9. In

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Jun was out that night, enjoying his freedom without any worries taking over his mind. He got home the next morning, around the time I'd wake up.

And once he came into the house, he was greeted by a sweet smell of breakfast, freshly washed clothes folded in his closets. The house is clean and silent as he walks around the hallways, in search of the noise of someone being here.

He smiles to himself, knowing that this is what home feels like. Coming home to the sweetness as if he was never missed. He could just lay down in his bed and do nothing but wait for everything to happen for him. Which did happen that way, every single time.

He frowns to himself as he sits down and stares at the food that was ready for him on a plate. But then... there is someone at home most of the time... There is someone that makes him this breakfast, that prepares his clothes and washes them, that cleans the house and keeps it alive. Someone that makes his life easier so he doesn't have to do all that.

The front door opens at 11 o' clock. I walk in and take off my shoes. I let myself fall onto my hands and knees. Exhausted. Tired. In pain.

And I look up to see Jun stand in front of me.

"What's up," I ask as I stand up on my feet again, "I prepared all the clothes as you see. Is there anything else that needs to be done? If so then tell me now so I can do that now and-" he suddenly places his hand on my cheek and smiles.

"Come play with me. Pleasure me," he whispers lowly.

I slap his hand away from my face and step back. "Keep your hands to yourself."

He truly is exactly what I expected him to be.

"How can you even deny me. How can you ignore me. I am your husband. You have to pleasure me, keep me satisfied."

"Keep you satisfied? What about me then? Should I just waste away like dust?"
He shrugs and smirks at me as he grips my shoulders.

"Let me go," I sigh, glaring up at him.
"I'm your husband, I can hold you whenever I want."

"Not when I say no."
"I'll turn your thoughts around then. Make that no become a yes as you beg for me."
"That will never happen."
"Oh, you think so," he presses me against the wall. "Watch me," he whispers in my ear as lips touch my ear.

My hands push against his chest as I try to make him let me go. But what am I against a man taller and stronger than me? What am I? An object compared to a human a person with a will?


My suffering is his pleasure. And what for?


~author note~

I just like the word 'waste' it has so many meanings... I just gotta use them all.

Waste | Jun X ReaderWhere stories live. Discover now