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I dreamt about this fic, I fear.
Like it embedded itself so deep in my subconscious, I think because I may or may not have discovered a few things about myself while reading but this was nothing short of a masterpiece OP, and don't let anyone tell you otherwise.
I felt so seen.
WHY DO I FEEL SO SEEN?
I just can't get a coherent thought out but I need a full novel exactly like this. Real bad. I saw OP posted a part two so I'm literally on my knees thanking the heavens.
I know how annoying it can be asking for more parts in a story, but I think more parts would fill a very deep and dark void in my soul. I'm so grateful to have found this fic that allowed me to process my own weird feelings and emotions


the art of breaking (dark!joel miller x f!reader; dead dove do not eat)

the art of breaking part one | part two
very dark!Joel Miller x f!reader
Word Count: 10k
Summary: Your meeting is happenstance, but everything that follows? Well, thatâs all Joel. He just knows youâre going to be his perfect little toy. He just has to show you how.
written for the #deaddovedecember2023 event hosted by @romana-after-dark | also on ao3 | dedicating this to @kewwrites, who is a master and icon of unsettling-but-still-romantic dark fic & whose incredible vibes made me feel brave enough to write this. love you ty đ€
dividers by @saradika-graphics
NOTE: DEAD DOVE: DO NOT EAT.
Seriously, I am saying this as clearly as I can: read the warnings carefully. If anything listed is something you donât want to read, donât. The working title for this was âthe darkest joelâ for a reason (and I actually tamed it down/cut out some of the intense scenes). Itâs modern-day/no outbreak, but Joel still lost Sarah and went off the deep end. He was probably a good dom at some point, but now heâs just fucked up.
If you're worried it'll be too dark, it probably will be.
Warnings under the cut:
Warnings: dead dove do not eat, non-con, dub-con, very dark!Joel, BAD bdsm etiquette, not SSC/RACK compliant, sadist!Joel x masochist!reader, coercion, corruption, manipulation, isolation, gaslighting, captivity, sadism, masochism, pain play, extreme punishment, semi-permanent damage (a bone is broken, Iâm not fucking around), whipping, spanking, face slapping, tit slapping, impact play in general, mentions of vomit (no description), oral, anal, vaginal, degradation, humiliation, overstimulation, edging, denial, dacryphilia, bastinado (mentioned), restraints, very brief knifeplay, tiny drop of blood play, Joel sees reader as property, inadequate aftercareÂ
Again, I cannot say this enough. This is a dark fantasy and should not be taken as representative of a good d/s relationshipâitâs abuse masquerading. Just because I wrote it doesnât mean Iâm condoning it.Â
Please read responsibly.Â

I. in media res
   -the fracture
Thereâs one comfort Joel almost never denies you.
Well, never denies himself.
Unless youâve been real bad, you always take your place in bed with him at the end of the day. You think itâs so he has easy access to you if he wakes up horny, but honestly, that happens a lot less than expected. He works hard all day; he needs his sleep.
No, he likes the comfort of your warm body next to his. The way you curl up and press kisses to him, no matter how bad he hurt you during the day. His sweet little pet, desperate for every bit of his affection you can earn. Heâs always gentle with you here.

Itâs part of what makes The Pit so effective.
It fucks with your brain on so many levels, exposes you to so many fears, and then you have to reconcile that you were bad enough for Joel to deny himself the comfort of you in his arms at night. That youâre so undeserving of his love.
Of all of the ways he punishes you, this will be the worst. You can take the humiliation, the painânot easily, but you can, and thereâs usually immediate care after.
But a night in The Pit will tear you down completely.

You hadnât known what to expect when he said youâd have to spend the night alone, but it wasnât this.
âNo, please,â you scream, stumbling to keep up as Joel pulls you by your hair.
âShut up,â he snarls.
The soil is loose, clinging to your sweat as you try to right yourself. Itâs a futile effort. When you reach The Pit, he holds you down with his boot on your chest while he unlocks and opens the bars.
âGet in,â he says.
Youâre sobbing and shaking, skin already gone cold. Somehow, you manage to obey.
The Pit is exactly what it sounds like. It has an open wooden frame with mesh on the side walls to keep the dirt in place. The bottom is bare soil. Mounted to the top of the beams is a grate of bars that sit flush with the ground.
Itâs big enough for you to curl up at the bottomâwhich is what you do now.
âIâm sorry,â you cry.
He shuts and locks the gate.

II. from the start
   -intact
It was kismet, really, that he was there that night. He didnât usually go out for drinks with the guys, not wanting to be the boss who was always cramping their style. But Tommy had dragged him out tonight, and so he was witness (with the rest of the pub) to your relationship falling apart.
And okay, maybe he went outside for a smoke after you moved the fight to the alley so he could eavesdrop. But it wasnât his fault. How could he not?
You had said, âMaybe youâre just not man enough for me,â to the brawny but pathetic prick across from you in the booth. âWanting you to be rough doesnât make me a freak.â
âThatâs not rough; thatâs fuckinâ abuse. Youâre sick,â your boyfriend had practically shouted.
The discussion evolved into a screaming match in the alley, where Joel had been pleased to be right. It was about more than just a little rough sex or spanking.
At the end of it, your boyfriend stormed off, and you went back in the pub. Joel found you at the bar, throwing back another shot and wiping your tears away.
âYou did good back there,â he says.
You startle and look at the stranger. The very handsome stranger. Rugged, with a salt and pepper beard and a scar across his nose.
âWhat do you mean?â
âStandinâ up for yourself. Not a lot of people woulda been confident enough. âSpecially not a girl lookinâ for that.â
You glare at the bar counter. âMânot a weirdo.â
âNah, youâre not. Shit like that is perfectly normal. Heâs just pathetic.â
You look back up at him, and he sticks one hand in his pocket, trying to adjust himself discreetly. The tear streaks on your cheeks are getting to him.
âI donât know. Heâs probably right. Itâs not your garden variety shit,â you say. The tequila and his gentle eyes have loosened your tongue.
âI doubt that. Try me,â he says.
âWhat?â
âTry me. Tell me what he freaked out over, and Iâll tell ya if itâs weird. Trust me, Iâve seen it all.â
You hesitate, but he looks genuine and kind. âI asked him to hit me. Like, in the face. And to, yâknow, pin me down andââ you trail off.
âAnd make ya take it?â he guesses.
You nod. âHe thought I like, I dunno, actually wanted to be raped,â you whisper the last word, eyes darting to the people around you.
Joel laughs. âHoney, thatâs so normal, you wouldnât believe. Iâve helped ladies out with that little roleplay more times than I can count. If thatâs your deepest, darkest fantasy, and he couldnât take it, then youâre better off without him.â
âItâs not,â you mumble.
âSpeak up, honey.â
âItâs not my deepest, darkest fantasy. Itâs probably one of the least of them.â
He grins. âThen youâre definitely better off. Ainât nothinâ wrong with likinâ things on the darker side, sweetheart.â
Youâre feeling hot all over and are about to ask him more when your phone rings. Itâs your idiot boyfriend, whoâs realized you have the car keys.
âI better go. Thank you,â you say, standing and offering him your hand.
He gives it a firm shake, tipping his head. âIâm Joel. And if youâre ever so inclined, Iâd like to take you out sometime.â
You laugh. âLet me break up with my boyfriend first, Joel.â But you dig a pen out of your purse and write your number on one of the tiny bar napkins.

Your first date was so normal. Youâre not sure what you expected. To jump right to hardcore sex?
But no, he turns up at your door in a neatly pressed green button-up, black slacks, and an ostentatious belt buckle. He greets you with a kiss on the cheek and a bouquet of wildflowers, lavender stalks nestled between pink honeysuckle and red salvia. Not a traditional arrangement, but it reminds you of a summer sunset.
âFrom my garden,â he says a little sheepishly, but you like them a lot better than some generic store display. You tell him as much and his cheeks flush a little.
You return the kiss and pop the flowers in a vase of water before he sweeps you off in his pickup. You arenât surprised, really, but itâs more charming than some of the other men and their gaudy trucks.
Joelâs is older but well-kept, with minimal rusting around the wheel wells. The bed is open, and you can see streaks of grease and paint spills. A silver tool chest is mounted against the back of the cab. Everything inside and out has a light coating of sawdust.
He isnât some insecure man with a truck big enough to make up for what isnât in his britches, thatâs for certain. Youâd hazard a guess that the corded muscle of his forearms and the breadth of his shoulders are well-earned.
He holds the door open for you, which you tease him for as you slide onto the truckâs bench seat.
âAinât doinâ it âcause youâre incapable,â he drawls. âOr because youâre a lady,â he adds when he sees the glint in your eye.
âOh yeah, cowboy?â
His grin is lopsided, a little dark. âNah. I just think you deserve to be taken care of, sâall.â
You flush, the back of your neck burning, but you donât fight the smile that threatens to break out. âThank you, Joel.â
He shakes his head. Heâs pretty sure, now, that if he plays his cards right, heâs found somethinâ special.

He waits three whole dates to take you to bed, and even then, it doesnât start dirty.
âLet me get to know your body first, baby,â he urges when you ask him to fuck you rough. Instead, he takes you apart piece by piece. First with his tongue, and then his fingers. He brings you to the edge over and over, but never lets you fall.
After a while, youâre a broken record, pleas and sobs spilling from you.
âThatâs music to my ears, darlinâ,â he says, pulling his fingers out abruptly to see how your cunt throbs for him. He spits on your clit and watches it drip down to join the mess between your thighs.
âPlease, please, Joel,â you beg.
âPlease who now?â
âPlease, sir,â you try, and are rewarded with his sharp grin. But not with an orgasm.
He slaps your cunt. âThatâs more like it, baby. You remember who youâre talkinâ to, alright?â
You nod. âYes, sir; thank you, sir.â
He shakes his head, sucking on your clit for a moment before pulling back to get a good look at you. âYou do like a little pain, huh?â
âWould like more,â you say.
âOh yeah? What would you let me do to you?â
âAnything, please, sir.â
He clicks his tongue at you. âDonât go sayinâ that to someone you barely know. Itâs okay to mean it when you trust somebody, but youâre gonna end up in more trouble than you bargain for if you pass that out like candy.â
âI do mean it.â
âYeah? Youâll let me do this?â His open palm smacks across your face, leaving a sting tingling on your cheek and a lightness to your brain.
Tears spring to your eyes, but you nod frantically.
âWhat about this?â he grabs a nipple in his calloused fingers and yanks, twisting.
You yelp, but it trails off to a moan, and you nod.
âGoddamn, baby. Sâgood. But what about this?â He flicks open the switchblade he keeps in his pocket.
You jerk and whine, eyes wide and wet as he brings it to your breast. Your breathing falls shallow as you try to hold still, the point scraping the delicate skin as he circles it. But the look youâre giving him almost has him cumming in his pants like he were twenty years younger.
âFuck, you werenât kidding. I mean, youâve gotta have limits; everyone does. But you just want me to hurt you, huh?â He digs the tip of the blade in a little on the side of your breast, cock throbbing as you gasp, and you both watch a tiny drop of blood bead and trickle down the blade.
He puts it away. âNo,â he says when you whimper. âNot today. I ainât prepared for all that.â
Joel doesnât like to break his toys. Not permanently. Just enough that he can put them back together how he likes and then do it all over again.
âDonât need to be prepared; just do it,â you whine.
He slaps you again and wrenches your head up with a hand in your hair. âFirst of all, I fuckinâ told you no. Second, I know you want to be a stupid little cunt for me, but Iâm not about to cut you open without any goddamn first aid shit.â
He leans back and smacks the breast he had cut. He hits you over and over, alternating sides, until your chest burns, and youâre sobbing.
He looks you over briefly and then shoves his hand between your thighs. âYouâre wetter than a slip ân slide, baby.â
âIâm sorry, sir,â you whisper.
âI know,â he says, and wipes the tears from your cheek with his thumb. He feels your cunt twitch when he brings his thumb to his mouth and sucks it clean.
Itâs the last straw for him. Heâs not opened you enough, but he has a feeling youâll like it better this way anyway.
You cry out, back arching when he shoves into you. He meant to go slow, he really did, if only to drag out the anticipation. But youâre so warm. So wet. So he just stuffs himself inside.
Itâs not that he doesnât believe you love the pain; itâs just that he canât resist feeling the evidence for himself. He slaps you across the face while youâre still processing his cock, and the resulting clench and jerk of your body drag a moan from him.
He holds back, regulates his urge to pull each whimper and scream from you, but itâs still so fucking good. Itâs been a long time since heâs doled out real cruelty to a slut like you who loves to suffer.
When he finally lets you cum, itâs when heâs about to. He pulls out and spanks your cunt, granting his permission. As your pussy flutters desperately around nothing, he cums on it, watching the way it gets prettier as he paints it.
You black out for a minute. When you come to, heâs wiping you down gently with a warm washcloth, wicking the sweat off your face and chest before cleaning his cum from your curls. You whimper, and he grins, leaning over to steal a kiss.

Even after that first night, he goes slow. He canât scare ya, not while you still have someplace to run. Plus, itâs so much easier if he starts planting the seeds for your training now.
He knows youâll beg for it, anyway. Heâs been getting the nastiest text messages from you. Part of it is the dopamine; heâs not stupid. But part of you really wants this shit. And the rest? Well. Youâll get there.
Itâs the little things. He orders you a black decaf at the drive-thru when you ask for a latte. You start to correct him, like you think heâs made a mistake, but he gives you a look, and you shut your mouth immediately.
When he pulls away from the speaker, you look over at him again. âSorry,â you mumble.
âSorryâŠ?â
You squirm a little, heart pounding, unsure if heâs really doing this at the Dunkinâ Donuts. âSorry, sir.â
He smiles and rubs his hand on your thigh where it peeks out from your skirt. âThanks, baby.â
And thatâs all it takes. You take the cup when he hands it to you and youâre quick to say, âThank you, sir,â even though the kid at the window is still passing things through to Joel and can clearly hear you.

   -fissured
It goes on like that for a couple of months, but it doesnât all go so smoothly. One night, he picks you up from work and takes you to a restaurant, saying he wants to treat you. Halfway through the meal, he asks for your panties.
âWhat?â you say, shocked at his vulgar language in the dining room.
âTake âem off and hand âem to me.â
You go to stand, probably thinking you can go to the bathroom to obey.
He shakes his head, clicking his tongue in disapproval. âRight here, right now, baby.â
âJoel,â you hiss, sitting back down, âI canât do that.â
He fixes you with a calm smile that doesnât reach his eyes, raising one finger in the air. âIâll give ya three choices. The first one, the one Iâm going to advise you pick, is that you do it right now, and Iâll only punish ya for talkinâ back.â
âThe second one,â he holds up another finger for emphasis, âis you can go to the bathroom to take âem off, but youâre gonna pay for it when we get home. The third one is where you donât listen, we leave right now, and you learn to fuckinâ regret it.â
Your breathing is shallow, and your pretty eyes are shining. If he wasnât fully hard before, he is now.
âI-I canât,â you whimper. âPlease, sir.â
âYou got about thirty seconds to make up your mind.â The softness is goneâfrom his voice, from his face, from the set of his shoulders.
âFuck,â you whisper, and you stand up. Youâre only in the bathroom for a minute, and when you sit back down, you try to hand them to him under the table.
âNah, that was only a choice if you were good,â he says, smirking and laying his expectant hand on the white linens.
Mortified, you ball them up tight in your fist and press them into his hand. He slides them into his pants pocket.

He doesnât say anything else about it for the rest of dinner, asking instead about your projects at work and your visit with your parents over the holidays. You feel sick, barely eating a thing, and biting your lip to stave off the tears.
As soon as youâre in the truck, you start to cry. âIâm sorry, I was just scared andââ
âShut up. You made your choice. Youâre not sorry. Youâre just afraid of the consequences.â
âN-no, I am sorry, I mean it.â
âYouâre gonna have to prove it.â He doesnât look at you on the drive home, doesnât speak again. Doesnât even turn the radio on; just listens to you sniffle.
When he parks, he sets his hand on your thigh. âDonât worry, baby. I know you can be my good girl. All you gotta do is take your punishment and learn from it, okay?â
You sniffle again and nod, blinking through tear-laden lashes at him.
âSo pretty when you cry for me,â he murmurs. He gets out and comes around to open your door, offering a hand to help you step down from the tall truck. You take it, and he holds on, leading you inside his house.
He sits sprawled on the couch, thighs parted wide to make room and waits until youâre comfortably kneeling between his legs. Youâre sat in silence, head bowed, arms folded behind your back.
âTell me what you did wrong today.â
This is a first, but not a last. Even on days when nothing egregious has happened, you will follow this ritual. Heâll ask for your sins, and youâll confess. There will always be something youâll owe him for.
âI argued when you gave me orders. I was disobedient.â
âAnything else I need to know about, baby?â
âNo, sir.â
âWhyâd you argue?â
âI was afraid. Iâm sorry.â
âSave your grovelinâ for after, baby. Why were you afraid?â
âI didnât want people to see. I didnât want to get kicked out or arrested.â
âYou think Iâd let anything happen to you? You think I would have given you an order that put either of us at any kinda risk?â
Your face burns. âIââ
âI thought you trusted me.â He sounds hurt, and youâre a little nauseous when you look up to see his eyes wide and sad, lips turned into a wounded scowl.
Your shoulders slump. âI didnât think. I panicked.â
âHmm. Okay, I can work with that.â
You look up at him, brow scrunched and lips pouting as you try to parse his words.
He smiles. Itâs cold, and his eyes are steel.
You swallow hard, and his grin widens, quirking into a smirk.
âAlright, baby. I got just the thing.â

He leads you into the ensuite. You kneel on the little rug by the tub while he fills it. Youâre too afraid to ask whatâs happening, so you just sit quietly. He leaves the room and doesnât come back until the tub is nearly full, and youâre starting to worry that you were supposed to be monitoring it.
He comes back in, and once itâs nearing the lip of the tub, he turns off the faucet. He has you kneel on the top of the three steps leading up to the edge. Itâs the most luxurious thing in this house, and you suspect he installed it custom so he could soak his aching muscles.
He bends you over the edge so youâre leaning close to the water and crouches down behind you. Itâs a pleasant surprise when he spreads you wide and licks from your clit to your asshole.
He stays there for a few minutes, indulging in your wet cunt and the cries it draws from your lips. After heâs had his fill, he stands up and lubes up his cock before pushing his way into your ass. Heâs generous with the lube but rarely preps you, since you both like it better when it hurts.
Youâre writhing a little beneath him, wriggling your hips to try to ease the passage. Once heâs fully seated inside you, he grabs the back of your head and shoves it under the water before fucking hard into you.
You thrash, displacing water from the tub, until he yanks you back up.
You gasp for air and scrabble to get a grip on the wet tile, but he pushes you back down and groans at how tight you get while youâre struggling.
He pulls you roughly back up. âGonna keep going until you stop makinâ a fuss.â
You go to protest, to panic, and he pushes you back down.
The next time he pulls you out, he spanks you until your skin is burning. âFuckinâ trust me. You think Iâm gonna let you drown?â
âNo, sir,â you cry, but itâs garbled as he pushes you back down. Youâre still fighting him each time.
He pulls you back out and repeats the beating. âRelax, or weâre gonna be here all night.â
He continues the process a few more times and then gives you a reprieve, letting go of your hair so you can rest your cheek against the cold edge of the tub while he pounds into you. He reaches and rubs featherlight circles around your clit until youâre softly moaning.
âYou gonna trust me?â
âIâm trying, my body panics,â you pant.
âIâm not gonna let anything happen to ya. You hear me? You know youâre panicking, so focus on me instead.â
âYes, sir.â
It shouldnât make sense, but you think heâs long warped your brain anyway. The next time he pushes you underwater, you clench your fists tight and focus on what oxygen you do have, even if he knocks a little out with each thrust.
His hand in your hair is your anchor and buoy. You tense when you feel your body start to jerk, trying so hard to control it.
He pulls you up. âJust like that, baby. Again.â
It gets just a little easier each time. He leaves you under longer, until your lungs are burning, and youâre on the edge of gasping in water, but he pulls you out in time.
âFuck, youâre doing so well.â Heâs a little fascinated. He hadnât really been sure it could be done or if your survival instincts would go into a frenzy. But here you are, letting him almost fucking drown you.
Not that he would.
Despite being balls deep in your tight little asshole, he isnât trying to reach his orgasm. Not yet, staving off his pleasure so he can keep a clear head.
He keeps it up just a little longer. Youâre getting tired and tolerating less and less time underwater. The last time he pulls you up, he pinches your clit and tells you to cum while he fills you.
He dunks you again while you cum, and you clamp down on him tighter than you have before, convulsing on his cock. When he pulls you back up, youâre gasping and sobbing. He pulls out and wraps you in a towel, easing you to the wet floor while he cleans up.
When he comes back to you, he helps you stand and dry off, pressing a kiss to your forehead.
âSo?â
Your brow furrows. Itâs not what he usually asks after a punishment, but you think you know what he means. âIâm sorry. I trust you, I promise.â
âI know. Mâso proud of you for taking that. Youâre turning out so nicely, sweet thing.â

In the morning, youâre almost late to work after sucking him off when you should have been getting dressed. Heâs about to walk out the door to head to the site when he hears your frustrated voice from the bedroom.
âJoel, where are my underwear? I need to fuckinâ leave.â
âI told you, baby. There was a price to pay when you picked the bathroom. Yâainât wearing âem anymore.â
âWhat?â
He doesnât need to see you to smirk at the shocked expression he knows is on your face. âWeâll talk about it more tonight; I gotta run.â

   -avulsed
âYâknow, baby,â Joel says, leaning forward to rub your shoulder. âThey just donât fuckinâ appreciate you.â
Youâre bent over, elbows on your knees, crying with your face buried in your hands. You sit up and sniffle, wiping the tears. âItâs fine; itâs not like I need to be coddled at work.â
All the stress of the PR world is getting to you, and you hate it, you fucking hate it, but you dropped 50k on a degree, so now youâre stuck.
âBut they make you work all this overtime, cut your team in half, and then berate you when you canât meet the clientâs deadline? You do not deserve that, baby.â
You let him coax you into his lap, facing him so you can bury your face in his soft, worn tee. He rubs your back and holds your head to his chest.
âYouâre too good to me,â you mumble.
âNah, darlinâ, Iâve told ya a thousand times. You deserve to be taken care of.â He presses a kiss to the top of your head. âI, well. I was thinkinâ...â
You wait, but when he doesnât pick back up, you sit up and look at him.
âI dunno. Itâs nothinâ,â he says.
âPlease tell me?â
âAlright, fine. Now, I donât want ya to feel any pressure. Itâs just a thought. But maybe you should just quit and stay with me a while, âtill you can find something better?â
You canât tell if heâs joking. He must see something on your face, because he tips your chin up so youâre looking into his eyes.
âI know itâs sudden, but I mean it. Let me take care of ya while you figure shit out. We donât gotta treat it like living together if yâainât ready. But Iâd be open to that conversation, too.â

It doesnât take much more than that. The first couple weeks, he lets you give it a tryâsearching for new degree programs, applying for jobs you know youâre overqualified for just to try something different.
After nothing pans out, he suggests you both take a week off. Him from work and you from the burden of trying to escape unemployment. Just relax, like a little staycation.
Itâs bliss. You go on dates, eat pizza and marathon the âJurassic Parkâ movies, and fuck like crazy.
On the third night, he sits you down. On his cock, of course. While youâre bouncing and brainless, he cups your cheek. âBaby, youâve been too damn stressed still. What if we⊠well, what if we tried out a day or two like weâve been talking about?â
Sometimes, you whisper to him in the darkness, usually while heâs balls deep, how you wish you could be his all the time. His good girl. His pet. And he whispers back, lures you right in with promises of taking care of everything, of you not having a worry or care in the world. Just him.
Now, he fondles your tits while he murmurs to you. âWe can just wake up together, and I can take care of ya. Everything you need, baby. All youâd have to do is be good for me, yeah?â
You moan and grind down harder on his cock. âPlease, sir. I want it more than anything. Just to be yours.â
âI know, sweetheart.â

Joel had no patience for brats, so he usually broke his toys in sooner into the training process. He liked âem nice and obedientâscared, if thatâs what it took, but devoted. But you had been from the startâyou wanted to be good in all the ways you could never seem to be to other people. Your family, your job, the world seemed to just demand more and more.
Joel was the first person to make you feel like you had actually, really, truly pleased him. There wasnât a higher mark you should have made. There wasnât any expectation for you to give more and more.
His orders were complete, always. You learned that very quickly. Attempts to go above and beyond were rebuked.
âIf I wanted that, I woulda said so,â he told you. And like everything else, you committed his words to memory.
It helped that he gave praise freely. You didnât have to wonder if he was satisfied, if you should have licked him differently, if you should have made prettier faces while you came. He reassured you until you believed him, and then kept going anyway.
It made it easier for him to slowly peel you away from the ungrateful world.
âYou donât have to take that,â heâd say after watching your face fall further and further while on the phone with your mom. âFamily ainât supposed to make you feel like shit.â
They made it too easy, really, and your relationship with them would have likely just fizzled out. But in the end, he had to step in and snap it off.

You asked him to come with you to dinner at their house. He was hesitant. He wasnât really the boyfriend type. He wasnât really even your boyfriend. That was too weird a word for either of you, not when he owned you.
But he knows you didnât want to go alone, and he has a feeling heâll be cleaning up the mess anyway.
You want to give them a chance. Things have been so tense, and they said they missed you. But they didnât even make it through the entrĂ©e without ridiculing you.
When your father asks how work is going, you quietly confess to quitting, hastily reassuring them that you are looking for a new position. Though, and you keep this part to yourself, you maybe havenât been trying that hard.
âWhat do you mean you quit? How are you paying your bills? You better not have come here to ask for money,â your father says, setting down his fork to glare at you.
âWell, Iâve been living with Joel,â you mumble to the tablecloth.
âI didnât raise you to be a gold digger,â your mother chides.
Joel tries to bite his tongue and let them dig their own graves. But your father calls you a âfucking whore,â and he canât stand it. Canât stand the way youâre cowering in your chair, fighting back tears.
âYou watch your mouth,â Joel snaps at your father.
You look up, mouth agape, eyes darting from Joel to your parents.
âMind your business,â your dad tells him.
Joel stands up and throws his napkin on the table. âShe is my fuckinâ business. I wouldnât stand by and let anyone talk to her like that. Youâre not an exception just because you managed to get it up long enough to cum in your wife.â
âJoel,â you whisper, tugging at his sleeve. Youâre burning, melting on the spot, from the vulgar way heâs talking to them. For him, someone whoâs always strict about manners and proper hospitality, to talk back like this? God, you think, he must really love you.
He puts a hand on the back of your neck and holds firmly as you lean into it. He rounds back on your parents. âYou treat her like fuckinâ dirt beneath your feet, and Iâm tired of it. You donât deserve the fuckinâ dirt beneath her feet.â
He shoves his chair back and grabs your hand. âCâmon, baby; weâre leaving.â
You take it and stand up, letting him pull you along. Your father follows you into the foyer, and you try not to look at him while you shove your shoes on.
Joel holds your coat out while you slip into it, and you tune out whatever your dad is yelling now. You donât want to hear it; you know itâs nasty, and your whole world has narrowed to Joel anyway.
He holds out the key. âGo wait in the truck, baby.â
And you do.
He comes out about five minutes later, red-faced and huffing with fury. He doesnât say a word when he gets in; just throws the truck into reverse and pulls away. You both ignore the blood on his knuckles.
Once youâre on the road, he looks over at you and sighs. âCâmere, sweetheart.â
You unbuckle and slide over to the middle seat, tucking your hand between his warm body to curl around his arm. âIâm sorry,â you whisper.
âWhaddya sorry for? None of that was your fault.â He kisses the top of your head and cups your cheek at the stoplight. âIt was gonna happen eventually, anyway.â
âThank you.â

The rest of the ride home is silent while you breathe in his comforting musk and try to relax. But the tension is unrelenting, the horrible rotting feeling eating away at your spine.
He knows. Knows what you need, knows what he can do to seal this moment forever. He waits until heâs unzipping the pretty little cocktail dress youâd stressed over.
âDonât worry, Iâll take care of you,â he murmurs, breaking away from where he was sucking his claim down your neck to swap out your delicate necklace with his collar.
He unhooks the bra and kisses the marks he left behind with the cane, your penance for being allowed to wear it. It leaves you bare to him, and his hands turn greedy. He presses biting kisses against your lips while digging fingers into your bruises, swallowing your whimpers.
He grabs you by the neck and squeezes the sides of your throat, holding you to him while your vision blurs. When he lets go, you stumble, but his arm around your back holds you upright. He slaps your face with quick, sharp blows in rapid succession to keep you unsteady.
âKnees, hands behind your head,â he says, and lets go.
You fall but are quick to right yourself and take the position. He wastes no time, giving you another harsh smack before grabbing your hair and shoving his cock into your throat.
You choke and gag but keep your hands in place even as your head spins. You feel limp and grateful that he doesnât seem to require any effort from you as he uses you without mercy.
âLook at you. Youâve got my whole cock down your throat. Youâre so fuckinâ good for me.â
Your eyes are already glazed over, and you moan your appreciation around him.
He pulls out and hauls you to your feet. âI know what you need, sweetheart. Get your ass downstairs.â
He fucks you, beats you, uses you wherever he wants. But the basement is where he keeps the heavy equipment and where you know youâre about to have your mind and body pushed to the absolute limit.

Youâre ready, he thinks, when he gets down and finds you waiting perfectly in place for him, eyes wide like heâs descended from on high. He jerks a thumb to the wooden post, and you meet him there.
âForget about what they want you to be,â he murmurs as he closes the steel cuffs around your ankles. âYou know what you want, baby. Right?â
âMhm,â you nod, already slipping away into that safe place only Joel can get you to.
âWhat do you want to be?â he asks, binding your arms up over your head to the eye bolt at the top of the post.
âYours.â Itâs half-whisper, half-whine.
âYeah? You just wanna be mine? You donât want to get a new job?â
âNo,â you finally confess. âButââ
âBut what, baby? If you say somethinâ about money or bills, Iâm gonna be mighty unhappy.â
You bite your lip. âIâm scared one day, youâll wake up and not want me anymore.â
âThatâs the dumbest thing youâve ever said, sweetheart. You think I put all this work into helpinâ you, into teaching you how to be mine, just to toss ya out? Youâre hurtinâ my feelings.â
âIâm sorry,â you say automatically.
He slides a silicone cock into the bracket lined right up with your mouth. Itâs a fairly standard size, since he knows youâre going to thrash around and doesnât want you gagging too much and throwing up.
Your torso gets tied to the post by your tits, the wood nestled between them and rope woven around. Securing you there forces your head onto the toy, but he doesnât make you take it all the way. You keep your mouth open and donât move closer or further, waiting for his command.
âSuck on it whenever youâd like. Youâre going to need it.â
Your eyes roll back a little at his promise. If he thinks youâre going to need something in your mouth to self-soothe, youâre in for an absolutely amazing time.
âFocus on me. Thatâs all youâll need to do from now on, baby. No more worries in that pretty little head, okay?â
The first strike is a warm-up. When you feel the lash of his favorite whip lick your ass, you moan. Itâs a moderately short signal whip that he wields like a fucking pro. His warmups are quick but thorough, and youâre squirming when he moves on to your thighs and shoulders.
âAlready?â he says, laughing when you whine around the silicone cock.
Youâre absentmindedly sucking on it when he starts a harsher assault. A particularly sharp strike stings at the valley where your ass meets your thighs, and you yelp, jerking a little and gagging yourself on the dildo.
His smirk burns into your back as the cry melts into a moan, and you writhe a little, trying to get friction where you need it most. What you get, though, is the tip of the whip against your cunt.
By the time he moves around to your tits, theyâre covered in spit, heaving with the effort of holding back your orgasm. He comes up to you first, and pinches at your nipples.
âAw, does my dumb little cunt want to cum?â He croons, tugging and twisting until you moan. He laughs when all you can get out is a muffled âmhm.â
âTell ya what. You can cum all you want while I hurt you tonight, okay?â
He punctuates it with a particularly cruel pinch, and that, combined with his permission, is all you need to let the pleasure shudder through you.
âYeah? You gonna get off to being my little toy? Gonna let me do whatever I want?â
You moan around the fake cock, easing it further into your throat.
âYeah, thatâs what I thought.â He doesnât give a warm-up on your tits, figuring youâre already so far gone it doesnât fuckinâ matter.
Heâs right. The first lash is harsh, a welt blooming across the top of your breast in its wake, but you groan, trying to press your cunt up against the post for any relief.
You donât need it, though. He brings you to your peak again with the skilled flick of his wrist, landing blows across the fat of your breasts. He waits until youâre mid-orgasm to bring the whip hard across your nipples.
The resulting wail almost makes him cum in his pants. He does it only twice more, relishing in your agony, but restraining himself from just letting loose. Not with the whip, as much as heâd like to. Maybe later with a flogger.
Once heâs taken it as far as heâs willing to risk, he moves back around to give the rest of you the same treatment. The hardest hits push you over the edge, and by the time his arm is getting tired, youâre sobbing and writhing in your restraints, overstimulated in every way.
He unlatches your ankles first, helping you find steady footing before untying your wrists and torso. You drop to your knees and open your mouth, throat aching for his cock after the tease of the toy.
He doesnât have the willpower to torment you by denying it tonight. Instead, he nearly pops the button off his jeans in his urgency to pull his cock out and shove it as far down your throat as he can.
Your arms find their place behind your back, and you just take it. He fucks into you without restraint. Itâs filthy, from the mess youâre making to the wet choking sounds he pushes out of you with each thrust.
Youâre shaking, and he pulls out abruptly.
âI said while Iâm hurting you. You donât get to just cum from getting facefucked.â
âThen hurt me, please,â you sob. Itâs right there; youâre so close.
He slaps you across the face and laughs as you cum, shoving back into your throat while youâre still riding out the aftershocks.
He pulls back out, and you whine until he yanks you up by the bicep and pushes you over to the padded bench, bending you over it and shoving into your sopping cunt.
âStill disappointed?â he teases.
âN-no,â you pant. âPlease hurt me.â
âBeg me properly, greedy little cunt.â
You clench around him just at the words, but obey. âPlease, sir, please hurt me so I can cum. Please.â
âIâve been hurtinâ you all night, baby,â he says, voice thick with false pity. âDonât you want me to be gentle with you now?â He can feel how hard youâre trying not to cum as he mocks you.
âNo,â you sob. âNo, love me, hurt me, please.â
Itâs got an edge of desperation and heartbreak to it that he just loves.
He smacks your already bruising ass until you sob harder, shaking uncontrollably as you cum. He wraps his hands around your throat and fucks you through it until he cums, hips stuttering, and filling your cunt with his spend.
He lets himself collapse a little on top of you, pinning you with his weight against the bench with his softening cock still buried in you. âFeel loved now?â
Youâre still crying, and when he folds his arms around your chest, elbows resting on the table, you cling to him. âLove you,â you murmur over and over, pressing kisses up and down his forearms.
He nuzzles his face into your neck, kissing and sucking at you. âI know, baby. You know I love ya.â Heâs half-hardânot something that happens a lot anymore at his age, so heâs not gonna waste it. He pulls out just to manhandle you up onto the bench on your back, climbing up between your legs and shoving back in.
Itâs a little sloppy until heâs fully hard again; your combined cream making things a little too slippery. Once heâs erect, though, he sets a punishing pace, folding you in half with your legs up by your ears. He works your clit with his hand, relishing in the way youâre fucking exhausted and overstimulated, but your poor clitâs been neglected. It means he can twist and pull on it, tugging until you give him more and more, until youâre sobbing for mercy that you know youâll never get.
He doesnât ease up until he pulls out to cum over your tits and face.
âMine,â he snarls, shoving his fingers into your swollen cunt and feeding you whatâs left of his first orgasm and your⊠well, heâs not really sure how many. A fuckinâ lot. âYouâre all mine. Little fuckinâ toy to do whatever I want, right?â
Youâre still gasping for breath, having been half-suffocated in that position, but when you look at him, itâs like heâs a fucking god. âYes, sir.â

   -broken
The day had started out fine.
Heâd laid out a dress for you to wear. Sometimes, he made you go around bare for a while, just to fuck with your head a little, but he prefers to unwrap you like a present.
Plus, the sight of you crawling around in nothing but a slutty, barely-there dress is picture-fuckinâ-perfect. Heâd know; heâs got a bunch of âem on his phone.
And crawl, you do. You havenât been allowed to walk further than a couple of feet in a long time. Thereâs penance to be paid if you canât avoid it.
Joel collects your penance whenever possible, gathering whatâs owed for your sins and dealing out forgiveness when it's settled. Itâs how he shows his love.
And he does love you. How could he not? Such a perfect little toy. Heâs spent so much time training you right to be his prized possession.
He knew itâd happen eventually, so when you commit one of the worst offenses, he has to make it count. You were testing your limits, of course; he had expected it. He had expected it months ago. It was worse now, after youâd been so good and earned so much trust. But now that youâd been nothing but his for two months, you had finally fucked up.
Your punishments were never painful. Okay, they werenât pain-focused. Sometimes, he had to put you over his knee to let his frustration out before he could give you a proper punishment. But the pain wasnât the pointâyou both liked it too damn much. No matter how much farther he took it than a regular session, and no matter how sick you were with guilt, you were always a soaking wet mess after a beating.
This time would have to be different, though.
It was time to finally break you.

He knew as soon as he got home. Not the particulars, but that youâd made a huge mistake.
On the surface, nothing was amiss. You were knelt by the door in your pretty little dress, a short number in navy blue. You had your head down and arms folded behind your back in perfect posture.
But something was off. It didnât feel like you were happy he was home. And he was pretty sure there would only be one reason for that.
He hung up his keys but didnât bother to take off his shoes, coming to stand in front of you. âWhatâd you do?â
You flinch and have to re-tense to hold the position as a sob escapes you. Your hands are balled into fists to fight the urge to cover your face. âIâm sorry.â
âI didnât ask if you were sorry. I asked what you did.â
If it were still the early days, when this shit usually happened, he might have been just a little softer. At least until he coaxed the confession from you, anyway. But you were in too deep, now, too entangled in this life that he had little patience for your reticence.
âIââ
âI recommend you spit it out. Youâll tell me in the end, anyway.â
You start to cry. âI canât say it.â
âYou better figure it out pretty fuckinâ fast, little girl.â
âI had an orgasm,â you blurt, whimpers escalating to sobs.
He pauses. Itâs worse than he thought. The rush of disappointment and anger sends his heart racing, and his fingers flex in longing for a cane.
âDid you enjoy it?â he says.
It catches you off guard. âNo, I promise.â
âThatâs too bad, âcause itâs the last one youâre gonna have for a while.â
You arenât surprised; youâre actually relieved. Of course, of course heâll fix you.

He finally takes his shoes off and sets his phone on the counter, beckoning you to follow him to the living room. Taking his seat on the couch, he waits until youâre settled at his feet.
âWhyâd you do that, baby?â
âI-I didnât mean to. I was edging for the last time today, and I donât know what happened. It was just there, and I knew it, I knew it was coming, and Iââ You choke on the guilt, the grief.
âYou what?â
âI donât know. I couldnât stop it. I couldnât convince myself to stop. I kept thinking âno, you stupid cunt,â but I couldnât pull my hand away.â
He regards you for a moment. Heâs burning inside, but trying to calculate the most effective approach.
âThank you for telling me right away,â he says, but even though he means it, the words are cold and clipped. âWhich hand?â
You look at him, eyes wide and brows furrowed. âWhat?â
âWhich hand did you use? Give it to me.â
You lift up your right hand, and he cradles it in his.
âListen close.â He waits until heâs sure youâre focused on him, on his words.
This is where things have fallen apart in the past. No amount of training and manipulation can get someone across this hurdle; they have to mean it. The last thing he wants is someone running to the police because they donât fucking understand how serious he is.
âThis is going to be your last chance to back out. I will stop right now and let you pack your shit and leave. But if you stay, youâre agreeing to anything I do to you past this point.â
You bite your lip, stomach churning. âYouâre scaring me,â you whisper.
âGood. You should be scared. What youâve done is one of the worst things you could have. Thatâs got some serious consequences, baby.â
âWhatâre you going to do?â
âI gotta hurt you. Bad. Yâainât going to like this; I can promise you that. I canât punish your cunt because youâre such a stupid pain slut; anything short of permanent damage is gonna make you wet. And Iâm not lookinâ to do permanent damage.â
Your lip trembles, heart pounding. Youâve never been so afraid, but youâre also enthralled. Lured in by the timbre of his voice and the salvation itâs promising.
He squeezes your hand where heâs still holding onto you. âIâm going to break one of your fingers.â
Your heart falters, blood rushing. âOh god,â you whisper, shaking your head. Instinctively, you tug back on your hand, but he grasps it tight, tight enough that you feel the bones grind under his large fingers.
âItâs up to you. Thatâs half the price for forgiveness. The rest is gonna be spending the night alone.â
Somehow, that sounds worse. You canât breathe.
âGotta choose, baby. You wanna go? Iâll pay for a cab. You can walk away, but you canât ever come back.â

You think you might be drowning. Leave? How could you leave? Thereâs no debate in your head; you have nothing without Joel. Nowhere to go, no one to turn to. And the idea of losing him feels catastrophic.
Youâre crying again, and youâre vaguely aware of his soothing voice trying to coach you through breathing. When you focus on him, just like heâs taught you, you start to calm down.
Itâs Joel, you think. Heâll take care of you. And he said he didnât want permanent damage. You just have to suffer for your betrayal and heâll forgive you.
âI think I might throw up,â you warn him.
He sighs, the fear of losing you flooding away, taking some of his anger with it. âWeâll do it in the bathroom.â

He stands up, and you follow, albeit slowly, as the wave of nausea rises. You do throw up as soon as you get in the bathroom, thankfully making it to the toilet. He holds your hair and rubs his hand across your shoulder blades.
âItâs okay, baby, get it out of your system. Youâre being so brave for me,â he croons. He helps you up to sit on the edge of the tub and gets you a little cup of mouthwash.
âIâll help you brush your teeth after,â he promises. âIâd do it now, but, well. Youâre probably going to puke again.â
When youâre done swishing the mouthwash, when itâs all turned to foam and youâve spit it back in the cup, he swaps you for water. You rinse and spit that, too.
Heâs laid a few things out on the counter. You feel dizzy all over again. Something tells you the comfort you feel is wrong, but heâs prepared an ice pack and medical tape, and has four little ibuprofen out next to another cup of water.
The other, louder part of you is whispering, see? Heâll take care of you. The act of wondering whatâs wrong with you feels like a farce. Youâre thinking it because you think you should, just going through the motions.
He takes off his belt and brings it to your mouth. You clench it between your teeth, letting a shaky breath through. His hand cups your cheek, and you lean into the warmth.
âI knew you were somethinâ special,â he whispers. Youâre not sure he meant to.

Your whole body is shaking uncontrollably. He watches you for a moment, worried youâre going to faint, and then sits on the floor with his back against the tub, pulling you into his lap. He lays you back against his chest, caging you in with his arms and thighs. The ice pack sits to his right, already popped and frozen. Waiting.
Gently, he lifts your hand and brings it in front of your chest, taking it in his left. Itâs a macabre mockery, the way he cradles it in his palm, fingers wrapped around the sides. In his right hand, he notches his thumb on the knuckle of your middle finger, bringing the other fingers in below it.
He doesnât drag it out, doesnât take pleasure in your terror. When he moves, itâs faster than a gunshot. Your scream is raw, breaking free from the spaces between your teeth and the belt. The taste of leather will remind you of this moment for the rest of your life.
He has the ice pack on it before you mentally register that itâs over. Youâre sobbing. Horribly, heâs right, and you are sick again. He holds your hair in one fist, holding the ice pack to your mangled hand in the other.
When youâre done, he pulls you back against him, wrapping his limbs around you in a perverse embrace as you shake harder. With his free hand, he brings a damp, cool cloth to your face, cleaning you of the viscera of your sickness.
Heâs shushing you, head bent close to your ear. âItâs alright, baby, itâs over. You did so good. Iâm so proud. I love you so much.â
Itâs good that he doesnât expect an answer because he doesnât get one. Youâre too lost in the pain and shock.

When itâs time to take a break from the ice, he grabs the medical tape and wraps it around your index and middle fingers. You cry out again as he jostles the break. Once heâs splinted it, he lowers your hand gently to your lap so he can grab the medicine.
âI canât; Iâll throw up again,â you say, voice cracking.
âDonât have a choice, baby. Gotta keep the swelling down.â
He feeds you each pill, one by one, chasing them with sips of water.
You look so sad and precious that he almost feels bad. Unfortunately, heâs also rock fucking hard, so he shifts you a little to pull his dick out.
You donât say anything when he lifts you to lower you on it. Heâs careful, trying not to shake you around too much. He was right; you didnât enjoy this pain. Youâve never been this dry for him before, and you whimper pathetically at the pinch and sting of his girth.
You may be worn out and in agony, but your cunt doesnât get the message. He grins when he feels you getting wet and clenching around him. He doesnât push it though, doesnât torment you, just fucks up into you gently until he fills you.
Youâre limp against him now, and he presses a kiss into your hair. âYou may have to walk for a bit,â he muses. âBut Iâll cap your penance at ten.â
You wince. Ten strokes with the cane on the soles of your feet every day until your finger heals? You usually only owe enough for two or three. It is a mercy, though, so you nod and thank him.
Joel can hardly contain the way his chest is flooding with warmth. Youâre so close; he can feel it. So close to being completely his to put together just the way he likes.
He canât wait to take you to The Pit.

   -kintsugi
Youâre cold. So cold. Youâre curled in on yourself, tucked into a corner in the hopes that youâd be able to keep warmer. Your whole right hand throbs.
Moonlight only cuts across the corner, but itâs a comfort still. The soil is loose and you keep shuddering, feeling the tickle of a dozen phantom insects.
Worst of all, your chest aches, like he may as well have hewn you open. Dry sobs work their way free every now and then, leaving your mouth tacky and your throat full of cotton.
The only rest you get is when you blessedly pass out. Every time you close your eyes voluntarily, you see the heartbroken look on his face when you begged him not to leave you there.
âI wish I didnât have to. I wish you hadnât broken my trust and I could keep you close, baby. But youâre never going to learn how to be good if I donât show ya.â
Bad, Iâm bad, he doesnât want me anymore, you think to no end.
When the sun starts to rise, youâre limp, still in your corner. You barely turn your head when a shadow falls over The Pit, but your heart starts to pound when the lock clicks, and Joel raises the gate.
âOh, baby,â he says, soft and sorrowful. âCâmere.â He reaches out a hand, and you scramble to him, letting him take your left arm in his grasp and pull you out. You move immediately to your knees, body bent forward as your knotted muscles protest. He scoots his boot out of the danger zone near your broken finger.
You keep whispering, a broken record of âSorry, please, Iâm so sorry.â
He picks you up and holds you to his chest, shushing until you fall quiet. It doesnât take longer than a few seconds as your brain desperately clings to any scrap, any way you can be good for him.
He brushes the loose dirt from you before going inside and upstairs to the ensuite. He sets you on the little rug next to the full garden tub, and he tests the water with his fingers before peeling his clothes off.
You flex your left hand, balling it in and out of a fist. Youâve never been particularly ambidextrous and wonder how youâre going to wash him without falling in or hurting your hand.
Before he gets in, he feeds you four more little red pills. Once heâs settled, he reaches out and guides you carefully by the waist, pulling you into his lap in the warm water.
Thatâs all it takes for you to start crying again. He doesnât try to quiet you; just holds you there against his chest and lets you sob.
By the time youâve calmed, the water has cooled, but instead of getting out, he just drains a little and runs more hot water.
Joel tips your chin up gently with the knuckle of his index finger. âYou ready to be my good girl again?â
You nod, lip trembling.
Joel does nothing you hadnât asked for. The trouble for you was that you asked for too much. Gave him too much. And it was far too late to get any of it back.
He gave what he could, though. Couldnât replace what heâd taken, so he pours himself in the cracks, puts you back together with a firm hand and loving care. Sure, his love doesnât look like what youâre used to, but he knows you see it for what it is.
âI know, baby. You took that all so well. Donât worry,â he pauses to kiss you, âI forgive you. My perfect little toy.â
pls be nice, I'm so nervous about this.
㠀㠀㠀㠀㠀đă €ăâăâăâŠăăđȘ§ăăïčăđđ


ăăăăă ă ă ă ă ă




kissing without touching



㠀 㠀 㠀㠀 㠀 㠀㠀 㠀 㠀
Just a little question, please don't feel obligated to answer, but why do you want to quit the app? I mean, of course I'd understand it, but I'd miss you a lot đđ
Cringe venting trigger warning!!
I've noticed I seek A LOT of validation for my writing on this app. To the point that I I'll just wait for praise and wait for comments and wait for literally anything that makes me feel like a good writer. And when I don't get it (which is actually a lot of the time), then I end up slipping into really really bad depression.
It's a vicious cycle
Like I'll end up writing for people and end up even forgetting what it is that I LIKE. And then the people I initially wrote would kinda move on from me after I've written what they needed me to write for them (which is perfectly perfectly fine!!!) and then I end up feeling a little useless. Like I'm writing into the abyss for nothing and no one.
And then I wanna kms lmaoooo
đđđ«đąđšđđąđđđ„đ„đČ đđ§đŹđđ§đ | đ.đ.

Kim Seungmin x Fem!Reader
⥠Follow Kim Seungmin as he embarks on slaying the demon that plagues you monthly. (Aka he takes care of you on your period)
⥠Cw: Established Relationship, Domestic Fluff, Care, Suggestive Content, Soft Dom Minnie, slightly implied chubby reader, humour, mentions of nausea, Possessiveness
⥠He's successfully wrecked Bang Chan as my top bias

He could tell, from the moment he stepped over the wooden threshold, when your frustrated groans drifted through the air, that he had just walked into something akin to a battle zone on the Northern front. Seungmin clenches his eyes shut, feeling his own exhaustion double at the sound of your incessant moaning and groaning.
His large hand drifts over the contours of his bareface and for a no more than 40 seconds, Seungmin just stands there.
His back hits the framed wall depicting you and Seungmin (in much happier spirits) on your various âbaecationsâ all around the globe.
Seungmin turns to examine these pictures as he kicks his Nike sneakers off and he shakes his head.
You look so carefree in the picture. Your head is thrown back in a luscious guffaw aimed at the sky and Seungmin, in the very same picture is caught, quite embarrassingly so, with his head gazing down at you with a kind of admiration ancient Greeks held for the deities they worshipped.
That same mouth of yours had been painted with a lip combo that Seungmin had spent the entire evening trying to kiss off. He kissed you and kissed you and never grew tired. You both look so full of life. So attractive. So infuriatingly Instagram-y.
âìŒ, Kim Seungmin! I swear to God if you're standing at the door, holding my period pills hostage, I will fucking end you!â
The juxtaposition was almost laughable. Seungmin couldn't help the slightly humorously exhale that left his lips as he gathered what little sensibilities he had left to face you and your particular dragon that he had to conquer when it was that time of the month.
When his sock-clad feet glide into the living room he finds you laid on the floor in foetal position (unsurprising) with your hands clutched around your stomach, while you groan thunderously into the air.
âWhy do you always resort to using my government name when you're having cramps,â your âsupposed boyfriendâ says in a manner that is so infuriatingly nonchalant, it has your eye twitching from your position on the persian rug.
âI'm dying, and that's the first thing you have to say to me?â Instead of responding to what was admittedly an over exaggeration used to thaw away at your boyfriend's unnaturally cold heart, Seungmin instead places the groceries on the counter.
âIt's almost as if-â you watch as he works in the kitchen ceremoniously connected to the living area. âYou always think youâre dying and then, miraculously, make it through another month. Its almost as if this is⊠temporary? Dunno though, I'm not an expert.â he resorts to sarcasm while your stomach turns in nausea
âHaters!â You affirm through clenched teeth while cradling your body from side to side, âI'm surrounded by my haters and they're closing inâŠ.â
âThe only thing that's âclosing inâ is your bedtime.â Seungmin swipes his fringe to the side as he watches you from behind the counter but it only bounces right back into his eyes, âDid you brush your teethâ
âDid you brush yours,â
âThere's only one of us slinking on the floor like Satan,â
âMean to me-â you whimper through quivering lips, âYou're so mean to me!â
âI'm not mean when I'm trying to get you to go brush your teeth,â you hear the sound of the water spout running before soft muted footsteps approach you. Sensing Seungminâs shadow now casted over your serpentine form which did in fact resemble Satan in the garden of Eden, you keep your eyes shut and your bottom lip jutted out as if thoroughly,and completely angry with him.
âDrink your pills, Bubs-â
âDon't tell me what to-â
âDrink it.â
There were many things you could get away with being in a relationship with one-such Kim Seungmin. He practically radiated boyfriend energy which made walking out in public with a complete nightmare because there is a special detector stationed in every girl, letting them know they were in the radius of a particularly special boy. He knew of your aversion to outsiders perceiving him, âyou want me to wear a paper bag?â Seungmin had been completely unimpressed when you brought up the topic at the kbbq restaurant in the sunny recesses of Gyeongsang Province. âYou're too hot,â you'd said, âAnd kind and delightful and it pisses me off,â
he had cracked a smile and showed up to your apartment the very next day quite literally wearing a cardboard paper bag. He had holes for eyes and the rest of him was otherwise normal. âLet's goâ
And you had fricken gone, because when Seungmin puts base in his voice, like heâs doing right now while he had a glass of water hanging above your head, there was nothing left to do except comply.
You grumble as you lift yourself up from off the floor and your eyes are hardened balls of cement when you grab the water and the pills.
âYou complain about cramps but never actually want to drink the pills I bring,â Seungmin murmurs with his hands on his hips. You watch him in his billowy white shirt and his sweatpants and you can feel your anger beginning to slip away.
Chugging down your water, you place the glass on the coffee table before you begin to grumble, âInstead of medicating me all the time it wouldn't hurt to- I dunno- hold me-â the second those words leave your mouth Seungmin pulls you into his arms with a deep and heavy eye roll as the both of you fall backwards into the couch. âThat was my second order of business, Babe.â He nuzzles his nose into tje side of your face and his hands pull yoir thigh pver his mich smaller one
âUnhand me, Demon!â
âNow I know you didn't eat because you never eat when you're like this,â your stomach, despite turning in nausea also manages to descend into a pit of butterflies, âBut I'm going to make you a smoothie and you'll drink at least 2 gulps. Maybe even 3.â
You try to wrangle out of his grip but he keeps you there, âAnd you still haven't brushed your teeth, so you're doing that after the smoothieâ Seungmin whispers, nearly causing an anyureseum as a places a delicate kiss to ypur cheek, as his hand comes up the back of your head, patting your hair down in intervals.
âAre you my dad?â You whisper, despite your eyes flitting shut. Your cramps, you're noticing, have already begun to ease up and Seungmin snickers as he watches the peace take over your countenance.
He leaves one more delicate kiss to your forehead before snickering, âdon't piss me offâ he says, tapping the skin of your thigh, âGod, I love when you're like this,â you're unaware of the intensity with which Seungmin is looking down at you. âYou like when I'm dying of pain?â You ask craning your neck back to haze into the vaguely serious face taking over your boufriend's features. While you examine the roundness of his cheeks and the contours of his visage, Seungmin's eyes are trained on you too. They're intense, dark holes of perpetual lust as his hand begins to rub up and down your thigh. âI like when you let me take care of you?â He whispers before lightly pushing his lips against yours. It begins as a whisper of a kiss, almost hy as the tips of your lips brush together. Seungmin sticks his tongue out, lapping shyly at your bottom lip.
You groan underneath him, only prompting him to shift until he's hovering over you, kissing you deeply.
âI need-â you try to move away but his lips chase yours, âI need to eat, remember-â
âDidn't say anything about me eating you-â
The lightening that slices down your spine is so vicious and so sudden and by the time you're pushing Seungmin off of you, you realize your cramps have completely dissipated.
âMake me a smoothie, and then we'll talk.â
hey, just letting yk that you gotta update your master list ;-; ... none of the links work now ...
Ah I just saw
Thx