessed by lady aphrodite. witchy & anxious with far too many hobbies and interests . no such thing as TMI here! I share anything and everything, I encourage you the same if you're comfortable!

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molly, 18 , queer ,

all pronouns

aphrodite devotee,

midwest girly , healthcare worker,

mainly sfw writer but not sfw blog,

no requests but asks always open for chatting or suggestions! (:

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[mulloey]

little cannibal

he doesn’t know where you came from. he’s not even certain you’re human. but he’d do anything for you—anything to keep you happy. that includes indulging—and feeding—your peculiar appetite in any way necessary.

words: 5.2k

PLEASE READ THE WARNINGS! dark content, extremely unequal power dynamics, you’re pretty much his ‘pet’. cannibalism and murder, though the murder is not shown explicitly. yunho lets you take a chunk out of him at one point. self-mutilation, gore. reader is depicted as extremely childlike and innocent due to how she grew up and yunho is depicted as getting off on that fact (he does feel guilty though), unspecified childhood trauma, mentions of punishments such as spanking/belting/cold baths. reader is unaware of basic concepts such as parents, gender etc. blowjobs, throatfucking. it is explicitly stated that reader views yunho as a father. yunho sort of gets off on that. yunho is not a good guy. reader probably doesn’t have the mental capacity to be good or bad. you’re not allowed to leave the apartment.

note: this was intended to be longer, but i don’t have much else to do to it. it may be expanded on at some point. i’m honestly not super happy with it but i wanted to get it out. heed the warnings, this is gross.

The TV is blaring when he wakes up. It’s loud, obnoxiously so, hurting his head a little; the familiar rattle of the local news channel’s morning jingle and the laughter of the presenters.

He’s sure he remembers turning it off last night; a couple beers in, the tail end of an action movie he’s seen a hundred times droning on. He turned it off a little after it ended and trudged down the hall to bed, he’s certain; he remembers stumbling over the wires a little when he went to turn it off at the wall, slightly disoriented by the late night and the alcohol. You were asleep then, quiet and content on his bedroom floor.

You must have turned it back on after he went to bed; you have a habit of wandering around the apartment at night, fiddling with buttons and flicking switches until you get bored or tired and fall asleep where you’re stood. He doesn't love it, but the apartment is secure and you know not to do it in the bedroom when he’s sleeping, so it’s not a huge problem.

You certainly have more destructive habits than that, anyway.

He finds you under the table, when he finally gets up and trudges through to the kitchen; you’re crouching, partially concealed by the tablecloth, toes curled under your feet against the tiled floor.

He doesn’t know what you’re doing. He rarely does. But as long as you’re safe, and obeying him, that’s what matters.

“Get out from there,” he says. The words come out grumbled, his voice still rough, thick with sleep.

You crawl out slowly, begrudgingly, then stand up. He can tell you’re not happy about it, but you’re obeying nonetheless, and that’s enough for him.

Your shirt—his, actually—hangs loose around your body, a little grime seeping into the fabric.

Or it looks like grime, at least. When he looks a little closer he realises it’s actually blood.

He raises an accusing eyebrow, staring you down, and you shrink into yourself like you’ve been caught in the act. Which you have, pretty much.

“Baby,” he sighs. He reaches to grab a dirtied section of the shirt, holding it up to your eyeline where it’s unavoidable. “What did we talk about yesterday?”

“Change,” you answer quietly. “We have to change clothes when they’re dirty.”

He nods, humming. “That’s right. If you’re going to go around wearing shirts with blood on them then you’ll have to stop wearing clothes when you eat. Is that what you want?”

“No, Yu.”

“Arms up.”

You lift your arms obediently, staying still and silent as he slides the shirt up over your head and puts it down on the table. You’re bare now, only panties to protect your modesty, but that’s not something that really registers to either of you. Not with the states you’ve seen each other in—far, far worse than a little nudity.

“Sit down,” he says. “I’ll bring you breakfast.”

He turns off the TV first; it’s too loud this early in the morning, not to mention a waste of money to keep it running like that.

While he’s there, he slides his hand behind the TV stand and retrieves the key he keeps hidden underneath.

You watch him silently. You know what he’s doing—and you know how to be patient, too.

You’ll get what you need; you always do. Yunho has never once allowed you to go without.

The pantry is hidden behind a bookshelf you’ve never cared to browse—you have little use for books anyway. You watch as Yunho hauls it out of the way then slots the key into the lock.

It opens with a quiet click that makes your mouth water instinctively. You hear the fridge open then close, then a drawer, then he emerges again with a white tupperware in his hands.

Fuck. You can already smell it. The minute or so it takes for him to lock up and put everything back into place nearly has you jumping out of your seat.

“We’re running a little low,” Yunho tells you as he puts the box down on the table. “I’ll go out tonight. Stock up a little.”

The lid cracks open. The smell is the first thing to hit—it’s distinct, pungent, unmistakable once you know what it is. It still makes him a little queasy even now. You’re all but heart-eyed like he’s just offered you a gourmet dinner.

“Eat up,” he says. “Before it goes bad.”

You eat with your hands—despite his best efforts, you were never able to get the hang of cutlery, and you barely understood the logic of using it no matter how many times he explained it to you. It was just one of those times where he had to pick his battles, he’d realised; you eat well anyway, never leaving a drop, and that’s what matters.

“How is it?” He asks.

“Good,” you answer. “What is it?”

“Thigh.”

You nod, approving, and he bites back a laugh. “Good girl,” he murmurs, mostly to himself. You’re far too engrossed to hear it; if you do, you don’t reply.

You’re a woman of few words—that’s something he understood about you very early on. He doubts you used them at all before meeting him; when would you have? You were all alone out there, wherever you were; in the very few stories you have told him of your early life, you never once mentioned another person.

He supposes it makes sense; tracks with the complete waste of time it had been trying to find any record of you at all.

To the rest of the world, it seems, you just… don’t exist.

He intends to keep it that way.

“Done,” you announce. You push the box back to him, then push each of your fingers into your mouth, one by one, until they’re licked clean. There’s still some blood around your mouth and trailing down your chin; he sighs, lamenting silently to himself, knowing what he’s going to have to do.

“You’re dirty, sweetheart,” he says quietly. “You’re going to need a wash.”

Your head snaps up, eyes suddenly sharp, your lips set in a firm line. “No,” you growl. “No wash, Yunho.”

He tries to keep his voice level, but the defiance in your voice, in your eyes, has his hand twitching by his side. “You have to, baby, you’re filthy. I don’t like filthy girls, do I?”

It’s true—if it weren’t such an issue it’d almost be funny that someone like him, used to keeping things clean and tidy and very much set in his ways, would be so irrevocably bonded with someone who scarcely even understands why it’s necessary to wash in the first place.

He doesn’t blame you, of course; with the life you’ve had he knows he can’t expect any different. But it does cause problems sometimes.

“Baby,” he repeats. “Do I like filthy girls?”

You shake your head, deflating a little. One way he’s found to make you understand why it’s necessary to do or not do certain things is to frame them around him—Yunho doesn’t like that. Yunho likes this. You have to do it this way, because it makes Yunho happy.

Whatever works, he supposes, and he can’t deny he enjoys the way you’re almost religiously in need of his praise and approval. It’s a level of power he doesn’t quite know what to do with; he certainly wants to maintain it, though.

Other people would just abuse it, anyway.

“Let’s go wash up,” he says. “Then you’ll be nice and clean and I’ll be happy.”

“And reward?” You ask, hope evident in your voice.

He bites back a grin that’s a little more predatory than he can admit of himself. “Yeah, love,” he says. “Then reward.”

It’s as much as a reward for him—more, probably, if you were to ask anyone but you. But you’re not going to ask anyone else, so it doesn’t really matter.

He sets the bath running—it’s easier than trying to put you in the shower, he’s found—at the temperature you seem to hate the least. Not too warm, but not too cold. He doesn’t set it cold unless you’re being really, really bad. You stand hovering behind him while he prepares it; when he’s awake you tend to follow him around the house, not really certain what else to do with yourself. Even facing away from you, he feels the way you tense up when he sets the water running; you relax a little when you see him set it warm, though not entirely, and he bites down a laugh.

“Relax, bunny,” he murmurs. “You’ve been good. S’gonna be just how you like it.”

“Don’t like any of it,” you grumble. He rolls his eyes.

“Okay,” he says, turning off the taps. “In we get. Let’s get you nice and clean, wash this filth off you.”

You don’t fight him when he lifts you up and puts you into the tub; you only do it very occasionally these days, when you’re particularly agitated or bratty, but for the most part he’s weeded that particular instinct out of you. You know, now, not to fight Yunho; not while he’s the one who protects you from the world. Especially not while he can hit that hard.

You stay still, docile, silent as he cleans you up. He rewards you with your favourite fluffy towel, warmed on the radiator, wrapped around you once he dries you off. “All done,” he says. “I’ll get you a clean shirt.”

He slips another old, loose shirt over your head; it falls to your mid-thigh, and the fabric is soft and worn, the colour starting to fade. Then he puts you on your knees by the foot of the bed; grips your jaw between his fingers and yanks it upwards to meet his eyes. “I’m gonna give you your reward,” he says. “Tell me the rule.”

“No teeth,” you recite it, as you always do. “No biting. Only tongue.”

“And if you break that rule, what’ll happen?”

“Belt.”

He hums. He doesn’t particularly enjoy beating you; you don’t put up a fight, at least, not anymore, but your pained whimpers do very little for him. It’s purely a disciplinary measure, one of the few ways to keep you in line that actually deters you. He doesn’t do it often—usually you’re just over his knee and he’s using his hand, or a small brush sometimes—only when it’s something serious. And given your predilection for meat, he definitely views keeping your teeth off his dick as something serious.

“Open your mouth,” he orders, pulling his dick out from his sweats. It slides in easily past your lips and into the warmth. You make a face, wincing slightly, but he knows it’s not the intrusion that’s bothering you; rather the soap he forced into your mouth as he always does before he goes anywhere near it.

He knows exactly the sort of things that have been in that mouth, and it’s nothing he wants on his fingers or his lips or his heavy leaking cock.

You suckle at it eagerly, swirling your tongue around the tip in just the way he taught you; you’re whimpering slightly, the size overwhelming you, staring up at him with those wide, innocent eyes like you don’t even understand what's happening to you, a stray tear playing on your waterline.

Fuck, he shouldn’t be getting off on that. He shouldn’t fucking be doing any of this; you’re so naive, so inexperienced; you have no knowledge of the world beyond his apartment. You can barely string a sentence together; barely understand what he’s saying to you unless he dumbs it down.

You’re like a child. For all intents and purposes, you are one. The guilt and the shame sits heavy in his stomach as he pushes himself down into your throat.

“That’s it,” he groans. “You enjoy it, baby. Do I taste good?”

You make a humming noise, affirmative, tightening your lips around his shaft and he groans. “Shit.” You’re so fucking good at this when you can keep your damn teeth off of him. “Alright,” he says. “I’m gonna cum down your throat. Remember your manners and swallow it.”

It doesn’t take him long; he grabs the back of your head and pulls it towards him then starts to thrust, in and out, faster and harder until he’s fucking your throat and you’re gagging and spluttering around his shaft. Your sweet little hands are fisting at his shirt, curling the fabric around your fists like you’re holding on for dear life. He cums suddenly, quickly, directly into your throat. You probably couldn’t spit it up if you tried with how deep he is; still, though, he pats your head and praises you for swallowing it so sweetly. It’s a point of pride for him, honestly, how well he’s trained you up.

“Alright,” he says, tucking himself back into his sweats. “How you feeling?”

“Fine,” you mumble. You’re still staring up at him with those wide puppy eyes, the way that always gets him though he doubts you’re aware of that; you don’t seem to have any kind of pattern recognition, any understanding of cause and effect. He picks you up with his hands hooked under your arms and sits you down on the edge of the bed, then he crouches down to meet your eyes.

“You sleepy, baby?” He asks. You nod. “Alright, pet. You can sleep in my arms while I watch TV.”

He carries you through, your head tucked into the crook of his neck; by the time he puts you down you’re already snoring. He laughs slightly as he adjusts you so you’re cradled sideways in his lap, your face pressed tightly enough against his chest that your cheeks are squished. You look so cute when you sleep; so harmless.

Really, you look harmless all the time, unless you’re eating. But he’s hardly one to judge, he thinks, not anymore. He’s as inhuman as you are now.

He likes to get your food a few days in advance. He can’t stock up in bulk, unfortunately, because if the meat’s more than a week old it’ll make you sick, so he likes to go out every Friday for it.

It’s all procedural; clinical. He finds it, he brings it back, he cuts it and freezes and stores it. It’s as simple as that.

He gets no thrill from it; no pleasure. That fact is the sole thing that keeps him steady most days.

At just after eleven on Friday, he puts you to bed as he always does. On the nights he goes out, you sleep in your cage; it’s not a punishment, never has been, just a way to ensure you’re safe and contained while he’s gone. He’s tried to make it homely for you, with pillows and blankets and a couple of toys for you to play with; the little stuffed bear you like to pretend to pounce on and the toy car you push around and watch with wonder as the wheels spin against the floor. He’s never gone for too long, and by the time he comes back you’re almost always asleep.

Today’s kill is in two bags, as usual; they’re large, cooled, like the ones his mother would pack his picnics into when he was a child. He’s not particularly fond of cutting people up where they fall, but he knows he’d never be able to pull a body up the stairs without being caught; that’s why he tends to go for dark alleyways, empty buildings, wooded areas and the like—less people to stumble across him while he’s doing what he needs to do.

The gun is in his pocket, safety on, the silencer still wrapped around the barrel. He puts it away first, locked up in the safe, then puts the meat into the freezer and locks the door.

He’s pretty tired tonight. He’ll get the meat ready in the morning. He has to do it when he’s awake and alert and in the right frame of mind or the sight and the smell and the sound of the knife sinking into the muscle will make him retch.

You’re curled up and knocked out in the cage when he returns to the bedroom, your face tucked between your knees and your arms wrapped around your shins. He picks you up, careful not to wake you; you make a soft, quiet noise when he lifts you, somewhere between a whimper and a breath, but you don’t stir.

You sleep pressed against his chest, his face buried in your hair, breathing you in. He savours the nights like this, when you sleep together; your sleep schedule is so irregular that he rarely gets the opportunity to have you like this.

The last thing he’s conscious of is the sound of you murmuring his name against his chest, talking in your sleep.

The next few weeks pass normally enough. You eat well, as you usually do, and you listen to him when he gives you an instruction. He only has to spank you once, for making a fuss when he has to leave, and even that is just a few minutes with his bare hand, comparatively mild; he doesn’t even pull your panties down for it—just lifts up your shirt and slams his hand down until your skin is glowing red.

When he’s done, there’s a little wet patch on the crotch of your panties that he decides not to mention. He definitely notes it, though.

It’s on a Friday morning that things start to go downhill.

He wakes up to a missed call from his father—a bad start. He hardly talks to the man; hasn’t since he left for college, really. The only reason he still engages with him is that his mother is sick in the hospital and his dad is the only person who keeps him updated on it.

He presses the call button begrudgingly. The sound of his father’s voice makes him wince. “Yunho, hello.”

“Hi, dad,” Yunho says. He peers through the crack in his bedroom door, into the small expanse of hallway it reveals. He thought he’d heard you walking around when he was waking up, but when he got out of the shower you’d gone silent. He supposes you’ve fallen asleep somewhere. “What’s up?”

“Your mother is doing better,” his father says. “She’s walking again. Thought you’d like to know.”

“Oh, that’s good. Yeah. Thanks. Anything else?”

“Are you going to come to visit her?”

Yunho sighs, closing his eyes, massaging the bridge of his nose. “I told you,” he says. “I can’t right now.” He can’t leave you here—and he certainly can’t take you with him. God knows how you’d react, what you’d do; he’s not even certain you fully grasp the concept of anyone else existing but you and him.

“Why not?”

“I have a… I’m having issues with work. And I’m taking care of my friend’s kid.” A lie for several reasons. Yunho doesn’t have any friends.

“Well, bring the kid.”

“I can’t,” he says. “My friend is in the hospital, too. We need to be in the area if something happens.”

His dad doesn’t respond; just scoffs. The sound of the tone when he hangs up makes Yunho flinch, drawing his phone away from his ear. For fuck’s sake.

You’re on the couch, it turns out, only half asleep; Yunho wakes you with a hand on your shoulder and sits you up. “Come on,” he says. “Breakfast.”

“You were talking,” you say, following him through to the kitchen. “Why?”

“My dad called me,” he answers. “First time in months. I was talking to him.”

“Oh,” you nod, sitting yourself down, but there’s a measure of confusion on your face still like something’s not quite computing with you. “Are you my dad?”

You ask it so earnestly and innocently that it makes him sick. Not the question—the way his dick twitches in his pants in response to it. “What?” He shakes his head quickly, his face burning. “No. No, I’m not. Your dad is… your dad is the man that made you and helps you grow up.”

“You help me grow up.”

“Not when you were a child,” he says. “And I didn’t make you. I just look after you.”

“I don’t think I have a dad.”

“Do you have a mom?” He asks. “Like a dad, but a woman.”

You don’t reply; you just stare at him like you’re waiting for him to finish his sentence. He sighs. “A woman. You know what that means?”

“Me?” You ask uncertainly.

“That’s right,” he nods. “A woman has a hole, like you. A man has a dick, like me.”

“I didn’t have a mom,” you respond after a moment. “I had me.”

Yunho hums, processing what you’ve said; this is the most you’ve ever spoken about your life before he found you. There’s so much he wants to know about it; at the same time, though, he thinks he may be better off ignorant. He still doesn’t know what you are, really, why it is you need to eat what you eat, why other foods, other meats make you so sick and weak and grey. He can’t imagine any explanation for that that he wouldn’t regret finding out.

“Well, you have me now,” he says. “And I take care of you.”

“Dad.”

“No, not dad. Yunho.”

“Dad is a man that takes care of me,” you argue. You point at him. “Dad.”

“Not just takes care of you,” he says. “Dads don’t just take care of you, they make you as well. I didn’t make you.”

You frown, your hand falling; Yunho dares to think you look almost… crestfallen. He bites his lip. “Would you like to have had a dad, baby?”

“You,” you reply. “Have a dad that’s you.”

Oh Christ. He holds back a groan, willing himself to think of anything but his half-hard dick and the way that word sounds so soft and sweet and innocent on your tongue.

Well. Anything for his baby, right?

He tells himself over and over that that’s all it is; something to make you happy. “If you want to see me as your dad,” he says, “if you do see me as your dad. That’s okay.”

“I’d be a good…” You pause, frowning slightly. “If you’re dad, what am I?”

“A daughter, I suppose.”

“I’d be a good daughter.”

Yunho smiles. “I know you would.”

You eat quietly, not too messily; the meat he gives you this morning is mostly dried out, a few days in the freezer, so there’s no blood to drip down onto your shirt. When you’re done, you push the plate towards him with a whispered “thank you.”

He’s just about to head out when it happens. He doesn’t know why you decide to lie there, curled up on the floor in the middle of the hallway—he doesn’t even see you until it’s too late. His head is a mess, adrenaline already pumping as he readies himself for what he has to do; he’s rushing to grab his keys from one kitchen when he feels it. His shin presses up against something, something solid, and he’s falling before he can stop himself.

He hears the snap; feels the pain before he even realises what’s happened. When he looks down at his ankle, the break is obvious.

Fuck.

He groans; he tries to get up but the slightest weight on it has him stumbling back down again, hissing in pain, head spinning.

Okay. Shit. This is fine.

He’s set broken bones before; treated them. He did it all the time in college when he volunteered as a first aider. Nobody breaks bones like drunk college kids with someone to impress.

He hops over to the first aid kit, gathering what he needs, then sits down, his bad ankle resting on the chair in front of him. It doesn’t take too long to fix himself up; by the time he does you’ve woken up, wandering curiously into the kitchen; your eyes widen at the sight of him. “What happened?”

“I hurt my ankle,” he says simply. “I tripped over you. In the hall.”

“Oh.”

“How many times have I told you not to fall asleep where you’re in my way?”

You shrug slightly. You have the decency—the awareness, perhaps—to look a little uneasy.

“Well?” He prompts you.

“A few,” you say. “M’sorry.”

“You need to learn to listen,” he tells you. “I keep telling you things over and over and you don’t learn. You don’t obey.”

“Don’t be mad.”

“I’m not mad,” he says. “But I won’t be able to go out tonight.”

“What?”

“I can’t put weight on this. I don’t have anything to lean on. I can’t hunt down and kill someone in this state, let alone bring a corpse back to the apartment.”

You blink. “But I need to eat.”

“I can’t do anything for you,” he says. “I can’t get out until this heals a bit. You still have the supplies in the freezer.”

“And then?” You press. “When I finish?”

“We’ll make do,” he says. He pauses briefly, grunting, then gives a low, dry laugh. “You consider this part of your punishment, for never fucking listening to me.”

Only part of it, of course, because you absolutely have a belting in your future once he’s able to stand up again, and by the look on your face he can tell you know that. He could probably do it now, albeit awkwardly, but if he’s going to take the belt to you he’s going to do it with his full strength. Perhaps the wait will do you some good; help the lesson sink in a little deeper.

He tries to ration the food; it lasts you longer than he thought it would, but you have to eat regularly or you start to get sick; grey skin and unsteady on your feet and crying in pain like you’ve been poisoned. He’s learned from experience that, once that sets in, it doesn’t take long for your condition to deteriorate even more.

One week later, he manages to put weight on his ankle again. Not as easily as he’d like, but he manages to jog awkwardly around the apartment.

And a good thing, too, because your food has officially ran out.

He was annoyingly close to making it on time. He has everything ready by the time he’s fit enough to hunt. Just a few hours and he’ll be fully stocked up and the rationing can stop and his baby will have everything she needs again.

It very nearly works. There’s a queasy feeling in his stomach even before he sees you that tells him that it hasn’t.

You’re on the floor when he comes out into the living room. Your skin is greyed, glistening with sweat, and you’re whimpering and clutching your stomach. Fuck. He’s too late.

He curses, rushing over to you, pulling you up and into his arms.

“Baby,” he says. He tries to keep his voice low, steady, even, but panic is setting in and it feels like his stomach is twisting into a tight, tangled knot. “Sweetheart, look at me. Look at me. Stay with me.”

Your eyes are half shut, drooping; he curses under his breath, shaking you, calling your name. Soft at first. Then panicked. Then stern; that’s the one that has you responding.

“Yunho,” you whine. “F-food, please.”

“Okay,” he says. “Okay, I can go and get you some.”

“No,” you cry. You’re shaking now, smaller and frailer in his arms than he’s ever seen you, and your skin is ice cold, somehow soaked in sweat and bone dry at the same time. “Need— now. Please. Gonna— gonna…”

“Now?” He repeats.

“Please,” you whisper. “Gonna die.”

He believes you. He looks around the room, searching for something he can use; his eyes land on the kitchen countertop. On the case of knives, locked up.

The realisation sets in like sickness. He knows what he has to do.

“How much do you need?” He asks.

“Not… not that much,” you say. “Just some.”

“Stay here.” He eases you down onto the floor then pushes himself up; the case doesn’t need a key to open, just a simple latch mechanism, even that too advanced for you to crack, so it doesn’t take long to get what he needs. He comes back to kneel by your side, eyes moving between you and the knife and his leg.

Your eyes are closed now, but you’re still awake for the most part, mumbling things he doesn’t understand. You do that sometimes; did it a lot at first before he taught you how to talk. He theorised you’d had your own little language where you were before.

He pulls up his pant leg to around his knee. He goes for the calf, the same leg as his bad ankle; he’s going to take a strip out of it, he decides, down the side, so there’s not too much of him missing and he can go back out and stock up tomorrow, once you’re in the clear. He’ll have to adjust his methods slightly, perhaps, but he’ll get it done. He doesn’t really have a choice.

He inhales, a slow, shaking breath, then lifts the knife to his calf and presses down. He can’t help but squeeze his eyes shut as the blade sinks into his skin.

He bandages it carefully, with the supplies he’s cultivated over years of injuries, usually from people fighting back, that he couldn’t take to a hospital. He admits, though, that this is the worst one yet. Scratches and scrapes and bites and, once, a chain of keys stabbed into his arm, that’s one thing; this is an entire chunk out of his leg. He feels dizzy and sick and the pain makes his eyes water, every movement sore, but there was no alternative. He couldn’t just let you starve. Couldn’t let you die.

A small section of it, just a piece, forced past your cold grey lips and into your mouth, was enough to have you conscious and aware again. He carries you to the table and sets down a plate for the rest.

You’re slower to eat it than you normally are, as if you’re savouring it, savouring the taste of him on your tongue; you stare at it in what looks like wonder when he puts it down onto your plate, poking at it with your finger; pressing down on it so the blood seeps out from where it had been held by the meat.

“Yunho,” you murmur, then smile. “My Yunho.”

“How do I taste?” He asks. His voice is quiet, weak, his head still spinning a little, but you hear it nonetheless.

“Good,” you say. “Thank you. Hurt?”

“Me?” He asks. You nod. “Yeah, it does. It’ll heal, though, it’ll just leave a nasty scar I think.”

“Sorry.”

“Don’t apologise,” he says. “You needed to eat.”

You swallow the last piece with a smile; blood drips down your chin and lands on your chest, on his shirt, seeping into the fabric. He helps you take the shirt off as he always does; lowers you carefully into the tub to clean you up.

Usually, he throws the shirts into the washing machine and cleans them before they can stain.

This time, though, he throws it into the trash.

He doesn’t want to look at it anymore.

[jisungonmyballs]

I...shouldn't have liked this

[jisungonmyballs]

something shocking for you guys...

I'm an asexual virgin.

[jisungonmyballs]

well, this didn't age well.

not a virgin, but possibly still ace

[3racha-agustd]

Every morning I open Tumblr like it's the newspaper, searching for fanfiction.

[jisungonmyballs]

Posting this on both my agere blog and this one bc everyone should see but look at my custom paci!!! It's mang and it's for hobi!!

[jisungonmyballs]

Posting this on both my agere blog and this one bc everyone should see but look at my custom paci!!! It's mang and it's for hobi!!

[jisungonmyballs]

Hiii friends!! It's been a while but I promise I'm alive & well! Its been a crazy busy life recently & your girl is living it up! I'm trying to stay as active as possible but you know how it is sometimes!!

much love as always,

molly <33

[carbonfiction]

Ain't no shame

Summary: Riding frank for the first time proves a challenge, one that you thought yourself ready for. When it turns out you aren't, insecurity sparks up your spine. But its just your luck that Frank doesn't mind, infact, hes more than happy to help.. So long as you ask.

Masterlist. Words: 1.5k

Warnings?: as always 18+ MDNI, smut below the cutttt- piv sex, frank being a pleasure dom to the highest form, frank calls reader mama literally once (its hot. Sue me) plus lil mention of insecurity/ bad previous experiences.

Also spotted today i have a lil over 1,000 of you following me for my little ramblings and i am completely blown away. I have so much fun creating stuff for you all and have met some of the best people since creating this blog- long may it continue is all i can say. If you like, comment, reblog, send an ask or even just lurk here.. Thank you. <33

Now.. On with the smut ;)

"How’s that feelin hm? Good?" Frank breathes against your lips, one hand resting against your neck as the other sits anchored to your hips.

Bodies totally bare for the first time as you sit atop of him on the bed, franks back resting against the rickety headboard, cock nessled deep. Your plush thighs bracketing when you slid yourself down slowly. Breathing through the pleasure filled sting as you settled on his lap. Franks eyes filled with adoration as they meet yours, a rough groan passing his lips at the tight heat of your hole.

"Remember, you tell me if it gets too much alright?" he rasps, one hand moving from your hips to thumb over your shoulder soothingly before trailing down. Tongue wetting over his lips as he observes the join of your bodies, glossy slick shiney on your skin. "Don’t ever wanna hurt ya- or my gorgeous girl down here..

You whimper softly as his thumb brushes your clit, a gentle pressure as it prods at the split of your folds. Hips rocking forward just a fraction. "Wish you could see her right now.. all spread open n shiny for me, shit sweetheart, so fuckin tight too"

"S-so full frank.." you whisper, planting your hands against his pectorals as begin to lift up, dropping back down with a soft sigh. The feeling of him inside your walls comforting in a way you cant seem to explain, lip bitten as you watch each reaction to your movements.

With time comes more confident bounces, calculated rocks and grinds that push him deep and nuge against the spot that has you keening. But so too comes the creep of discomfort, tinged with pleasure but enough to fill your expression in a way you cant seem to hide. A wince here and a shuffle of your knees beside him there.

Franks observance doesnt miss this, as much as you pray he does. Gentle hands holding on as you shuffle again; this time not letting you continue without resistance.

"Hey.. There somethin' not feelin right pretty girl?" he murmers, head cocked slightly. His thumbs soothing little circles on your skin. Concern paints his features and you can feel the heat of shame overcome your bloodstream.

You'd begged for this, asked specifically to be on top and now? Now you feel like you cant live up to it and shit.. Shit it makes you embarrassed. Especially with the patience hes given you up until this point; those nights spent having sex with the lights off or with shirts still on, never deviating from missionary.

You'd wanted to try this; to give him- and yourself- something different.

So you do the thing you know best, you push through, because how could that earlier confidence fade so quickly? With a soft smile and unconvincing eyes you confirm, "M' okay, just getting comfortable" and gingerly resume the pace once more.

It feels good, neither of you can deny that. Franks length gliding so sloppily into you. Audible in the way it feeds those warm sparks of pleasure up your spine.

But frank really isn't a stupid man and he isnt blind neither. Theres an inconsistency within your movements, with the rise and falls you make against him. A forced tone to the sounds you let free. Its not feeling as good as it should for you, thats clear to see and for frank? For frank that is a fucking crime. Especially when it comes to his girls pleasure.

A large hand slips up your back, gentle and slow as if not wanting to spook you. Fingers offering a gentle squeeze to the base of you neck, just enough to gather your attention back to his face once again. You hadn't even noticed your gaze waver and lock to the chiseled planes of his chest.

"You got it or you need my help sweet girl?" he murmers, leaning up to press his lips to your forehead. "Know there ain’t no shame in askin, always gon' give you whatcha need."

Your throat bobs as you swallow, anxiety suddenly filling your gorgeous features. And its then your words break Franks heart. "D-dont want you to.. To be mad.. Said i could do it.."

Your lip wobbles and frank engulfs your form immediately, pressing you close to his chest. A shake of his head visible in your periphery as you rest against him. "Christ sweetheart, you listen to me" he says shifting your head up slightly to meet his gaze like your made of glass. "I am never gon be mad bout that. If s' too much then it's too much alright? Not your fault"

Frank watches you breathe in his words, brows creased just slightly when you nod. He doesn't know everything about your past, about the expectations of the few men you'd let touch you, but he can guess they were less than understanding. Enough to make you shrink in on yourself the way you have now anyway.

Your voice is soft when you speak up again, meek and still anxious. "You promise?.. Dont want you to.. To not enjoy it.."

Frank has to bite back the scoff threatening to dislodge from his throat. Him? Not enjoy it? While you're sat perfectly bare atop of him like this? Each gorgeous curve housed by plush flesh driving him wild, indents from his fingers littering your skin. Breasts covered with blooming bruises from his adoration filled attention alone.

What on earth had those clowns you'd been with before made you think?

"Course i promise babydoll. Enjoy just bein with you-" he rasps quietly, fingers tangling into your hair, large palm cupping your head as he rests you against his forehead. The usual crease that lives in his brows gone, replaced by something much softer. "-sittin on the couch watching tv or goin walkin how we do.. this is just a bonus, something extra. Now if you wanna stop sweetheart thats okay too-

"No!" you cut him off quickly, a flicker of fire back into your eyes, cunt clenching around him in your panic as you pull back. "No dont wanna stop, Please frank..dont stop"

He nods, wetting his lips with a gentle hush. "Alright, so how bout we try something else hm? Somethin that works for you" the hand in your hair drifts to your jaw, calloused thumb soothin over soft skin. "Aint gotta worry bout me, just gotta focus on you.. you tell me how you want it n I’ll get you there.. that sound good?"

It takes a second before you nod, the movement still a little sheepish as frank trails kisses over your features. Jaw, cheeks and forehead first, followed by a decent back down your nose to press against your lips, swallowing your words. "M-mhm, yeah.. But i.. I want you to.. to do it like this still.."

"Like this?" frank hums, adjusting you both until hes pressed flat, his feet down on the mattress just like his back. A large arm wraps around your shoulders, pushing gently between them as his head finds home the crook of your neck. Sheets bunching in your fists in preparation. "Sure this is what you want honey? Not too deep?"

"Want it like this." you confirm, pressing yourself down against his chest a little more, pushing him a little deeper, head turning to the side to nuzzle into his chest. "Fuck me frankie..please.."

And following your pleas, he does. His hips lift in a steady succession of thrusts, cock brushing your walls in a way that immediately feels better than before. A soft whimper filling franks ears as he repeats his thrusts over and over.

"shhhh, I know mama, I know." he pants, full balls a steady swat gainst you as you take every inch he has to give; pleasure blossoming quickly. "Doin so good like this, taking everything i got"

"Feels so.. Oh fuck frankie, s' good, gonna cum- gonna make me cum!" you sob out, blood pounding loudly through your ears, orgasm building in your belly as quick as his thrusts.

Franks hand presses harder into your back, the weight between your shoulder blades a comfort as it pushes you against him harder. "Yeah? Give it to me baby, yeah cmon, let me feel it" he groans roughly, lips against your temple.

That very plea is what sends you over the edge, orgasm bluring your vision as franks thrusts remain steady. Quick and sharp pounds as he fucks into your quivering form. Each movement making the squelch of your weeping cunt louder, a creamy ring forming around the base of Franks cock.

Its only a handful more bucks later that Frank's high crashes into him like lightning. Pulsing ropes of cum painting your insides until you feel physically full.

"Atta girl.. My beautiful fuckin girl" he pants against your skin, sweat soaked and spit stricken. "That what you wanted?"

Your head nods, lips sloppily finding his with a soft whine. hips unconsciously rocking backward, cum leaking out of your messy hole, still plugged by his sensitive cock.

[jisungonmyballs]

love love LOVE a man who cares about his lady's pleasure

[honeyroots]

minors do not interact. — FRANK CASTLE

Can’t stop thinking about having a meltdown around Frank Castle, and his only response is to calm you down by tiring you out. Frank just pulls his cock out of his pants and tells you to sit on it, knowing as soon as he’s inside of you, you’ll start to ride him for some relief. “Go on, baby, work yourself out,” he’d tell you as your walls swallow his length. Frank watches you slide up and down intently, making note of how your hiccuped sobs come to a slow stop as you shift your energy into working yourself on Frank’s cock. You almost forget about why you were having a meltdown in the first place.

Frank coos at you, wrapping a hand around the back of your neck and slides his calloused thumb over your warm skin as his mouth falls open. “That’s right, sweetheart. Doin’ so good calming yourself down. You’ve got big feelings for such a little thing, yeah?”

By the time you’ve finished around him, your orgasm is laced in his pubes and has formed a white ring around the base of his cock. You hardly remember what had you so upset in the first place. “I feel better,” you sigh, keeping Frank’s cock tucked tightly inside you, “Really tired— think I need to go to bed.”

“Yeah,” Frank rubs your back softly, his fingers lingering just under the hem of your shirt. “Yeah, baby, I think you were due for some rest about an hour ago.”

[jisungonmyballs]

UGHHH I NEED IT

[beemumu]

Sukuna is in deep thought when he stares at your new nail colour.

Your hands are presented to him delightfully, eagerly waiting for his comment.

He’s silent for a moment before a deep frown is etched into his face. His jaw tightens at the sight, before one of his four limbs untangles from his position and grabs them, a finger unconsciously trying to chip the new paint.

“Soooo? How does it look?” You question, eyes peeking at the way his frown deepens even further at your chirping.

“..It’s purple.” He comments lowly, as if resenting the colour.

“Mhm! periwinkle purple specifically. I wanted to try a new colour since—”

“Wipe them off.” He growls, utterly displeased with the sight of such filth upon your nail beds, “Go back to the salon and repaint them pink.”

“I can’t just go back and—”

He interjects with a devastatingly irritated glare, “You can and you will.” And with that, he hoists you over his shoulder and storms back to the salon you just came from, slapping your ass when your wiggling adds onto his annoyance. The sight of the pinkless nails has offended him to the fullest extent, because- how dare you? that was the many ways of his subtle claim over you and you just discard it as if it was a mere thought.

Pink was his colour, after all.

[jisungonmyballs]

Waittt this is actually so cute wtf

[carebearbussy]

ᥫ᭡ thinking about heian era! sukuna destroying your swollen pussy while uraume talks you through it.

you were being absolutely manhandled at the mercy of sukuna, who was currently indulging himself in the sharp thrusts of his hips ramming up into your cervix. all that was audible in the large bedroom were your whimpers and pleas for him to slow down, and at this point, you could not keep up with your king, so he had to call in reinforcements.

with a loud yell, he calls for uraume to come to his quarters, and assuming it is for the usual of helping you take sukuna, they come prepared. holding a tray, consisting of a glass of water, a fresh robe, and a warm towelette for your forehead. sukunas harsh movements on your body can be seen from outside the shoji doors of your large bedroom, the noisy sounds of your pleasure coming closer with every step.

uraume opens the door, unfazed by the way sukuna was completely crumbling your exterior as well as interior walls. your body shook as each thrust made the bed rock. sukuna would revert his attention to uraume with his bottom set of eyes. "make sure shes doing okay. i dont need her passing out on me now." he said, his eyebrows furrowing as you grip onto him tightly. "at once, my lord."

walking over to the opposite side of the bed, uraume feels the vibrations of the bed creaking with each step on the floor. they place the trey on the nearby nightstand, as they sat up on the bed, propping their legs below their knees, seating in a criss cross position, your head resting on their lap. your head bobbed as sukuna forcibly moved you in and out on his cock. "hold her head still- shit-" he groaned, as uraume held your head still, each of their hands on either side of your head.

you whimpered as you felt him rearrange your insides, your eyes rolling upwards to look uraume in the eyes, barely holding eye contact due to the pleasure bubbling up inside you. you felt sukunas cock hit your sweet spot repeatedly, making your forehead bead with sweat, your mouth agape, at a loss for words at the fulfillment sukuna is handing you. but you manage to mutter a small, "please... need towel..." you say in a short whimper, shaking your hand in the direction of the trey. uraume grabs the moist towelette from the nightstand, placing it on your forehead.

you reach out to grab uraumes hand, squeezing onto it for dear life, shaking it as uraumes thumb brushes over it .you look down at sukuna, who is amused by your reactions, whereas uraume is not the least bit worried. "hmph. looks as if she's enjoying the attention, huh uraume?" he says, an evident smirk crossing his face. uraume reaches down with their free hand to brush the hair sticking to your sweaty forehead off of your face.

"yes, my lord, she does seem like she enjoys it." they say, focused on the way your nose scrunches, and the way your eyelashes flutter with embarrassment, the same feeling etching across your face. you move your free hand up to try to muffle the sounds you are making, making sukuna unhappy. he grabs your wrist with his upper left hand, the control over it leaving your body. "m'close, 'kuna- please"

"hold it, im about to- fuckkkkk-" he groans as he fills your cunt to the brim with his seed. the warm feeling of his cum inside you pushes you over the edge, making you see stars as your orgasm hits you like a truck. you practically lose vision at the pleasure you are given. sukuna pulls out of you, making you whimper.

"uraume, get her cleaned up, and run her one of her 'bubble baths'. 'dont need to carry a limping brat the next day."

[jisungonmyballs]

ooo...OOOOO YESSIRRR

[mononijikayu]

landslide — heian sukuna.

“You stayed the night here, my lord?” you asked softly, eyes still closed, recovering from the cough. He paused. “Must you know?” “.....I would like to know.” “Yes.” he answered, because lying would have required more effort than he was willing to spend. Then, sharper, as if to correct the truth before it settled in that moment. “Do not mistake proximity for concern.”  The words sounded hollow even to him. “You are useful alive, little one.” You hummed, already drifting again, mouth curling in the ghost of a smile. “Whatever you say, my lord.”

GENRE: alternate universe - heian era;

WARNING/S: nsfw, angst, one sided romance, conflicted feelings, hurt/no comfort, unhappy marriage, hurt, physical touch, character death, mourning, loneliness, pain, grief, unhappy ending, depiction of one-sided relationship, depiction of grief, depiction of complicated relationship, depiction of illness, depiction of canon related violence, depiction of loneliness, mention of grief, mention of illness, mention of loneliness, heian! sukuna, long suffering concubine! reader;

WORD COUNT: 6k words

NOTE: this is short because i decided to write it suddenly, after thinking about it after work while staring at the sunset. anyway, just tell me what you think. and no, this is not the end of the series. this is just.....my thoughts~ enjoy this!!! i love you, see you later <3

tag: @nanamin-chan, @areyna, @kunasthiast, @sukioyakio, @midnight-138, @ane5e, @princesa-querida, @v3nd3ttal3on, @caramelluxe, @gokurakawaii;

main masterlist

the other woman masterlist

if you want to, tip! <3

kayu's playlist — side 4000;

IT WAS ALMOST LIKE A LANDSLIDE. He hadn’t expected it. He never thought he would have to expect it. Yet here it was, right before him and still, he could not find it in himself to accept that this moment had come. But you were human and he was not. It was a choice you had made, it was a choice you had been vigilant about. 

It was the only thing that truly remained yours.

You had given everything to Ryomen Sukuna.

All your life, your strength, your support, your everything.

Four, five decades of your short life since you were young.

Your humanity was all you could ever ask for from him.

Ryomen Sukuna could not break you. Not in the way that he had done with others.  He could not find it in himself to do it. Yet with your choice of your humanity, he had thought time was a thing you could bully into obedience and break you. 

In his illustrious court, everything bowed eventually. They always have. The priests, curses, emperors, even those who claimed themselves gods have bowed, especially so when they learned the shape of his name.

When he took you into his keeping, as his concubine, he did not do it gently. He never pretended otherwise, like with everything and many things. You were dragged from the edges of a world that would have chewed you to the bone and left you there, and he had wrapped his claim around you like a brand. 

You were bruised by his presence long before he ever touched you, by being his other woman, by the weight of his attention, by the knowledge that the most dangerous thing in existence had decided you were worth stopping for. 

He knew he had not been easy on you. He had never asked if you wanted this. Wanting has never been part of the equation. You were his because he wanted you. Because the world had placed something fragile in his path and dared him to care.

The King of Curses answered that dare the only way he knew how, the way he had lived in these many lifetimes and that was with violence dressed up as protection. He refused to let anything touch you that he did not allow. 

Illness, hunger, grief, men, gods. He had learned how to cut them all away with the same ruthless precision. He told himself it was ownership. Control. That you were safer reduced to something only he could reach.

He was the only one who could do anything for you. You were his concubine. You were his. Nothing could come and take you from him. Nothing. He would not let it. He has defied fate before, and he would do it again.

He clung to that thought with the ferocity of a child clutching a toy, knuckles white, screaming at the world not to look, not to want, not to reach. In these many years, he has come to recognize it for what it was: a tantrum thrown on a cosmic scale. Petulant. Ugly. Desperate.

And he did not stop himself.

So he pushed everything away. Challenged everything that tried to assert itself over you. Fate. Mortality. The quiet, patient cruelty of passing years. And when time dared to reach for you, as it does all living things, he found himself baring his sharp teeth at it and struck first.

He remembers the night clearly.

You had been burning up, breath shallow, skin damp beneath his hand. Too sick. Sick enough that servants whispered and priests prayed and no one would meet his eyes. None of the healers, the servants, anyone who could do anything could help.

When he saw you first, you were already half gone. Your breath had thinned to something uncertain, chest barely rising beneath the blankets. Your skin was too warm, even to his touch. Lips parted as if you were about to speak and had forgotten how. 

By the time he knelt beside you, he truly thought you had stopped breathing. For a fraction of a moment, so small it would have embarrassed him to acknowledge, it was quiet inside him. Then he felt it.

An itch of irritation, sharp and immediate, curling low in his gut. Something ugly. Something possessive. Not fear. It was not that. He did not fear loss. He refused it in its entirety. As he had always done.

“You’re inconvenient, aren't you not, little one?” he muttered, more to the world than to you, two fingers brushing the hollow of your throat. There was a pulse somewhere in that moment. It was faint, just as much stubborn. But it was more than enough.

He does not make any orders. He did not call for priests. Did not summon attendants. Did not waste breath on ritual or reverence. He does not need them. You did not need them. Not this time. All you needed stood before you, in this giant of a man. You do not need anything else.

He pressed his palm to your spine without ceremony.No chants. No symbols. Just will. A small adjustment. A slowing. It was like forcing a dying river to burst back into life, overabundant with life that it shouldn’t ever have.

It was like dragging a blade through water instead of air. He reached into the rhythm of your body. It was erratic, faltering and he had told it no, like the god he was. He told it to wait. Told it to obey him instead of the world. Even just a little more time.

“Not yet.” he said quietly, voice low and absolute. “You do not have my leave to go, little one.”

Your body shuddered once beneath his hand, then eased moments later. The frantic pitch of your pulse softened, stretched thin and long, almost like a flute’s note held just shy of breaking. He purses his lips in a tight line.

You slept through it, watching you for hours on end, feeling your warmth and your fragile humanity as you mumbled in your sleep. Your nimble fingers curl faintly against the silk as if seeking comfort, as if this were nothing more than another night. Your brow smoothed. Your breathing steadied.

Still breathing.

Still alive.

You would open your eyes again.

That is all that mattered.

He watched you for a long moment after, unmoving, not noticing the rise of the morning sun in the sky. You did not know that he had just turned his back on the natural order for you. That he had set himself against something older than curses, older than names. Something patient enough to outlast even him.

When your eyes fluttered open hours later, during the last hour of breaking the fast, with your attention unfocused and heavy, you found him still there. You take a breath before slowly sitting up. But you could not do it on your own. Ryomen Sukuna assists you.

“My lord…?” Your voice was hoarse, confused. “Did I—?”

“You slept, little one.” he said flatly. “That is all.”

Your lips curved faintly, weak but sincere. “Ah. I thought I was dying.”

“Do not be dramatic, little one.” he replied. “It would have been inconvenient. Far too much frivolities at such an important time. I would not have it.”

You laughed at his words. He lets that soft, breathless, real tone reverberate against his ear, almost like flowers blossoming in the spring. You coughed, your mouth covering your lips. Before long, you returned your head to the pillow and turned to face him.

“Then…thank you, my lord. And apologies, for the inconvenience.”

Something twisted in his chest. He ignored it. “I did nothing, little one.” he said curtly. “There isn’t much to thank me for.”

“Still, I…I need to—” Your voice faltered, thin with exhaustion, and he cut it off before it could turn into something else.

“Enough.” He shook his head, already rising to his feet. “Stay here and rest. Uraume will come with food, soft things. Easy to digest. Eat everything.”

You nodded faintly, lashes heavy. He turned to leave, steps measured, controlled. He did not make it far. Your hand lifted blindly, fingers reaching for nothing in particular until they brushed the edge of his sleeve. 

The contact was barely there. It was more of a suggestion than a grasp. Before long, your hand fell back to the bedding, strength spent. You covered your lips once more, as a cough released from your mouth.

“You stayed the night here, my lord?” you asked softly, eyes still closed, recovering from the cough.

He paused. “Must you know?”

“.....I would like to know.”

“Yes.” he answered, because lying would have required more effort than he was willing to spend. Then, sharper, as if to correct the truth before it settled in that moment. “Do not mistake proximity for concern.” 

The words sounded hollow even to him. “You are useful alive, little one.”

You hummed, already drifting again, mouth curling in the ghost of a smile. “Whatever you say, my lord.”

Your breathing evened out in a few minutes, eyes shutting once more into slumber. He stood there longer than necessary, staring at the place where your fingers had touched him. The silk of his sleeve still held a trace of your warmth, faint but undeniable.

“…Insolent.” he muttered, though there was no heat in it.

When Uraume arrived later with the food, they found him still seated beside your bed, arms folded, gaze fixed on your sleeping form as if daring the world to try again. He did not leave until your breathing deepened into something unmistakably steady.

The idea of longevity made possession easier. A concubine that did not rot or weaken or break apart too quickly was simply…practical. He would not have to replace you. Would not have to bother with grief or memory or the irritation of absence.

Nothing more.

At least that’s what he tells himself.

But immortality makes lies impossible.

He had done the same to the children, at least at first. To Chiharu. To Chizuru. His instinct had been immediate and vicious in its certainty. They were born of him. Of his blood, his power, his legacy. The world had no right to touch them either. Time least of all. 

He had reached for them with the same hand he had used on you, already prepared to bend their small, fragile rhythms into something slower, harder to break. He had done it many times.

Over and over again, preserving in time a boy of eleven in the body of a boy of five, the body of a woman of twenty-five, in the body of an eighteen year old. In some way, he had thought that you had stopped him.

It was that spring, just after your nth birthday celebrations. You both sat under the tree, just across from your Phoenix Gardens. You drank your tea and started to speak that nonsense, that effect of humanity he had long abandoned.

You had told him you wanted them to grow old at length. To scrape their knees and lose their teeth and wake up sore and laughing. To experience their humanity in its fullest, unsoftened by curses, unpaused by his arrogance. You had said it mattered, that a life only meant something if it moved forward on its own.

He had not understood then.

For a long time, he pondered it in silence. Why he had relented to you, of all things, when it came to the heirs of his body. He had defied gods, butchered clans, rewritten fate itself without blinking. And yet, when you stood before him with a child on each hip, eyes fierce and shining, he had stopped.

It unsettled him.

But when he saw you hold them, really hold them, something lodged itself where instinct alone had once ruled. Chizuru tucked against your chest, breath warm and even. Chiharu clinging to your sleeve, laughing, laughing in a way that was so utterly human it bordered on sacrilege. Their joy was unguarded, fragile, temporary.

And no curse, no matter how powerful, could replicate it.

So he let them live.

He let scraped knees heal on their own. Let fevers run their course. Let years stack atop years without interference. He watched their hair darken, then lighten, watched their faces change in subtle ways that made something ache behind his ribs. He told himself it was curiosity. Observation.

He has always been good at lying.

Grief came anyway, no matter what happened.

As it always does, patient and merciless.

When he lost Chizuru, it was sudden. Cruel. The kind of loss that does not announce itself until it has already taken everything. One day his young son was there, with his beaming eyes bright like the sun, so sweet and tender, so eager and so stubborn, so much like you it made his teeth grind.

And the next, there was only stillness where a future should have been. There was a corpse, there was the cold. There was nothing left of the boy he had so deeply become attached to. There were no more of your smiles on his lips. Never again.

You broke.

Not quietly. Not neatly. Madness took you in uneven pieces, grief tearing through you in fits and screams and silence so deep it frightened even him. You clawed at the world like it had personally betrayed you, like it had stolen something it had no right to claim. 

He watched, helpless in a way he despised, unable to fix this without unraveling everything you had fought him for. He did not slow your grief. He did not touch your mind. He let you suffer, because to erase it would have been another theft.

When you sent Chiharu away, it nearly destroyed him. She was still alive. Still breathing. Still his blood, his flesh, his legacy. And you told her to go, you had urged her to leave, to find her purpose.

To live somewhere far from curses and blood and the shadow of his name, to live for herself, for her wants, for her safety. You told her to find a life that would not end with gods hunting her for what she carried in her veins.

Ryomen Sukuna had been privy to the whole of the conversation. He had wanted to visit the two of you, to see the flowers bloom in the gardens for this spring. But he had stopped when he had heard all of it. 

He did not argue.

Much of that conversation had made his life flash before his eyes. At that moment, the old centuries past had come back. It reminded him of the boy he had once been, wandering the streets abandoned, too dangerous to keep, too powerful to love. 

A child left to rot in the spaces no one wanted to look at too closely. He had survived by becoming something the world feared, because fear, at least, was a kind of acknowledgment. It had brought Hiromi back, and how she too had walked away, left him to live a life without her, without years of what could have been, of what had been back.

Watching Ryomen Chiharu walk away, back straight, eyes wet but resolute, watching her bow to him and thank him for teaching her to survive, for letting him live, The King of Curses had realized something bitter and irrevocable.

You had given your children what he had never been allowed to have. A choice. And in doing so, you had taught him that some losses are not failures of strength, but the price of letting something be human.

It does not make the grief easier.

It only makes it honest.

And he hated it.

Because he had to face it.

You too would leave him one day.

You were not meant to last this long, and yet you did. Time crept over you anyway, slowed but never stopped, like ivy finding cracks in stone. Laugh lines appeared first. Those traitorous things that formed not from pain but from joy. 

Your hands changed next, skin thinning, veins more visible beneath the surface. So slowly that anyone else might have missed it. But he did not. He notices everything that belongs to him. He always has. And you knew that he did.

It was not working anymore.

He cannot keep letting you age slowly.

Time has caught on.

The way your fingers ache when winter settles too deeply. The way you linger near the fire longer than you used to, palms held out, eyes half-lidded in contentment. The way your voice softened over the years, less sharp with fear, more rounded with certainty. 

You learned how to exist beside him without flinching, and that, more than anything, carved something dangerous into his chest. Still, you smiled at him the same way, when you greeted him as he took his steps to the Vermillion Hall, from the nearby Repentance Hall

Still, you reached for him without hesitation, your weary, yet so tender, hand finding his sleeve, his wrist, his face. Still so willing to face him unafraid, familiar. Still, you enjoyed making his clothes, writing to Chiharu in your free time. Still you have lived. Fully. Loudly. As if you had not been borrowed time stitched together by a curse’s arrogance.

He did not expect that to be the problem.

He thought watching you fade would make him crueler, colder, detached. He thought it would be easy to treat your aging like another flaw, another inevitability to sneer at. Instead, each year you survived made the thought of the end sharper.Because now, when he looks at you, he does not see something fragile the world dared him to care for.

He sees something he chose to keep.

And in doing so, taught himself how to lose.

He does not know how he will bear it.

You hadn’t taught him how.

But perhaps, that’s not something anyone can teach.

Not even by the people you hold dear.

Today, you were sitting by the veranda of the Phoenix Gardens, the beaming sunlight spilling over you in that irritatingly peaceful way humans make look effortless. You were laughing, genuinely laughing at nothing important. 

Some trivial memories you had remembered in the middle of pouring his tea. You had mumbled in between fits of laughter about some small joke, something that some servant had said and pointed out to you. Yet he could not focus. 

He wasn’t listening to the words. 

He was watching your hair.

It had made him freeze entirely.

White.

Not much. Just a thread at first, glinting when you tilted your head. Then another, and another, woven into the darker strands like frost daring the earth to deny winter. He had been staring too long at it all.

You blinked, following his scarlet gaze, nimble, calloused fingers absently combing through your hair until you felt it. It was coarser, lighter, even. Your expression shifted, surprise softening into something gentler, quieter.

Understanding settled in your eyes without panic. You lifted a hand and plucked one free, holding it up between your fingers with exaggerated dismay, lips curling in a smile that was more fond than distressed.

“Look, my lord.” you said lightly, laughter threading your voice. “It’s starting. The snow is on my head.”

Starting. The word echoed, loud in the hollow place behind his ribs.  He does not respond at first. For once, the King of Curses is stunned into stillness. His eyes gaze locked on the single white strand as if it has personally offended him. 

One of his hands curls slowly, knuckles tightening, the instinct to reach out and do something about it. To fix, to stop, to overwrite, it was almost too much of an instinct he could not let go. It was too much, burning hot beneath his skin.

“Remove it.” he says finally, too sharp. A command. An old reflex. “I can—”

You shake your head, the motion gentle but decisive. “No.”

It is not defiance. It is not fear. It is familiar.

“No?” he repeats, incredulous. “Little one, it is a pressing matter that…”

“My lord, it will be such a pain to do so.” You tuck the strand into your sleeve like a keepsake. “If you do as you will now, you’ll command to remove all the rest that will come after. And then we’ll be having this same conversation again in the coming years.”

His jaw clenches. “That is preferable.”

“To you, perhaps, my lord.” you say, meeting his eyes. “But not to me.”

He studies your face, searching for cracks. For terror, regret, the plea he expects and is prepared to deny himself. He finds none. Only warmth. Only acceptance. It unsettles him more than any scream.

“You are amused, aren’t you, little one?” he says flatly.

You laugh. “A little, my lord. I used to wonder if I’d ever see this. When I was younger, I thought growing old would mean becoming small.” Your fingers brush your temple. “But I don’t feel small. I feel…full.”

“Full things spill, as one always does.” he mutters.

“Only if they’re held too tightly.”

Silence stretches between you, heavy and uncharacteristic. The world hums on, unaware that something sacred has just been acknowledged. You pick up your cup of tea once more, and hum as you let the fragrance hit your senses.

“You do not fear the end.” he says at last. It is not a question.

You step closer, close enough that he can feel your warmth, your pulse, which is now slower than it once was, but steady, stubborn, real. You rest your forehead against his chest, right where you know his heartbeat rumbles like distant thunder.

“I fear leaving you alone with it, my lord.” you say softly.

Something dark flickers across his face, old and sharp and well-worn. “I have always been alone.”

You lift your head. Your thumb brushes beneath his eye, unafraid, familiar in a way no one else has ever been. “Not like this.” you murmur. “Not after having lived a life.”

If you had said something like that to him centuries ago, when his affections were rough-edged, possessive, untempered by time, perhaps it would have enraged him. He would have taken it as an accusation. As a weakness. As arrogance from something he could crush.

Now, all it does is hollow him out.

Sadness settles in his chest, vast and unfamiliar, the kind that does not burn hot enough to destroy but lingers, heavy and cold. He has known rage, cruelty, and hunger. This…this quiet ache he feels is newer. Older, somehow.

“You speak as though it is already finished.” he says, voice low.

You huff a small laugh. “It isn’t. Not yet. But it will be. That’s the point.”

His eyes narrow. “I could extend it further.”

“I know.”

“Centuries more.”

“And then what?” you ask gently. “Would I still laugh the same? Would I still be…me? Or would I become something that exists only because you refuse to let go?”

His silence is answer enough.

One of his hands rises at last, stopping just shy of your hair. You feel the heat of it there, the power coiled beneath his skin, waiting for permission that does not come. He does not touch. He does not curse. 

For once, he allows himself to simply look at you and really see what he had been trying to ignore all this time. He looks at you not as something to be protected or preserved, but as something that has lived. Someone he has lived a life with, a long yet so short life he had found contentment in.

“Starting.” he repeats quietly, the word stripped of its earlier force.

You smile up at him. “All beautiful things start somewhere.”

He exhales slowly, as though the breath costs him something. “And they end.”

“Yes, they do.” you agree. “That’s what makes them beautiful.”

His mouth twists. “That is a human lie.”

“Then let me have it, my lord.” you say, smiling at him. “After such a long, arduous and tiring journey to this time, I feel as though I’ve earned at least one.”

He could not handle the way you were smiling at him. Yet he does not speak. He lets you reach for his hand, guiding it. He had thought it would be upon your head soon enough. But you do not do that, instead, you lead his hand palm to your cheek.

He hesitates, then allows it, palm cupping your face with a reverence that would have been unthinkable once. You smiled even more, leaning against it as you found yourself content in the tranquility, in the warmth, you had fought so hard for to have.

“You changed me far too much.” he says quietly, almost accusing. “How insolent you are, little one.”

You smile, eyes soft, a warmth there that does not flinch from the edge still threaded through his voice. “You had let me do so, my lord. You had decided to change yourself.”

Silence follows. Not the brittle kind that demands to be broken, but a living one. Cicadas sing. The world turns. Time, ever so patient, ever so infuriating, continues forward. It continues on and on, no matter what he does.

And for the first time, Ryomen Sukuna does not bare his claws at it. Instead, he lets the peace of this spring remain a little while longer. He wants to cherish it now, as he should have done with all those other springs with you.

So, he remains there with you, quiet as his gaze lingers in a way it never has before. He takes you in without the hunger to claim or correct. The warmth of your body. The familiar lines time has drawn with care. The silver threading through your hair, no longer an insult, but a testament.

Proof that you lived.

Proof that he had not been alone.

Proof he had someone.

No matter how often he insisted otherwise.

He had someone. 

He had you.

The realization settles heavily in his chest, slow and devastating. He hates how easily you can say these things. Hates that you mean them. Hates most of all that he believes you. That there will come a day when your eyes will no longer hold his reflection, and the world will not bother to remember him kindly.

Before you can speak again, he moves. He closes the distance in one decisive move, his strong arms wrapping around you with certainty. You gasped, feeling the strong force wrap itself around you, unyielding, so strident. Yet so careful. 

He pulls you into him as though anchoring himself, as though if he lets go for even a moment, something irretrievable will slip through his fingers.You inhale softly, surprised, then relax into him, cheek pressed against his chest. 

His heartbeat is steady, powerful. And beneath it, something quieter. Something raw. Something that you had not known existed truly in the essence of it all all those years ago. You surrender to the moment, smiling still.

“My lord.” you murmur.

“Stay.” he says, low and unguarded, forehead resting against your hair. It is not a command. It is a plea he does not dress up as anything else. “Stay with me.”

Your arms slide around him, returning the embrace without hesitation. “You’re being honest now, my lord.”

His breath stutters once.

He does not deny it.

He could not.

Not after all that life lived.

One of his hands cradles the back of your head, thumb brushing through your hair with aching care, lingering over the silver strands. “I have always been honest, little one.” he says, but the words lack their usual arrogance. “I simply did not know how to speak like this.”

You tilt your head slightly, voice gentle. “And now?”

“Now…..” he exhales, finding his gaze on your own orbs. “I do not…..I do not know how to say it all. All the things that mattered.”

“It has always mattered.” Your fingers curl into his robes. You looked up, meeting his scarlet gaze. “That is all you have to say to me, my lord.”

He presses his cheek against the crown of your head, eyes closing for a brief, unguarded moment. “I have destroyed worlds without regret, little one.” he admits softly. “But the thought of you ending where I do not follow—where I cannot find you and Chizuru, Chiharu…” He trails off, grip tightening just enough to betray him. “It is unbearable.”

You smile against him, warmth blooming between you. “Then don’t think of the end, my lord.” you whisper. “Think of this. Of how we are now.”

His arms tighten fully around you, protective and tender all at once. “I will remember this, little one.” he says. “When the world grows quiet again.”

You lean into him, heart steady beneath your ear. “Then you won’t be alone, my lord.”

“After all….I would still be here.”

“Is that so?”

You nodded at him. “Yes….I will not leave you.”

For a long while, he simply holds you. His body which long ago would not have done so, finally leading the embrace, grounding himself in your warmth, allowing himself this fragile, human mercy, the mercy he had long locked away.

And in that stillness, Ryomen Sukuna understands something he never thought he would allow himself to learn. Time did not defeat him. What you had taught him how to stay, what you had enjoyed with him, what life had been lived, will never go away.

epilogue

The funerary mausoleum in the temple is quiet in the way only places built for grief ever are. Stone and lacquer piling through the cold winter weather. The blowing essence of fine burning incense clinging to the air like memory.

Your name is carved deep into the wall, carefully etched in a deliberate manner, as if depth alone could keep it from fading. Your face stares at him in cold stone, as much as Chizuru's own small figure, sitting beside you. Nothing was warm about it. Nothing like spring.  

Ryomen Chizuru's internment coffin rests beside yours, smaller, restrained. Like the boy he had always found himself to always be. Ryomen Sukuna had not trusted himself to make it grander.

He was always going to be a boy. To make something much for a short life, it would make him think about the life he had never got to live. And perhaps it ws the best he never delve into it.

The King of Curses sits between the two funerary coffins, broad back straight, unmoving, as though still on watch, focused on the flickering incense, the moth brushing against the flame, the cold winter air seeping through in abundance.

When the doors slide open, he does not turn. 

He knew who it was.

This has been his reality for the past twenty years.

“Father.” Ryomen Chiharu says, voice worn thin by age but still sharp with intent. She was dressed in the finest of furs, the Ryomen clan marker etched all over her fine silk layers.

“You can’t keep hiding in here.”

“I am not hiding.” he replies. “This is where I belong.”

She scoffs softly and lowers herself onto the stone floor with a grunt. “You built an entire palace just to bury it. That’s hiding.”

He glances at her then. She is very old now. White hair falls thinly over her shoulders, fraying like worn silk. Her spine is bent, stooped over years of labor, of carrying weight not just on her shoulders but in her chest. 

Her hands are marked with age. The liver spots, veins like twisted cords, knuckles knotted from both time and struggle. Her body tells stories of childbirth, of battles fought quietly and publicly, of the relentless passage of decades he had never imagined she would survive. 

She walks slowly, each step measured, the fluidity of youth replaced by deliberate care. He could scarcely remember the girl she had been. She who had been the one who had run to him, fearless, impatient, sharp-tongued, vibrant as fire. 

No traces of her remain, of that girl you had held in your arms when he had brought her to you, almost a century ago. They have been traded for a lifetime, lived fully, painfully, and beautifully. A lifetime you had secured for the only person he truly had left.

And yet, those eyes, those eyes do not lie. Hiromi’s eyes, yes, sharp and piercing, but softened now, tempered with something older, wiser, deeper. They hold patience, endurance, and a warmth that is all too familiar.

It is your tenderness, though, that lingers in them, impossible to erase. The way you had looked at the world, at him, at life itself, has embedded itself there, threaded into her gaze like a melody he cannot unhear.

It is clear enough to wound him, again and again, despite the centuries. It pierces through the armor of his immortal existence, reminding him of some things. Of those moments and feelings of things he forgot once again.

Love, grief, tenderness, human fragility, these cannot be escaped. He wanted to, he truly wanted to ensure that he would lock them away, to forget about them. Yet they haunt him relentlessly, reverberating through every century he survives.

He realizes, with a quiet ache, that no matter how long he lives, no matter how much power he wields, some part of him will always be tethered to what he cannot protect, to what he cannot hold onto. It was the tenderness that once belonged to you, now living, breathing, and yet gone in the girl you had loved as your daughter.

It is both unbearable and necessary. It reminds him, cruelly, that immortality does not grant absolution. It only gives him the time to remember. And he does. Every day. Every century. Every stolen heartbeat.

“You should worry less about me, should you not?” Sukuna says, far too bluntly. “And more about yourself. You are far too old to trouble yourself with others.”

“Don’t deflect, father.” Chiharu says, shaking her head.

It is almost comical. How his daughter, long since a grandmother, scolds her accursed immortal father who once, still does, make the world tremble. Her voice wobbles with age, but the authority in it is earned, not borrowed.

“Even Uraume is worried.”

That gives him pause. “…Uraume does not worry.” Sukuna replies automatically, the words shaped by centuries of certainty. “They would say so.”

“They do. And are you truly foolish? They would not tell you that, they’re too loyal to your word.” she insists, tapping her walking stick sharply against the stone. The sound cracks through the mausoleum, brittle with her frustration. “They do so quietly. And they aren’t the only ones who feel that way. You’ve shut everyone out.”

“They know better than to intrude.” he says, shaking his head. “This is not their concern.”

Chiharu exhales, long and tired. “Or maybe.” she says, softer now. “They’re afraid you won’t come back out.”

He does not answer.

“As I am, father.” she continues, swallowing hard. “As your grandchildren have been. And their children too. They ask about you, you know. If you’re angry. If they did something wrong. If this place…swallowed you.”

That finally makes him look at her again. “They fear me, as they must.” he says flatly. “That is sensible.”

“They fear losing you, as I do.” she corrects. “There’s a difference.”

The words land heavier than any accusation. He turns his gaze back to the stone behind him, to the names carved there, to the silence that has become easier than conversation. “I am still here, aren’t I?” he says, voice low, almost stubborn.

“You are breathing.” Chiharu replies gently. “That isn’t the same thing.”

She shifts closer despite her aching joints, leaning on her cane. “You taught me that once.” she adds. “When I was young and afraid and wanted to hide from the world. You told me surviving wasn’t the same as living.”

His fingers twitch against his knee. “You stayed when mother died.” she says quietly. “At first. You stood. You spoke. You terrified everyone back into order. And then one day…you disappeared into this place.”

Her gaze drifts to your name. “We didn’t just lose mother, father. We lost you too.”

Silence stretches between them, thick with incense and memory. “…I did not leave. he says at last.

Chiharu’s voice breaks despite herself. “Then come back.”

The plea is small. Far too human for its own good. Perhaps that is what’s terrifying about it. He does not say anything, as he usually does. He lets the darkness swallow everything. Before long, the silence continues to stretch. The incense burns lower as Ryomen Chiharu finds herself disappointed once again.

“You remind me too much of her.”

“She wouldn’t want this.” Chiharu says at last, nodding toward your name.

His jaw tightens. “She never wanted many things I did, that’s how it worked.”

“And yet….” Chiharu murmurs, softly, looking longingly at your statue. The face she no longer truly remembers with all the time that has passed. “She stayed.”

That is worse. 

Ryomen Sukuna no longer remembers too.

And he has clung to the thought he still does.

Even when he knows that’s a lie.

His fingers curl slowly against his knee. “Do you know what landslides are called in the mountains to the east?” he says suddenly.

Chiharu blinks. “…No.”

“They have no single name.” Sukuna continues, voice distant. “Only descriptions. The ground holds. It holds for years, for centuries even. Rain falls. Roots rot. Stone shifts by fractions too small to see.” His gaze remains fixed on your name. “And then one day, without warning, everything gives way.”

She listens. She has learned when not to interrupt him.

“The mountain does not scream.” he says. “It does not announce its grief. It simply collapses. Villages vanish. Rivers change their course. People ask how it happened so suddenly.” His fingers press into the floor. “They are wrong. It was never sudden.”

Chiharu’s throat tightens. “You’re saying—”

“I held.” he says flatly. “For as long as I could.”

The era is changing, he does not say again, but it hums beneath his words. It was time to move forward and to let it all change. Before long, Hida will be covered up and Sukuna cannot continue to pretend nothing will ever change.

“You should not linger, Chiharu.” he adds abruptly. “The ground is no longer stable.”

Chiharu stiffens. “…..How soon?”

“Soon enough.”

She studies him, then nods. “You’re going to disappear.”

“Yes.”

“How?”

“I will turn myself into an immortal cursed object.” he answers, voice stripped of ceremony. “It is…efficient.”

“And your body?”

A beat too long. “Some of it will remain here.” he says quietly. “With them. The rest will be scattered. I have instructed Uraume and…..a friend.”

Her breath catches. “You’ve already decided.”

“There is nothing left to decide.”

She looks around the mausoleum. “And the palace above?”

“No one keeps it. Let it rot. Let the mountain reclaim it.”

Chiharu turns back to him slowly. “You loved her, didn’t you?”

The question is soft. Unarmed.

Ryomen Sukuna does not answer.

He does not know how to say it.

Even after all the time that has passed.

He opens his mouth once, then closes it. His brow furrows, expression caught somewhere between irritation and something far more helpless. He looks at the stone again, as though the answer might be carved there for him.

“I do not…” His voice falters, barely. He clears his throat. “I do not know what that word is meant to describe.”

Chiharu watches him quietly. Does not push, as she usually does. “Is that so?”

“She was there.” he says instead. “For longer than she should have been. Longer than I intended.” His hand lifts, resting flat against the stone between the two names. “When she was gone, something…slipped. And I did not notice until the ground was already moving.”

That is all he has.

Chiharu exhales slowly, eyes shining. “That’s enough.”

He looks at her sharply. “It is not.”

“It is, father.” she insists. “For someone like you.”

She rises with effort and crosses the space between them, resting her hand briefly over your name, your figure, then her brother’s figure. As if committing it fully to memory, knowing that this could be truly the last time. She purses her lips in a tight line.

“She taught you how to live on unstable ground, did she not?” Chiharu says softly. “And how to stay standing longer than anyone should.”

Sukuna closes his eyes, the cold stone beneath his hands grounding him in a quiet that has become rarer with each passing century. The mausoleum hums with memory: the faint curl of incense, the weight of your names carved into the walls, the stillness of the place you had once made a home for the dead and the living alike.

“When the collapse comes.” he says quietly, voice low and rough. “Remember that I did not abandon this place.”

Chiharu studies him, hands resting on the handle of her walking stick, leaning with age but standing in authority. “I won’t, father.” she says softly, a sigh escaping her lips, carrying decades of grief, patience, and quiet understanding. “And neither did she.”

Her gaze lingers, tender but resolute, before she bows. Perhaps not as a subject to a king, but as a daughter who has endured, who has loved and remembered, even when it was hard. Each motion carries the weight of years, the grace of someone who has survived everything life demanded of her.

Then she turns and leaves, her footsteps slow but steady, echoing faintly against the stone. The door slides closed behind her with a muted sigh, leaving Ryomen Sukuna alone between the two graves.

He remains still for a long moment, letting the silence settle around him. The mountain outside holds itself as if nothing has moved for centuries. All too patient, somewhat indifferent. At least for now.

He exhales, the sound low, measured. Slowly, reverently, he reaches forward and places his hand on the cold, smooth surface of the stone that bears your name. His fingers trace the faint relief of your figure carved there. Your posture, the tilt of your head, the quiet tenderness captured in eternity.

For a long while, he says nothing, as if speaking would shatter the fragile permanence before him. Then, almost to himself, almost as a confession, he whispers in the silence.  “At the very least…this will be something of an answer.”

[jisungonmyballs]

oh...ow

[chandora]

mdni 18+ — do not be self deprecating around chan

“fuck— just like that. say you’re sorry.”

chan’s hips have been snapping against yours for the latter half of the hour tonight. really, you shouldn’t have done what you did. it was a quick, off handed, self deprecating remark about yourself, and just like that, chan had enough.

he was already feeling on edge from the studio. and now he felt like he failed you to not reassure you enough. that’s how you got yourself here.

you can’t apologize. not because you’re being a brat or doing anything on purpose, but rather because chan has you laid prone on your stomach as his hips feverishly snap against your ass. making it quite literally impossible to reply outside of breathy moans being punched from your lungs. repeated motions that have had you crying into the pillow your face is sunken into.

“c’mon baby, you can do it… say “i’m sorry channie”… f-fuckin’ hell!”

chan’s body slowly comes down onto yours, his chest flush against your back as his arms ensnare around your shoulder. his head drops to the back of yours, his voice a low rasp of heavy breathing. his hips slow to grind against the plush of your ass, rocking and rutting into the wetness of your arousal. his panting turns into a low growl at your refusal.

“pretty girl… sweet baby, say it. say it and i’ll make you cum so good.”

meanwhile, you’re just a mess under him. head turned slightly as his bicep wraps under your chin, hands clawing at his strong arms. eyes bleary and wet with tears from how good it feels every time he quickly bottoms out and fills you so right. the sounds are obscene, salacious squelches as he drags every drop out of you. and you’ll do just the same to him if you keep fluttering around him like that.

“‘m s-sorry, cha— haah— channie! it feels so good, so good, please don’t stop!”

chan smiles to himself as he drags out a moan from his chest, laughing in a way that pinches off at the end in a high whine. his brows furrow and eyes close, slowing his movement down to fuck himself deeper.

“that wasn’t so h-hard now, was it, pretty thing…?” chan’s tongue swipes over his bottom lip to catch himself from drooling down your back. his hands pin your lower back down to the bed, forcing a nasty arch that makes you sob in equal parts relief and overstimulation.

“who’s my good girl, yeah? is that you? am i fucking my good girl stupid right now? huh? m-my beautiful good girl…”

chan’s sentences are punctuated with deep strokes, feeling his pelvis thrust and rock against you in languid motions. his words are overwhelming but that’s what he wants. you were just being so mean to the woman he loves, which is you.

“are you going to keep fighting with yourself or let me fuck you good, gorgeous?” chan heaves out, his chest pressing against your shoulder blades as he kisses into your hair. he ducks his head to lick a stripe up your spine to your neck, and chuckles a moan when he feels how squirmy and whiny you get. your moans are almost sobs from how his plush mushroom tip is kissing against that sensitive spot inside.

“sweetheart,” he drawls out, almost in a singsong voice. “you’re so… very precious… perfect girl, yeah? thank you f-for— fuck— sharing this perfect body.”

those deep strokes are reciprocated with your pussy squeezing him so tight chan swears he might be able to taste the stars. and because chan knows how to elevate your orgasm…

“sh-shit baby, breathe… breathe, just breathe, let it happen babygirl—”

a few inhales and exhales, and chan is wrapping that bicep around to grab your face. he loves that teary look in your eyes, like it feels too good to do anything but cry. your pussy is clenching on him like a vice, the sweet slapping and mixing of fluids…

he can’t help it, chan brings his lips hovering over yours, whispering, “i love you, sweetheart… cum for me.”

there’s a ringing in your ears when it happens, the churning of the knot builds so quick, you don’t even have time to think. chan’s groan bleeds into a whimper the second he feels your tight cunt shudder with shocks, milking him and causing his own release. the hiccuped sobs of moans you release have him praying the walls are thick enough to hide from neighbors. chan wants them all to himself.

he presses as deep as he can to flood you with hot cum, kissing all over your face from tears. your skin is tacky with sweat and stunning in the afterglow. chan runs his hands over your sweat slicked forehead, pushing back anything still sticking to you.

“don’t ever say that stuff again, baby… yeah…? you did such a good job, sweetheart… such a perfect and sweet girl…”

chan smacks a kiss to your temple, laying his weight down on your back. your eyes are already drooping from contentedness while he traces patterns onto your hip. his initials. little hearts. swirls that never end.

“i’m here to protect you from all of that… always.”

—

author's note: well… this is unexpected! thank you for 900 followers i love you guys so much :’) final exams are biting my ass right now

[jisungonmyballs]

A insecure subs worst nightmare LMFAO

[shadeofpeach]

4 am

Pairing: Dr. Frank Langdon x girlfriend!reader Warnings: diabetic reader (type 1), hypoglycemia, minor shaking, tremors, exhaustion. Summary: A quiet night is interrupted when a sudden hypoglycemic crash sends you stumbling into the kitchen at 4:00 AM.

A/N this happened to me last night I was so frustrated I just wanted to sleep 😩

Frank woke to the empty space beside him, his intuition sparking before his eyes even opened. He found you sitting on the kitchen floor in the glow of the open fridge, a carton of orange juice at your side and a bowl of yogurt topped with a mountain of honey in your lap.

"Hey," he murmured, his voice thick with sleep as he knelt beside you. He didn't need to see the glucose monitor to know; he could see it in the slight tremor of your hands and the way your skin looked unnervingly pale. "You’re crashing pretty hard, aren't you?"

You didn't really answer, just gave a faint nod. You looked small in his oversized sweatshirt, your hair a wild halo of tangles. Every movement seemed to happen in slow motion; you chewed like it was an exhausting chore.

Your focus was entirely on the food, your eyes heavy and glazed. When you tried to bring the spoon to your mouth, your hand shook just enough that a drop of honey landed on her sleeve. You stared at it for a long beat, looking like you might cry from the sheer effort of existing.

"I've got it," Frank said softly. He reached out, steadying your hand with his own and guiding the spoon the rest of the way. "Let’s get you some water."

He moved quietly, filling a glass and swapping it for the spoon you were still holding. You took a sluggish sip, your eyes drifting shut as you leaned your forehead against his chest. You didn't have the energy for sentences, just a frustrated sound that vibrated against him.

You were too tired for this, you just wanted to sleep.

"Just a few more bites," he encouraged, his thumb tracing soothing circles on the back of your hand. He stayed there on the floor with you, patient and unmoving, acting as the quiet strength you didn't have in that moment.

Slowly, the fog seemed to lift. The shivering stopped, and the color began to creep back into your cheeks.

You blinked, finally looking at him.

"Frank," you whispered.

"I'm here," he promised, taking the empty bowl and setting it on the counter. "You feel stable enough to move?"

"Bed," you managed to croak out, the first word you’d spoken all night.

"Yeah, bed sounds like a plan."

You gave a small smile, reaching out for him. Frank didn't hesitate; he hooked his arms under you and lifted you easily, carrying you back toward the warmth of the bedroom. You were a dead weight in his arms, your forehead resting against his shoulder as you drifted off before they even reached the door.

He tucked you in gently, pulling the duvet up to your chin and lingering a moment to press a kiss to your temple.

Frank lingered for a moment, checking your sensor one last time.

"Sleep, baby," he quieted, sliding back in beside her and pulling her close. "I'll keep watch."

⋆｡˚☤🩺✧˖°.｡⋆💉

the pitt masterlist

[jisungonmyballs]

I love stories like these, even if I'm not diabetic it makes my heart happy to see people writing for more inclusive audiences! ( I have blood sugar issues so while I'm not a diabetic, similar things have happened to me loll)

[nobratlikeme]

Dance No More

dj!hongjoong x reader

smut - mdni

10.6k (i’m a yapper)

a night out of spite after unlocking a new emotion with your current situationship

TRIGGER WARNING: situationship dj!hongjoong, meandom!hongjoong, brat!reader, brattamer!hongjoong, seonghwa is there, dirty talk, swearing, begging, pet names (baby, mine, beautiful), kissing, unprotected p in v (don’t do this), breeding kink?, m receiving oral, spanking, choking, crying, possessiveness, jealousy, submission, name calling (slut, pathetic), degradation, denial, angst, exhibitionism?? maybe?, grabbing, hair pulling, ripping clothes, gagging, praise (good girl), bad humor

let me know if i missed anything! this is my first time posting so if you hate it, lie to me. love you, bye ♡

“I feel stupid.”

“You are not stupid. That man is though..” your best friend scolded you over Facetime. It had been hours since your fyp algorithm showed you a flyer for an event your current situationship was performing at. One that he had neglected to mention in the short text he had sent canceling on your plans that night.

The two of you had often set things up and then decided at the last minute you actually didn’t want to see one another at all. There were countless times you had canceled on him just because you wanted to chill at home alone or would rather go out with your friends. The fact that he canceled wasn’t unusual. The reason being he had a gig that happened to be at the club his ex worked at was unusual.

“I know, I know, that we are just fucking around. I don’t understand why this bothers me so much.” You sighed, your lipgloss wand dropping from your fingers and onto the vanity your phone was propped against. “Like I’m angry?” you asked yourself outloud, in shock at the emotions you were feeling. “Why am I angry?” you directed your attention back to the screen with an intensity as if your best friend had made you feel this.

She tried to respond, sputtering out sounds of confusion with her hands held up in defense. “I think I have an answer but you’re not going to like it.” she mumbled, causing your fingers to grip your phone closer, insisting for her to continue.

“It sounds like, maybe-“ she danced around the words carefully, taking in every change in expression you made, “you’re just a tiny bit.” She pinched her fingers in front of the camera, her voice raising two octaves to try to soften whatever she was about to say. “Jealous?”

Your eyes widened, breath catching in your throat as a laugh slipped from you, “Jealous?”

She lifted her hand again, pinching the air in with a squint.

“I am not jealous. What would I have to be jealous of?” you fought back, shock prominent in your tone as you shook your head. Feeling as if it would rid the word from it. “Was I jealous when I found him hooking up with that one girl in the closet of Seonghwa’s house?” you stood to pace, taking a second before glancing back to the phone. Awaiting an answer.

“No.” Your best friend shook her head.

“Or when I caught him knuckles deep in the car with that waitress from the bar a month or so back?” you continued.

“How do you remember all-“

“Or that time we all heard that blonde girl through the walls of his-“

“Okay! Okay! Enough!” her voice cut you off, “I don’t need any reminders of all the things Hongjoong has traumatized us with throughout knowing him.”

“I have never been jealous, I am not jealous.” you finalized with a nod of your head, resting back into your chair with a contented sigh. “So then, stay home tonight. Who cares that he canceled plans to do a DJ set for the last and, really, only woman he’s officially dated in years?” you could hear the smirk in her tone as she leaned to cross her arms over her chest, staring into the camera lens with raised brows.

You slowly turned your head to squint at her, all satisfaction stripped as anger began to boil in your blood at the mention of his ex. “Maybe I will.”

“You won’t.”

“You don’t know that.”

“I know you.”

“Do you?”

“I do.”

Your eyes stayed narrow as she grinned at you.

Your shoulders dropped as your face fell to look into your lap, “I know you do.”

You hated to admit it, but her words did bring some clarity to the situation.

Hongjoong and you had been messing around since the moment you were introduced. Your friend group would mention him in passing, telling stories of times with him or moments where he had gotten them in ridiculous situations. You hadn’t officially met until a few months into hanging with everyone else, he was always off performing at various clubs throughout the country.

When he did come back home, it couldn’t have been at a worse time in your own personal life. You had been in a relationship, a very long one. A very long, miserable one. You were just re-finding who you were as a person. You hadn’t been single in awhile, so it was nice to be able to do whatever you wanted whenever you wanted. It was a freedom that you didn’t realize you lost or missed.

In no way, shape, or form were you looking to jump into another relationship or even look at another man.

But then, Hongjoong happened.

You had assumed that his reputation was overexaggerated. That, despite his ongoing list of talents, he was just another man at the end of the day.

You were wrong.

He had crashed into your life like a tank through a fortress. He was funny, he was talented, he was charming, he was everything that you had been informed about. You weren’t the type of person who was easily impressed, but he wasn’t the bare minimum type of impressive.

The two of you had incredible chemistry. You shared a sense of humor. Had a similar taste in music, movies, and aesthetics.

He was able to handle your attitude and shut you down tenfold. It was very rare for you to find anyone who could keep you in check (having experience with many others trying), but he did it with ease. There was a reason his friends affectionately referred to him as ‘Captain’. The world was his ship and everyone else just happened to be on it. There wasn’t a single moment in meeting him where he didn’t walk into a room and immediately take control of everything happening around.

You enjoyed that about him.

You enjoyed being able to shut off your brain when he was around because you knew that he would make sure you were okay.

It had been your idea to keep things casual, which made this whole jealousy nonsense even more frustrating. When it all began, you didn’t want to be in another relationship, you didn’t feel ready. Not that he had ever pushed to be in one, but you made it very clear at the start that if you two were going to be messing around that that’s all it would be and nothing more.

He understood and agreed.

But now there was a part of you that wondered why he agreed and why he wouldn’t want to take things further than just hooking up. Why he had never been with anyone seriously since his last ex. You hated thinking about how many women you had seen him with in the time you’ve known him. It never bothered you before, but it did now. Had he had an entire roster of people he circulated between? You and him had been consistent. Was he consistent with everyone else? All the other women you had caught him with?

“You’ve been silent for a long time, but you know what you need to do.” Your best friend interrupted your thoughts, snapping your attention back to the Facetime you honestly had forgotten about. Your heart racing at the sound of her sudden voice, “And what’s that?”

“Make him regret it.” Her lips curled into a smirk, “Text me if you need help, I love you.”

You barely responded before her face vanished and your home screen reappeared. Your best friend knew that you needed to move fast if you wanted to make it to the club on time for his DJ set. A plan you had devised on your own before you received the call from your best friend.

You answered already half ready in his favorite dress - one that had yet to see the outside of your apartment. The same one that whenever he came to pick you up and you were in it, the both of you were no longer making it to whatever plans you had for the night. But he wasn’t there to stop you tonight, you were going to wear it out and you were going to wear it to the club.

Both you and your best friend knew that your impulsivity was not something that could be rationalized with. Once you put something into motion, it was nearly impossible to stop the force that was your willpower.

Newfound conflicting feelings or not, Hongjoong would be seeing you tonight.

The car you ordered didn’t take long to arrive. The club was only twenty minutes from your apartment, which somehow made things worse. It’s not like it was out of the way, you could’ve joined him to begin with. He typically would let you come to his sets. Even if you weren’t in a partying mood, he would haul you with him to sit in the green rooms or VIP areas to wait for him to finish. He always had massive amounts of adrenaline after performing and he had informed you many times you were his favorite way to release it.

A sickening feeling began to build in the pit of your stomach. If he hadn’t planned on seeing you tonight, was he going to exert that excess energy with someone else? His ex? You pinched at the bridge of your nose. “Who cares?” you sighed, slapping the hand down onto your thigh. You caught the driver peeking at you through the rear view mirror with concern. “I don’t even care.” you affirmed directly to him as his eyes darted back to the road.

The rest of the ride was filled with your huffs, your thoughts seesawing back and forth between getting yourself worked up and then remembering it shouldn’t matter. You knew you probably looked insane to the man in the front, but you’d likely never see him again so you began to mumble to yourself.

“I don’t even like him, he’s annoying. His laugh is loud and obnoxious and his smile is stupid.” you grumbled, arms crossing over your chest as you sunk into the back seat. “He’s a fucking DJ. A DJ. I’m upset over a DJ.” your eyes once again finding the driver who was desperately trying to pull to the curb.

He cleared his throat, “I hope you have a good rest of your night.”

“I will-“ you stated triumphantly, looking down at the driver’s name on your phone screen, “Jihun. You too!” You slapped a hand against his shoulder as you slid towards the door closest to the pavement.

The chill of the night hit your heated skin immediately, a pout forming on your lips as you took in the length of the line outside. Hongjoong always had an annoying habit of drawing a crowd, but this was the first time you wouldn’t be with him to skip it. “I wonder who else has slept with him here.” You thought bitterly too yourself, hating this viciousness that now burned inside you.

As you made your way to trail down the line of the door, a voice called your name. You spun back, eyes wide as a familiar figure ran up to you.

“I was wondering where you were!” Your mutual friend, Seonghwa, wrapped you in his arms, pulling your body tightly into his chest. “Joong’s about to start, you got here just in time!” he cheered, his hand sliding to wrap around your wrist as he drug you towards the front door. “Why didn’t you just come with us?” he shook his head with a laugh.

You were thankful that your presence was welcomed by someone. It seemed Hongjoong hadn’t informed Seonghwa you purposely weren’t invited.

“If he’s about to start, why were you outside?” you laughed, trying to keep in time with his steps despite your heels. Typically Seonghwa would keep a watchful eye on his best friend while he set up, ready to be a helping hand if need be. He glanced down at you with an eye roll, “I needed to get away from her.”

Your breath caught in your throat, you knew exactly who he was talking about but you hoped you were wrong. “Oh? Who’s ‘her’?” you played dumb as the two of you made it into the building. He stopped abruptly, using his free hand to extend towards the stage. His finger pointed violently in its direction with his eyebrows raised in annoyance.

“Her.” he hissed. Your eyes locking on the woman sitting on the edge of the DJ table, her attention fully focused on the man in front of her. “That is a safety hazard.” you groaned, watching as she leaned her body towards him and covered half of his set up he was currently using.

You knew that Hongjoong hated anything that interrupted him from being his best, whether it be a faulty sound system, a mislabeled track, ..or a woman with her tits entirely too close to the equalizers.

The first two were confirmed but you were guessing on the third. And yet, he didn’t swipe her away. He didn’t push her off the stage. (Which would have been your favorite option) He didn’t do anything, just continued to bop along with his headphones as if she belonged there by his side.

Like he wanted people to see her with him so close and personal. Like it was her home.

What made it worse was how good Hongjoong had looked. His hair was styled back, sunglasses adorning his eyes. He typically wore all black for his sets, but this version of his fit was diabolical. His button up was open at the top and tucked into wide legged dress pants, A cropped leather jacket sitting over the whole thing. You always thought he looked handsome, but right now he looked effortlessly cool. And he looked that way with her beside him.

“You okay, pretty?” Seonghwa placed a hand on your shoulder, grounding you back into your own body. Your chest rising and falling at a rapid rate. You had never been the best at disguising your emotions. If you were sad, you looked sad. If you were mad, it was noticeable and right now it was very very noticeable.

You took a moment to collect yourself, to push out the idea of storming the stage and dragging the two off by their hair. Your sudden possessiveness could not be at the cost of everyone else’s good night (as much as you’d like it to be).

Turning back, you mustered your best smile to the tall man beside you. “Would you like to dance with me?” you beamed, taking a step closer to him.

His eyes widened before darting back to look at his best friend on stage, “I mean- I would- but Joong-”

You waved your hand to dismiss him, “It doesn’t matter what he thinks, besides, he seems preoccupied.”

He tsk’d down at you bringing a hand to rest at the back of your head, “You know I’d love to but I don’t think he would like that very much.” Your lips formed a pout, you knew you could trust Seonghwa with your feelings but it didn’t make saying them outloud any easier.

“We were supposed to hang out tonight but he canceled at the last minute, he didn’t even say he was performing here. I found out through Instagram.” You hastily admitted, blinking up at him through your eyelashes. His eyebrows knitted, the ends of his lips moving downwards, “He didn’t tell you?”

You shook your head slowly, feeling slightly embarrassed at the confession.

“Is that why you’re wearing that?” he ticked his head down to your outfit, his eyes lingering slightly longer than he needed to. You nodded.

He let out a deep sigh, taking his free hand and opening his palm. You smiled, slapping your hand into his as he wrapped his fingers around it and pulled you closer. His head leaned down so his lips grazed your ear, “Who am I to deny a beautiful girl?”

Seonghwa and you had a very healthy relationship. He was typically one of the only guys that was able to infiltrate girls night. He was soft and caring, he always listened to everyone’s grievances and never made you feel like a burden by relying on him. He just wanted everyone to feel safe and happy at all times. He was the best version of a friend, he was a rock and also a shoulder to cry on. He also loved getting under Hongjoong’s skin. The two did it to each other constantly, so he was the perfect person to run into tonight.

He made sure to weave you carefully through the crowd to the dance floor, pushing you gently to a spot halfway in the mess and to the side of Hongjoong’s set up. It was close enough for him to notice but not directly in his face. You worried you were too buried. That your shorter frame would be lost between bodies.

“Don’t worry, he has a habit of finding you in a crowd.” Seonghwa spoke as if he could read your mind. You turned to face him with furrowed brows. You really needed to work on your poker face. “He’s complained about it before.” he laughed, leaning close so that you could hear him over the thumping bass blasting throughout the room.

“Has he?” you asked, spinning back to face him while also leaning back into Seonghwa’s frame. His hands instantly ghosting over your sides, his fingers tracing your forearms as he began to sway. He hummed, “That’s why you’re always out of sight during his sets.” He pulled you into him but the hips with a laugh, “You’re a distraction.”

“I’m sure.” you rolled your eyes, shaking your head in disbelief as you moved against him. The two of you in sync as the music caught your attention. The song switched over to the next track, it was subtle, no one else had seemed to notice but you had heard enough sets from him to catch that he had missed a transition. The delay was only a second or two, but you had clocked it.

You looked at him, it was hard to determine exactly where he was looking with the sunglasses over his eyes. He didn’t seem to be facing your direction, but he wasn’t dancing like he typically would. Seonghwa spun you around, lifting your arms to wrap around his neck as he loomed over you. “Still think I’m lying?” he smirked, and you knew he had caught the slip up as well.

“There’s plenty of distraction on stage.” you brushed him off, linking your fingers together at the back of his neck.

Another missed beat.

Seonghwa looked down at you smugly. You moved your hand to point at him, “Do not look at me like that.”

He placed his face in the crook of your neck, his mouth directly next to your ear, “Watch this.” He wrapped his fingers around your wrist and brought it back to rest around his neck before returning his hand to your waist. Softly blowing on the sensitive skin just under your jaw, causing you to giggle. “Stop it.” you warn with a smile. From the outside it looks like he was doing more than just breathing against you.

The song skipped.

Both of you directed your attention to the stage, Hongjoong’s head dipping down as his hands moved fast to keep in time with the song. You took notice of the skin stretching against his locked jaw, his chest rising and falling in fast succession.

“Okay, we’ve played enough.” Seonghwa sighed, lifting your hand to spin you before pulling you back into his chest. “Let’s just dance.”

You laughed as he flung you around, spinning you away from him and dipping you despite whatever song was playing. The two of you just enjoyed the moment, so much that you almost forgot why you were mad in the first place.

The rest of the set went on without a flaw, the next DJ coming to swap out with Hongjoong as he took what belonged to him from the table.

“Shouldn’t you help?” you asked as the two of you made your way off the dance floor. Seonghwa hummed, moving you in front of him to lead you towards the bar, “Nah, I don’t really like him that much.”

You laughed, knowing it was a joke. The two of them were practically brothers.

You pushed yourself up onto one of the bar stools, the tall man doing the same beside you. “So,” he sighed, his elbows resting against the wood of the bar as his fingers linked together, “You want to talk about what exactly is going on in that mind of yours?”

“Nope.” you smiled, turning to face him.

He nodded, “Okay, well when you do, you know where to find me.”

He called over the bartender and ordered you both a drink. Your leg jumped anxiously, Hongjoong had cleared the stage but he was still nowhere to be found. And neither was his ex. Your brain was filled with images of all the things they two could be doing in their absence. All the things he had done to you after a show. Things he could now be doing to her at this very moment.

A large hand clamped around your knee, stilling its movement. You mumbled an apology to the man in front of you, who looked down at you with concern. He scanned your jittery frame, watching as you picked at the skin of your lips with your eyes going over the entire perimeter of the club.

“Oh my God.” he gasped, causing you to knit your brows. You looked at him as his hand covered his mouth. “Oh my God.” he repeated through his fingers, his face twisted in amusement. “You came here, looking damn near edible, after Joong canceled your plans..” he started piecing things together, “You keep bringing up his ex, you keep looking around even though the most beautiful man is currently at your side.” he counted on his fingers before pointing one over at you with a smile, “You’re jealous.”

Your eyes widened, “Not uh.”

Not your best argument.

He cackled, slapping his palm against his thigh. “Oh my God, you have no idea how funny this is.”

“It’s not funny at all, Hwa.” you whined, practically kicking your feet as you watched him giggle to himself. He steadied his breathing with a loud outburst of air, “To you, no. If you knew what I knew, it would be hilarious.”

You squinted at him, “What do you know?”

He booped the tip of your nose with his finger, “I’m not telling.”

You couldn’t help the huff that came from you, your lips frowning as you pouted like a child. Arms crossed and slumped over.

You thought about what Seonghwa could find so funny. What exactly was bringing him so much amusement. Was it that he knew Hongjoong wasn’t interested? Was it one of those times where he felt so bad for you that all he could do was laugh? He wasn’t a vindictive person, so the idea wasn’t convincing but it was all your brain could latch on.

He spun on his seat back and forth at your side with a grin, a small giggle slipping out every now and then as you held your head in your hands.

“Excuse me, miss.” a voice came from behind you. You knew it wasn’t someone trying to pick you up, and if they had seen you in your current state and wanted to.. it wasn’t someone you’d be interested in anyway.

You looked at Seonghwa before facing the man. He looked like a bouncer. “I didn’t even do anything?” you panicked up at him. You had your fair share of experiences with getting kicked out, and this was typically how it would start. Hongjoong wouldn’t have you kicked out though. Would he?

You did show up to a show he didn’t tell you about. What if you scared him?

“You’re wanted backstage.” The man spoke again, his voice deep and firm.

Seonghwa looked at you before pointing to himself, “And me?”

“No, I was told you specifically could not come backstage.” the bouncer stated, his face flat as Seonghwa looked at him in shock. “That bitch.” he hissed to himself before looking at you with a sneaky grin, “Well, have fun.”

The large buff man led you from the bar, his arm hovering around your back to block out people from the crowd. People were turning to stare, whispering to one another as you passed by. It was not helping your nerves.

As you approached the hallway towards the back you noticed the same woman that sat perched on Hongjoong’s stage. She was surrounded by friends and glaring at you with hatred oozing from her eyes. You kept your gaze on her as you passed by, not backing down from whatever issue she had going on. As you passed you heard her muttering under her breath, but before you could ask what her problem was you were gently pushed into a backroom.

You spun back, the bouncer sending you a quick forced smile before shutting the door behind him.

“What are you doing here?” you heard a very familiar, and very angry voice. You turned as slowly as possible towards it, as if by not moving quickly he would not be able to see you at all.

Hongjoong’s eyes were dark, his hair no longer styled back but sticking in every direction as if he had been frantically gripping it. He sat with his legs spread on the couch situated on the other side of the room, his elbows resting on top of his thighs. He leaned forward to tilt his head at you, urging you to respond. You pointed back to the door, “A big man brought me here.”

“Why are you at this club?” he clarified through his teeth, his jaw tight. His stare was intimidating and you didn’t know how to respond. You had come in so impulsively that you didn’t consider a backstory that wasn’t ‘I was mad at you’.

He stood to remove his jacket before throwing it onto the couch. When he faced you, he unbuttoned his sleeves, rolling them up in time with each step he took to your body. “Why are you at this club wearing that?” he asked, his tone light almost singsongy despite the stern look on his face. His eyes looked you over and stayed on your outfit, his head leaning to the side before making eye contact. “Answer me.” he firmed as he made it to you.

You looked up at him, “Why should I?”

He raised his eyebrows, his mouth opening in shocked amusement. “You’re mad at me?” he couldn’t help the smile that slid onto his face. You had seen this look many times, it was the same one he gave you whenever he deemed you were being a brat. “You come here, dressed like that, grind on my best friend during my set and you’re mad at me?” he took a step forward, causing you to take one back. You back hitting the door behind you as you kept your eyes locked on his.

“I’m surprised you even noticed, it seems like you had a night planned for yourself.” You fought back and you couldn’t stop from sounding bitter if you tried. Your eyes fell as you pouted angrily. He breathed out a laugh, “Tell me, what was I planning to do?”

The fact that he found this situation so funny was only making you angrier, like he didn’t take you seriously. “You canceled our plans, you dressed like-“ you flailed your arms at his outfit as best as you could, “that, all to impress your ex girlfriend.”

“I did?” he asked in fake shock. Your eyes involuntarily rolled before you could stop them, your patience thin. It was a habit you couldn’t help and something that he warned you about doing to him many times. His smile dropped, “Careful.”

“Or what?”

Before you could blink he had your throat in his palm, his fingers pressed into the side of it. There was no force, it was just a warning as he closed the gap between the two of you, his chest against yours. “You know-“ he started, looking up towards the ceiling, “Normally I love that smart little mouth of yours, but after seeing you dancing like a slut with my best friend?” His eyes found yours again, his pupils blown as his grip tightened just enough to make you gasp. “I’m not in the best mood, so let’s try that again.” He spoke through his teeth. He moved to be level with your face, “Why are you here?”

“Maybe I just wanted to dance like a slut with your best friend.” you responded in a broken voice, trying to be as clear as you could in his hold. He took in a sharp breath, his eyes shutting. “You canceled on me to do your little show with your little girlfriend. I had to watch her sit like a fucking trophy by your side and you have the nerve to act like you give a shit about what I was doing?” you push up on your toes to get in his face. His fingers loosened with every word, helping you gain your voice back.

His eyes opened and you felt yourself shuttered, you had made him mad before but this version of it was intimidating.

And you did not get intimidated easily.

There was a darkness behind it that you had never seen, like he was given a key to unlock a new version of himself. His tongue ran across his bottom lip as he pulled it between his teeth, “Are you fucking kidding me?”

He let out a laugh that surprised you and himself, his head shaking as he pulled away from you the tiniest bit to stare down at the floor. His shoulders shook as he silently chuckled to himself, “Are you jealous right now?”

Your mouth opened and closed, trying to think of a single argument against what he said despite being incredibly aware that you were. “Don’t flatter yourself. You forget who you’re talking to.”

“So do you.” he looked back at you with a smile. There was nothing warm or comforting about it, it was sinister and unhinged.

“You’re telling me, for months-“ he approached you again, his hands shakily moving to grip your waist. His fingers pressed in hard enough to leave bruises, “I’ve been trying to see if I could make you jealous. Hooking up with people at events we were both at. Making sure I was in places where you could catch us.” One hand moved to wrap around your throat again, not to choke you, but to keep you standing as his other hand slid to where your dress sat on your thighs. His fingers lifted the fabric, just trailing along the edge of it, “And all I had to do was ignore my ex in front of you?”

Your eyes fluttered shut as you tried to process his words as well as his touch, already feeling overwhelmed at the juxtaposition between his tone and his gentleness.

“You had so much to say a second ago, where’d that go?” he hummed mockingly, his nose trailing from your shoulder to your jaw.

You took in a shaky breath, opening your eyes to glare at him, “Fuck. You.”

He laughed, his mouth opened to bite the skin just under your jaw before pulling it between his teeth. A whine leaving your lips as he soothed it over with his tongue. “Fuck me?” he mimicked your voice, the hand holding your dress moving to cup your heat. His palm was met with slick material, causing him to groan. “Yeah, it feels like you want to.” he grinned against your skin, causing you to huff in annoyance.

Despite your anger, your body betrayed you. You were thankful for the hold on your neck or else your knees would’ve probably given out.

His finger pushed aside the fabric, tracing you lightly. The lack of force only made you more frustrated. “She’s just outside, you want her to hear how good I make you feel?” his voice was high, almost mocking, like he was talking to a child. Your mind was torn between wanting to push him away out of spite and wanting him to use you in any way he pleased. Your bottom lip jutting as a whine slipped from you in a mixture of frustration and want.

He hummed, his fingers leaving your underwear, “No, you don’t deserve that today.” He drug his hand up to your face, placing his index and middle finger against your bottom lip, “Open.”

You shook your head, not because you didn’t want to but because it was more fun to see what he’d do if you didn’t listen.

He raised his brows, “No?”

You swallowed, attempting to soothe the dryness of your throat. “You want me to stop? You’re a big girl, you know the safe word.” he opened his mouth nonchalantly sucking your juices off his fingers with a hum. You whimpered at the sight causing him to nod, “I see, you’re just being a fucking brat.”

The name made your thighs clench, your knees growing weak. It always did, especially when he said it in that condescending tone. He knew that.

“You want to be a brat, I’ll treat you like one.” he sighed as he released your throat, moving his hand to grip at your wrist. You could barely keep up with this strides to the couch, panic and excitement building in your stomach as he sat down. His hand pulled you to his side before pulling you forward to fall across his lap.

This had happened enough times (you were very rarily not testing his patience) that you knew exactly how to situate across his thighs to not hurt your ribs.

He exhaled, “Eight men looked at you while I was on stage.” His palm landed softly against the fabric across your ass, squeezing your cheek before rubbing circles over the area. “Eight men were drooling over you acting like a slut wearing my dress.” he hissed, sliding the dress up to reveal the black lace underwear beneath it. A groan involuntarily falling from his lips, he loved whenever you wore dark lingerie.

“Stand up.” he demanded, catching you off guard. He waited for a beat to see if you’d listen. Once he realized you hadn’t moved he removed his hands from you, “Now.”

You scrambled to your feet, not knowing what to do next. He stood up, facing you and his eyes raked down your body. His hands came to clutch at your neckline, “This dress is ruined now that someone else’s hands have been on it.” You didn’t even have time to react before he ripped the flimsy fabric down the center, dropping it as it pooled at your ankles.

“Hongjoong!” you yelled, looking down to what was left of your outfit. When you glared back at him, his eyes were anywhere but your face. His lip pulled between his teeth as he flopped back onto the couch. He took in your shocked expression waving you off, “I’ll buy you a new one, come here.”

His hand reached for you, pulling you to stand in between his legs. He practically growled, his hands running on either side of your body before hooking his fingers into the band of your underwear. He inhaled, and you watched his face twist into a back and forth of anger and want.

You were begging for him to do something, feeling vulnerable being the only one underdressed in the room. He mocked your pout, “Is my little brat getting impatient?”

You glared at him, not wanting to admit he was right. He leaned up to grab your chin, pulling you down to line with his face, “Good. Get on my lap.”

He did not have to ask twice, you were feeling desperate at this point. For him to keep his hands on you for more than just a second, to help take care of the growing need between your legs. Anything.

He let out a dry laugh at your eagerness but didn’t bring any more attention to it. You knew as much as you were getting antsy, he was as well. You could feel just how much this all was affecting him against your lower stomach.

“Remind me again, how many men looked at you during my set?” he breathed out, his hand massaging your upper thigh as he awaited your answer. You licked your lips, attempting to give some relief to your dry mouth and throat, “Eight.”

“Look at that! You can listen.” he faked enthusiasm. Your eyes rolled in response, catching it immediately after and being thankful that it didn’t seem like he had noticed.

You would’ve known if he had.

“Now, I’d assume you remember the rules. Right?” His hand drifted to slide up to your left cheek, fingers digging in to massage the area as your eyes shut. You nodded. “If I have to remind you of verbal confirmation one more time, you can take care of yourself tonight.” he stated firmly and you knew he had meant it. It wouldn’t have been the first time he denied you of progressing.

“Yes.”

“What are they?” he asked flatly, as if he was growing bored of the entire situation.

“Count and thank you after every one.” you shakily explained earning a hum of approval. “And if it’s too much?” he questioned, his fingers moving between your legs and faintly tracing your panties over your folds causing you to whine. “I use the safe word.” You had to stop yourself from chasing his hand because you knew that would also end the night. Especially with him in this mood.

He laughed softly, “You’re doing so good for me. Who knows, you might get a treat tonight after all.”

You whimpered, nodding without caring how desperate you looked. You needed him to hurry at this point.

Before you could respond back, his hand came down hard against your ass. Typically he would gradually grow in force, but it seemed like you had really pissed him off tonight. Your eyes shut, your body jolting as you bit down on your lip. He cleared his throat expectantly. You took a deep breath, “One. Thank you.”

He smiled, rubbing the area before lifting his hand again.

You waited, knowing that this was already going to be an issue for you to sit later if this was how he was starting off.

Another hard slap.

Tears already built at the brim of your eyes as you kept them clamped shut, “Two. Thank you.”

“Eyes open, I want to see those pretty eyes cry.” he spoke through his teeth, he sounded as frustrated as you felt. You quickly opened them without a second thought. He leaned over, using his free hand to tilt your chin towards him.

Your face was flushed, the tears that threatened to spill poured over and took your mascara along with it down the sides of your face. He smiled at you, leaning down to place his lips against your forehead, “My beautiful girl.”

The tone change caused a sob to fall from your lips, your heart skipping at the name.

You saw his eyes shift, growing darker before he released you to lean back against the couch, “It’s a shame you have to be such a problem, we could’ve had a nice night tonight if you had just shown up and behaved.”

You frowned, wanting nothing more than to get to the best part. To have him. He sighed, “But that’s why you do this, isn’t it? You make me crazy because you know you’ll get punished for it. You love to be a brat.”

Your bottom lip was caught in your teeth, he wasn’t wrong. That’s why the two of you worked so well, you liked to piss him off and he liked reminding you who was in control. The brat and the brat tamer. The only man who was able to keep you in check and the only woman who was able to get under his skin.

Without warning, his hand came down again. Hitting the same spot as before and making you see stars, the sting worse than any other time he had spanked you before. You let out a shaky breath, your voice barely above a whisper, “Three. Thank you.”

“Thank you, who?” he cooed, massaging again and soothing some of the burn. “Thank you, Captain.” you corrected yourself as your head fell forward. You could feel him twitch against your stomach, the ache between your legs only growing with the knowledge that just saying his nickname could cause such a reaction from him.

Hearing the name only fueled him, breaking whatever restraint he was barely using up until this moment before finishing off the remaining five blows. Each slap was harder than the last, which you didn’t think was physically possible. You were sobbing, your legs were shaking, and he was having the time of his life. Laughing at every tear that fell to the floor.

He gave you some time to collect yourself, sniffling and swatting at the liquid on your face as he pawed at your inflamed skin. You brought your hands back to his thigh, gripping as best you could to push yourself up. Thinking of how exactly you would be able to sit comfortably for the next few days.

He froze, his hands stilling against you, “What do you think you’re doing?”

You looked at him quizzically, unable to find your voice as his hand slid to push your chest back down. He faked a gasp, “You didn’t think you were done, did you?”

He tsk’d, shaking his head as his hand moved back to your right cheek. “No, no, no, you misunderstood. It’s eight on both sides, not eight in total.”

You looked at him with wide eyes, opening your mouth to protest before he silenced you with a glare. “After the shit you’ve pulled tonight you’re lucky I didn’t add an extra eight.” He furrowed his brows at you. You knew you couldn’t fight back on it, nor did you really want to.

His hand cupped the side of your face, he moved his thumb to wipe away your tears, “You’ve been so good, let's not start acting up now.”

You nodded, slowly and carefully repositioning yourself across his lap.

“Did you like having Seonghwa’s hands grabbing at you tonight? Having his lips on your neck?” he asked, catching you off guard before his hand smacked down against you. A yelp falling from your lips. “Answer me.” he demanded, lifting his hand again.

“No.” you responded with what you knew he wanted to hear.

“Were you trying to get a rise out of me, or did you just want to be a slut?”

His hand came down again, not having soothed the area, causing you to cry out. “I wanted to make you mad.” you answered honestly. He rewarded that with massaging fingers against your skin, humming in approval. “You just wanted my attention? Is that what it was?” His voice was light, a teasing tone behind it. The same one that always made your breath hitch and your core throb.

“Yes.”

“Well, you have it now.”

Slap.

“You’re not going to let another man touch you like you did tonight. You understand me?”

Slap.

“Yes.”

“Yes, what?”

Slap.

“Yes, Captain. Thank you.”

“I’m the only one who gets to see you like this. Who gets to make you look this pathetic.”

Slap.

“Yes, Captain. Thank you.”

“You’re mine. You understand?”

Slap.

“Yes, Captain. Thank you.”

“Remind me again, what number are we on?” he taunted, taking a break to your relief. His hand squeezing and kneeling your right cheek as you steadied your breathing. “Seven. Thank you, Captain.”

He smirked, “Good girl. Almost done then.”

His hand came down a final time, nearly knocking the air from your lungs. Your body feeling broken as you realized he was nowhere near done with you. He was just getting started.

“Eight. Thank you, Captain.” Your body deflated as you let out a breath you weren’t aware you were even holding.

“Don’t tell me I wrecked you already?” he moved his free hand to stroke the back of your hair as you hung nearly boneless across his thighs. His other hand moved from your ass to between your legs, his fingers swirling to collect the mess you had made under the black fabric. He groaned, trailing two fingers to slide against you. Your chest heaving against him at the sensation.

He removed his hand, “Get up.”

You did your best to stand on your wobbling legs, your knees nearly giving out as you pushed yourself upright. He held his two soaked fingers up, using the other hand to point at the spot on the floor in front of him.

Shakily, you crouched down until your knees dug into the synthetic fibers of the rug. You attempted to recline back to sit against your heels, your body screaming the second your ass had touched your calves.

He leaned forward, a satisfied smirk on his face as he placed his hand in front of your face. “You’re gonna’ do what you're told this time, aren’t you?” he tilted his head, his eyes scanning your face. He pressed his fingers on your bottom lip, “Open.”

You did without hesitation, allowing him to slide them against your tongue. “Clean your filth off of me.” he stated before pushing his fingers further. You closed your lips around them, sucking them as you stared up at him through your lashes. You hallowed your cheeks, your tongue wrapping around them as you sucked him further into your mouth.

He leaned forward, grabbing your neck and pulling you towards him. His fingers sliding towards the back of your throat causing you to gag. He laughed, holding you there as your eyes began to water. You let him, not daring to move despite the burning sensation.

“Good girl.” he praised, releasing his hold and removing his fingers.

He rested into the back of the couch, “I’ve done so much for you tonight and what have you done for me?”

His question was rhetorical, his hand moving to undo the belt around his waist. He unbuttoned his pants, pushing them open before looking at you expectantly.

You sat up to grab at the zipper, undoing it before hooking your fingers into the waistline of his pants and sliding them down to his ankles. He grabbed his underwear, shoving them off and kicking the clothing from his ankles. His erection slapping against his stomach, leaking and pink. You knew he was getting impatient, he wouldn’t be able to hold off much longer from giving you exactly what you wanted.

He pulled you closer, bundling your hair into his palm before holding it up and away from your face. You licked your lips, mouth nearly watering at the sight of him.

“Don’t just look at it, suck it.” he gritted.

You did not need to be told twice. You leaned down, your tongue trailing against the underside of his dick. You started at the base, licking up the length of him as he took in a deep breath through his nose. His eyes shut as his head fell back. You reached the top and opened your mouth to take him in, getting halfway down before needing to collect yourself.

The thing about Hongjoong was that his confidence wasn’t unwarranted. Any man with what he had in his pants would be arrogant beyond belief. Not only was he long, but he was thick. It always took you some time to adjust to his size.

He exhaled sharply, “Is that big mouth of yours only good for pissing me off?”

You took a breath through your nose before pushing yourself down further, taking him into the back of your throat. His mouth fell open, his hand that held your hair keeping you against him for a moment before letting you bring yourself back up. You repeated this. Your nose would touch his pelvic bone and he’d keep you still, letting out small whimpers before releasing his hold.

“You’re doing so good.” he whispered, looking down to take in your state between his legs, “So fucking good, baby.”

The pet name made you moan, your throat vibrating around him as he groaned. His hand sets a pace to thrust into your mouth, pushing your head to meet his hips.

“What? You like that?” he spoke in a broken voice between thrusts. You moaned in agreement, causing him to shutter at the sensation of your throat.

He balled your hair in his fist as he pulled you off of him completely. Saliva dripped down your chin and you looked at him with pleading eyes. He moved his hands to grab your shoulders, lifting you from the floor and pulling you to straddle his lap. His dick pressed against your dripping untouched folds.

He pushed your underwear to the side. His hands unclasping your bra and pulling it off before they found your waist, pressing into it with bruising force as he looked up at you above him. He slid you forward, his tip just grazing your clit as your jaw fell slack. “Look at me.” he sterned, halting all movements until your eyes found him.

“Tell me, do you when I call you baby?” he asked again, pushing you back painstakingly slowly before pulling you up against him. You nodded, “I do.”

He hummed, pushing you back again and pulling you forward. His tip hits your bundle of nerves every time causing you to bite down on your lip. “You’re mine, aren’t you?” he teased, smirking as he moved his lips to kiss against your chest. “Yes.” you gasped as he turned his head to suck your nipple into his mouth. His tongue swirls around it before biting down lightly. He moved back, “Say it.”

He kissed up your throat, a hand replacing where his mouth had been as his lips made their way to your face. “Tell me you’re mine.” he spoke softly against your neck, the hand on your waist lifting you from his lap before moving to line himself with your dripping cunt.

You looked at his face, this wasn’t the Hongjoong you were used to. This was vulnerable. It wasn’t just being possessive, it was almost desperate. His eyes scanned you nervously, all dominance he had slowly slipping from him with every second you prolonged your answer. This wasn’t coming from a man you were just messing around with, this was coming from his heart.

You realized after seeing him alongside someone else, regardless of the situation, you never wanted to feel that again. He couldn’t be with anyone else. Your heart sinks just at the idea alone.

“I’m yours.”

A smile broke across this face, his hand sliding up your chest to grip the back of your neck. He crashed his lips against yours. The kiss was messy and desperate, teeth clashing, heavy breathing, almost as if you were trying to swallow each other whole. Like this level of closeness wasn’t close enough.

His hand on your waist pushed you down onto him. Even with how wet you were, it was still a stretch. It always was. Your hips met his own as he broke the kiss to press his forehead to yours, eyes shut as he regulated his breathing. Your walls squeezing against him as if they were trying to memorize every vein.

“You’re always so tight for me.” he breathed out, lifting his head to catch your open lips.

Your chest heaved, your heart racing as you kissed him back. Your hands found his shoulders. Kicking off your heels and pulling your thighs to your chest. You planted your feet onto the couch beside his thighs. He laughed, taking your bottom lip between his teeth, “You ready?”

“Please.”

His eyes rolled, “Beg me again. Use my name.”

“Hongjoong, please.” you complied. His eyes met yours, pupils so blown they were nearly completely black. He lifted you and slammed you back down against him and you nearly screamed at the feeling. He was so deep inside of you you could feel it in your stomach.

He picked up his pace, your mind blanking as your jaw hung open. You tried to match his pace, your brain growing fuzzy with every thrust into you. He groaned, “Don’t tap out on me yet, baby. We need to let everyone outside know who you belong to.”

You moaned at the thought. The idea makes you feel slightly exposed but also excited. He hummed, “Fuck. You’re squeezing me so hard, you like that idea? You want everyone to know you’re my little slut?”

His mouth found your neck before sliding back to your chest, sucking lovebites into every inch he could get to while bouncing you against him. He took your nipple into his mouth, sucking it with a pop before pressing his head against you, “Tell them, baby. Tell them who’s making you feel this good.”

You felt that familiar sensation building in the pit of your stomach, barely able to process what he was even saying with how hard he was pounding into you.

A slap against your ass brought you back, a whimper leaving your lips as he glared up at you. “Tell them.”

You managed to get his name out, not nearly as loud as he wanted you to. Earning another slap, your already burning skin feeling as if it was being torn apart. “Hongjoong, please.” you begged louder, tears building once again. “Please, what baby? Do you even know what you're begging for?” he spoke through gritted teeth, pushing himself through your tightness. You knew he wasn’t going to be lasting much longer.

He brought his hand between the two of you, his thumb pressing circles into your clit as you shuttered. Your nails digging into his shoulders as he moaned at the sting.

He pistoned up harder, with more force than you knew he was capable of. It felt like he was in your throat, nearly splitting you in half. Hitting relentlessly against the spot that made your vision blurry and your mind static. You couldn’t even remember your own name if he asked, all that was in your head was his.

“You’re mine.” he grunted, “Mine.”

You nodded, unable to form words as his thumb worked to tighten the band in your stomach. “Only I get to fuck you this dumb.” his voice broke into a whimper as you felt him twitch inside of you. “This pussy was made for me.” His head fell back, his eyebrows knitted.

Your body was almost useless, just a mess of almost overstimulating pleasure as you let him move you as fast and hard as he wanted. Just holding on and enjoying the ride as you tried to remind yourself to breathe.

“Hongjoong-“ you breathed out, feeling the build up reaching its peak as he nodded. His head fell forward, lips moving to press against yours. “I know, baby, I can feel you.”

His thumb sped up, “Fuck, cum for me like a good girl.”

As if your body was waiting for those words, the band snapped. Your walls locking around him as your vision went white, your head fell into his shoulder as you moaned out his name.

His pace was relentless as he helped you through your orgasm, holding back on his own until you stilled against him. “Fuck, baby, I’m yours. I’ve always been yours.” he said as he sped up, chasing his own high while you were clamped around him. “No one else compares to this.” he whined.

Your hands planted against him, lifting your face to watch as he fell apart. You kissed up his neck using the small amount of strength you held onto, biting into his skin before moving to his ear. “Then fill me up, I’m yours.”

He whimpered, “Say it again.”

“I’m yours Hongjoong, only yours.”

He moaned, his hips sputtering as you felt his warm strings of cum coat your insides. The pressure alone made you gasp as you sat completely into his lap, making sure he stayed buried inside of you. His hands blindly gripped at whatever he could find. One wrapping at the back of your neck and the other clutching your hip against him. The burn of it letting you know you would be waking up tomorrow with marks of his fingers.

He pushed into you, bringing you down to kiss your lips. Holding you there until you squeezed him dry. Not wanting to let a single drop of him escape you.

“Mine.” he whispered, kissing you softly.

“Mine.” you smiled, biting his bottom lip.

“Annoyingly yours.” he sighed with a grin, pushing you to rest against his chest. You hummed, your hands smoothing over the crinkled fabric of his shirt. A thought breaking through your after sex hazy brain, “What did you mean when you said you were making sure I’d catch you on purpose?”

He laughed leaning his head to look down at you, “You really want to have a serious conversation while I’m still inside of you?”

“If not now, when?”

He chuckled, tapping your hip as he led you to lay on the couch. He took your legs and pulled them across his lap, his fingers working to massage your calves.

He let out a deep breath, “I- I’ve wanted to see if you had any actual feelings for me. If this was something more than just- this.” He waved a hand over the two of your bodies. “You said you weren’t looking for something serious, and neither was I- At the start.”

Your heart skipped a beat, listening to him intently. “But you.” he gripped your ankle jokingly, his head falling to face his lap. “I’m not good at this.” he sighed, “I don’t do this.”

“Are you trying to tell me you like me?” you ask, eyes wide as you fully processed the situation in front of you. A smile spread on your face as he flushed. You kicked your feet in his lap, your tone teasing, “Ew, Kim Hongjoong do you have feelings for me?”

“Not anymore.” he huffed, leaning back into the couch and crossing his arms over his face in defeat. You pushed yourself up as best as you could, your body weak as you grabbed at the front of his shirt and pulled yourself back down with you. He looked at you in shock, catching himself on his hands and hovering over your body. You wrapped your arms around the back of his neck, “That’s a shame because I think I like you.”

His face twisted between shock and joy, a smile forming then dropping as if he was expecting you to say you were kidding. “You do?” he asked quietly, still gauging your response.

“You think I just let anyone cum inside me?”

“You’re about to go back over my lap.” he stated flatly.

You laughed, moving up to place your lips against his. He hummed, one of his hands coming to lace into your hair as he pulled you closer. Your heart was full, feeling a new type of feeling in your stomach. Something lighter. Fluttering.

You separated yourself, biting your lip, “At least take me home first.”

He smirked, pushing your hair from your eyes and taking a moment to study your face. Almost as if he was trying to remember every detail about this moment.

A loud pounding came from the door, one of the workers calling that they needed to get ready to close for the night. His face suddenly shifted, “Please tell me you drove here.”

“I mean I can but it would be a lie.”

“I gave my keys to the bouncer so Seonghwa could take my stuff home. It’s nice out, we could walk?” he asked, settling into your body, his thumb tracing over your cheekbone lazily. “There’s one teeny problem with that idea.” You respond, combing your fingers through his sweat filled hair. His eyes closed, leaning into your palm.

“You ripped my only clothes in half.”

His eyes shot open, “I’ll order us a car.”

“Yes, I’ve always wanted to be half naked in a stranger's car.” you rolled your eyes. His fingers pinched your lips between this thumb and index finger, forcing you to face him as he shot you a warning look. “I’ll let that one go because you just confessed your undying love for me, but don’t push it.” he moved down to place his lips on yours before removing himself completely.

He grabbed his phone to tap the screen before sliding his pants back on. You reached to snatch your bra from the floor and looped your arms back into it. After he zipped himself, his hands moved to his shirt buttons, undoing them before shrugging it off to reveal a black t-shirt. He passed the button up down to you. You wrapped yourself into it, standing as you pulled it down. It fell just low enough to cover your ass.

He groaned, dragging you into him by the wrist, “You’re wearing only my clothing from now on.”

“Your closet is more expensive than mine anyway.” your muscles screamed at you as you pushed onto your toes to kiss him again. You felt him smile into the kiss, his hand combing through the back of your hair. He moved back to exhale, his eyes bright as he looked down at you, “I like you an embarrassing amount.”

“Well thank God you finally got that out, it was getting sad.” you joked. He laughed out a “Brat” before his grip tightened in your hair, slamming his lips back on yours.

His phone chimed and he spoke against your lips, “Car is here.”

He grabbed his jacket and the two of you slipped out of the room, rushing to make it to the front door. You both passed by his ex. You made sure he couldn’t see you before you extended the hand he wasn’t holding to give her the finger with a smile. She went to follow after you but was held back by her friend.

Once you hit the outside he put you in front of him to place you into the waiting car. You hissed as you sat down. When you were situated you took a breath, not being prepared to move so quickly after the events that just occurred.

When you looked up, a smile broke across your face. “JIHUN!” you cheered, the same driver from earlier smiling sheepishly back.

Hongjoong shot you a look that was a mixture of confusion and annoyance, pointing to the mirror, “You know him.”

“We go way back.”

“Is this.. the DJ?” he asked shyly as he shifted the car into drive.

Hongjoong took off his jacket and placed it over your legs, extending a possessive arm around your shoulders. “Yeah, I am.” He practically pulled you into his lap as he continued to glare at the man in the front. You laughed, resting your head against his shoulder. He moved to whisper into your hair, “Don’t worry, I’ll add him to your next spanking.”

And you could tell by Jihun’s red face that he had heard him loud and clear, but that was probably exactly what he wanted

[jisungonmyballs]

panties? wet. hotel? trivago.

[mulloey]

in full bloom.

the masterlist.

“this is how you’re meant to be.”

you can’t remember the last time you let anyone touch you, let alone dominate you. but life has gone grey recently, and all of a sudden your friend’s insistence that the thrill of letting go is exactly what you need doesn’t seem so ridiculous after all.

luckily for you, she has eight other friends who are in need of something of their own—a submissive; someone who can cede control, who can surrender and obey and give them the release and the fulfilment they crave.

someone like you, apparently.

dominant ateez x submissive reader. multi-chaptered. bdsm themes.

index.

chapter one

chapter two

chapter three

chapter four

chapter five

comment or send an ask to be tagged.

[jisungonmyballs]

Oh my GODSDD

[teaxtease]

K. HONGJOONG — on deck

synopsis: the captain of the ship cannot stand sharing.

note: another reupload from last year :p

warnings: MDNI, 2.4k words, pirate AU, porn with a little plot, penetrative sex, afab fem reader, unprotected, rough, edging, pussy slaps, very light choking and crying, biting, slight exhibitionism (?), cursing and dirty talk, hongjoong is whipped but mean, mingi and seonghwa cameos, “baby” / “joong” / “captain” used as pet names. not proofread.

the sea is ruthless.

dark clouds overhead signal rain, but it doesn’t come yet. nature works at its own pace.

tall waves crash against the side of the fairly big pirate ship, some of the water making it onto the deck. half of the crew groans in frustration, the other half childishly splash the water with their boots.

another morning has gone by and you haven’t seen your captain. nights ago, he made it clear he wasn’t to be bothered by anyone, and everyone took his word for it. for as kind as hongjoong was, he was also not to be tested. for three long days, he has skipped meals and forwarded all concerns to the second in command, the quartermaster seonghwa.

everyone seems restless without him bossing them around. the course of the ship was set, and the crew had enough supplies to get to the next dock. it was now just a waiting game, if luck was on your side. the marines were always a worry in the back of your mind. after all, your bounties had nearly quadrupled from the last posters to the current ones.

it only takes half an hour to get through the area of unforgiving waves to calm waters. the sky is still gloomy but no seawater makes it onto the deck, no man is knocked over by the force of the wind.

you’re idling on the deck, leaning over the railing to look down at the water. it isn’t the clear kind you can see through to greet the sealife. but it’s stunning, nonetheless, in all its mystery.

“hey,” you hear from beside you, a heavy arm draping onto your shoulders. “you’re antsy. you keep pulling at your shirt.”

mingi’s eyes greet you as your turn, but you make no move to shy away from his touch. if anything, you lean into it. “there’s nothing else to do.”

a hum rumbles in his chest, you feel it on the side of your head, “yeah. it’s quiet up here. i feel like everyone’s nervous. i don’t think most of the crew has ever gone through one of captain’s moods.”

you glance at the crew behind you. new, friendly faces. some of them you still mixed up with each other. “it’s been a while since he locked himself up like that. seonghwa won’t say what it’s about.”

mingi shrugs, “same old. a new map he got his hands on. some intel that might change our course. maybe—”

“—mingi, have some respect,” a command sounds from a few feet away, the usual sweetness of seonghwa’s voice sharpened around the edges.

the man straightens up immediately, pulling his arm back to his side before taking a slow step back and away from you. the heavy thuds of his boots on the floor drown out the small inhale he takes.

you take a step back as well, turning around fully to see everyone standing up with their shoulders squared, breaths bated.

hongjoong is already looking at you.

the crew doesn’t know where to set their eyes. some glance between their captain and you. others look straight down, unwilling to be caught staring by either.

your spine prickles with heat as the stare stretches on for a long moment, and you feel your breath shallowing in anticipation.

hongjoong’s eyes move from yours to scan over mingi as he speaks, “a word, please.”

mingi takes a careful step forward, but hongjoong’s eyes narrow, making the former stop dead in his tracks.

“not you. i’m talking to my gunner.”

the steel at your hip feels weirdly heavy as he speaks. he never referred to you by your role like that. you step forward regardless, almost expecting him to change his mind. but he doesn’t, allowing you to walk past him before following you down.

as soon as the door to his room closes behind him, he’s speaking.

“what the fuck was that?”

you turn on your heel to face him, voice hushed to encourage him to lower his tone, “what was what?”

an amused scoff pushes through his lips, “i went up to announce— fuck, it doesn’t even matter. i stay in for a few days and you start letting the crew touch you like that?”

“it was a side hug—”

“don’t—” he takes a step forward, searching your features, “your head was resting against his shoulder.”

“i didn’t realize it would bother you so much,” you shrug, looking off to the side.

he looks at you like you’ve just revealed yourself as a marine. “would you have let him, had i been there?”

“no.”

“then you knew it would bother me.”

you open your mouth to counter, but you’re left with nothing to say. hongjoong takes that as an opportunity to crowd you against a wall, pressing his lips to yours without any room for hesitation.

the kiss is deep and desperate, days worth of passion poured into it as he unbuttons your shirt with little precision. he pulls back, opting to nip at your jaw and neck as his fingers work to get your clothes off you in record time.

he steps back, takes his own shirt off and throws it next to yours on the floor. he grabs a quilt from his cot and throws it on the floor behind himself before pulling you down with him.

he leaves a searing kiss on your lips before impatiently turning you onto your back, tossing your belt and steel weapon to the side, and tugging your pants off of you, “how long have you been waiting?”

“what do you mean?”

his eyes flicker up to yours, and you almost shy away from the intensity, “your panties are soaked. i can fucking smell you.”

your nails dig into your palms, trying to push yourself to answer, “days. but i didn’t wanna bother you.”

“you could’ve asked me, instead of batting your eyelashes at mingi. you think he knows what to do with you?”

you avoid the second question, wincing as he pushes your legs apart almost painfully, “you said you wanted to be left alone.”

“when do any of my rules apply to you?” he asks, breath fanning across the inside of your thighs. he sits up on his knees, looking down at you, “did you think i’d say no? call you a whore?”

the air in your lungs feels thick as you watch him attentively, nearly forgetting he was expecting an answer before shaking your head.

“words,” he says firmly, three fingers coming down with a smack, right against your clit.

“no,” you gasp out, brows pinching at the feeling, “no, but i deserve it.”

a small smile pulls at his lips as he watches the wet patch on your panties darken, “you don’t get to decide that. i do.”

he bends at the waist, tongue sticking out to lick a firm stripe over your underwear. his bottom row of teeth grazes your clit ever so slightly and you moan unashamedly at the feeling.

“that’s it,” his fingers hook around the middle of your underwear before pulling it to the side, “you gonna let me in?”

you nearly answer him with an enthusiastic nod, but the stinging feeling between your legs reminds you of his expectations. “yes.”

hongjoong spit-covered lips spread over his straight teeth, a satisfied hum settling in the air before he’s freeing himself, pants tugged halfway down his thighs. “there’s my girl.”

you lie back, head settled over the quilt as you wait, mouth watering at the sight before you. he doesn’t leave you hanging for long, his length dragging against you slowly before he guides himself into you.

you cover your mouth to no avail, the sudden sensation of him fully sheathed too much to bear. the floor creaks under your bodies as he begins thrusting into you, the soft fabric haphazardly thrown beneath you wrinkling with all the movement. but hongjoong is laser focused, pressing one of your legs back against your chest and raising the other over his shoulder.

he rewards you with a kiss against your calf when you hold your own legs near your chest, one of his free hands now messily rubbing against your clit while the other holds your jaw to keep your eyes on him.

"slow down—" you protest half-heartedly, but the man between your legs doesn't abide by your request, a droplet of sweat dripping down his sharp jaw and landing on your stomach.

his eyes follow its trail down your navel hungrily, his calloused hand releases your jaw to press on your lower abdomen, "feel me right here, baby? hm? talk to me, fuck, wanna hear you.”

"yeah," you repeat desperately, legs threatening to kick with the new sensation, "cap'n, i'm gonna cum too quick.”

the name makes his head fuzzy and he moans, putting all his focus into slowing down his thrusts, "uh-uh, not yet."

he rips his hand away from your clit and watches with a lopsided grin as your eyes snap open and land on him. you gulp down a complaint, knowing better than to talk back now, "but, i just... wanted your attention."

he leans down, silky hair grazing your skin with the new angle. he nudges his nose against your jawline, nipping softly at the skin there, "i know. this is a reminder."

you arch into him, your chest bumping against his. "joong, i didn't mean to..." you're cut off by a moan when he snakes a hand down to continue playing with your clit, his thick rings grazing your skin deliciously, "i didn't mean to, i promise."

"no?" he asks, unconvinced by your words, "didn't mean to? that's funny."

his streak of jealousy bleeds through his questioning and you give into it, "cause you were ignoring me."

you feel the sting of another slap against your cunt and your body shudders at the conflicting pain, eyes rolling back at the warm feeling.

"so your solution is to brush up against another crew member?" he quips almost amusedly, enjoying the build up of your noises before pulling his hand away from your arousal and tapping his fingers on your bottom lip.

you open up automatically, answering with a muffled groan around his digits. he looks at you, lovestruck but unwilling to relent, "should've used your words and told me you were feeling neglected. i would've made time for you, baby. i always do.”

you wrap your tongue around his middle and ring fingers, sucking them into your mouth as if your life depended on it.

when he finally catches the tears welling up in your eyes, he feels himself twitch, a barely audible moan tumbling from his glistening lips, "fuck, are you gonna cry?"

the humiliation makes even more tears prick at your eyes, and he removes his hand from your mouth to wrap around your throat and pull you in for a sloppy kiss. the exchange is all spit and teeth, his tongue exploring your mouth as if he doesn't know how to do anything but that. you move your hips against his and he allows you to, biting down softly on your bottom lip as a warning.

he's dazed when you pull apart, his eyebrows knitting together as he watches hot tears spill down your cheeks. he's licks them up faster than you can even register what he's doing, the saltiness of the fluid making his eyes screw shut. "are you sorry?" he whispers against the shell of your ear, and you think you hear a whine mixing into his tone.

"it won't happen again," you assure him, your arms wrapping around his neck and heels pushing against his backside to push him into you, "j— captain, please. they’ve probably all heard us by now, they know who i belong to, please."

hot sparks of desire thrum in his chest as call yourself his, and he presses softly against the sides of your neck, "yeah? is that what you wanted? other people to hear this?"

in your fogged mind, you barely capture his words, nodding enthusiastically to anything he says, "please, i just want you."

he pulls you even closer, roughly tugging your legs to press himself into you at a new angle. he hears the commotion on the deck above and can't bring himself to care in the slightest when you breathlessly moan his name.

"i want you too. love having you like this," he rambles as he builds up his thrusts again, "so fuckin' wet for me. you're dripping all over yourself.”

you throw your head back as his pelvis brushes against your clit with every pointed thrust. he continues, "where do you want me, baby?"

"inside," you plead, fighting against the urge to close your legs at the overpowering force of your impending climax, "i need it."

a strained whine rips spills from his throat in response, not questioning your answer as he begins to draw tight circles around your pulsing clit.

your grip on his forearms tightens as stars rise in your vision, finishing with a silent plea of his name. watching you tips him over the edge, his gaze focusing on your face as he follows your instruction to finish inside you.

you both reach your highs with heaving chests and restless hips, meeting each other's desperate thrusts halfway. when you start complaining, he pulls out, dropping his forehead on your stomach to regain his strength.

a few moments pass before you hear a hesitant knock on the door and a deep voice, "uh, sir, seonghwa says you’re needed in the comms room."

you immediately recognize the voice as mingi’s, and your dazed smile drops. hongjoong looks up at you with an amused grin at the coincidence, his voice hushed against your skin, "you gonna answer or not?"

you gulp down your embarrassment, trying to ignore the open-mouthed kisses your captain is leaving just under your belly button, "he'll be right out, mingi, thank... you."

"no rush. yeah, we can, uh, we can wait. yeah,” you hear from the other side of the door, the baritone of your friend's voice wavering slightly.

you feel a slight nibble just over the bone of your hip, a satisfied smile on hongjoong's face as he straightens up. he watches you clench around nothing, his eyes following the mix of your arousal traveling down your bottom, “you heard him. let’s keep him waiting just a little longer.”

[jisungonmyballs]

papa, me want more movie