#Insanely Twisted challenge | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

nanamisgirly · 5 days ago

Note

hey gorgjus, I have a request 😛

Lads men when reader is ovulating and all she wants to do is..well her man. Doesn’t matter where or when she’s just super needy for multiple rounds to the point where maybe even they’re a bit shocked, but up for the challenge~ ofc u don’t have to but I’d die if u did 🤭💕

୨୧ — a/n HIIII it took me so long to write, I was turned on each time HELPPPP, anyway I gave my whole hope you will enjoy!! ALSO sorry I yapped so much (as per usual 😔), COMMENTS AND REBLOGS ARE VERY MUCH APPRECIATED MA GIRLIIIIES <3333 (especially comments I love talking to you 💋)

୨୧ — FEAT bestfriend!Caleb, boyfriend!guitarist!Xavier (have the vision IT'S CANON IDCCC), boyfriend!Rafayel (day at the beach), boyfriend!Zayne (grinding on him), boyfriend!Sylus (on mission duuuh) x fem!reader

୨୧ — cw multiple position (prone bone, matting press, cowgirl,..), cumplay, rough & messy sex, degrading (calling her a whore, needy), praise, nipple play, pet name, p in v, unprotected sex, breeding kink in Caleb, creampied, cumming dry, oral sex (Caleb giving, Rafayel receiving), squirting in Caleb, cumming on face in Caleb, size kink, big stretch, big cock, masturbation, semi-voyeurism (Xavier, Rafayel, Sylus), Caleb just won't shut up, unashamed reader, fighting for dominance, sub Rafayel, Sylus is down bad for her, mean Zayne, teasing, belly bulge (Xavier), lot of spit and drool, overstimulated reader and men!, they do moan bc as long as I live my men WILL moan!

𓂃۶ৎ CALEB

Caleb is sprawled out beside you on the couch, legs widely open, one ankle resting lazily on the edge of the coffee table. His thighs are stretching the grey fabric of his sweatpants, making your case much worse and making you impossible to focus on the movie playing on the TV.

And the way his hoodie is pushed up to show those big veiny forearms, golden skin stretched on muscles…

You shake your head, trying to stop the thoughts, you’re his best friend for fuck’s sake. You’re supposed to be watching a movie and maybe eating popcorn, not fantasizing about straddling him and grinding against his muscular thigh. You’re not supposed to salivate for the bushy happy trail picking under his ridden-up hoodie.

It’s useless…your skin is so hot, your pulse is thudding behind your ears, and you’re so wet it’s uncomfortable how your pantie is clinging to you.

“You okay?” he asks, as he saw you shift for the nth time.

And it’s unfair, unfair how pretty his face is. Soft, boyish lips, tenting you, with a stubble he didn’t bother shaving this morning making you wonder how it’d feel between your legs. And no need to talk about his big round purple eyes, making you go insane.

“yeah” you say standing way too fast. “I just…don’t feel well. Gonna head to bed early.”

“Oh…” he blinks those giant puppy eyes at you, making you grow wetter. “Okay. Do you need anything?”

“No, don’t worry. See you tomorrow.”

“Alright. Sleep tight, babe.” His follows you with big concerned eyes.

Babe.

Babe?!

You swear you’re about to slam your head against the wall. Why is he making everything so hard? Your pussy is pulsing, in need. So in need to be stuffed it actually hurt.

It’s unbearable.

And really, is it wrong to take matters into your own hands?

To grab that big, veiny dildo you keep stashed in your bedside drawer and sink it into your dripping cunt while your best friend sits just meters away in the other room?

Is it really wrong to tweak your nipple with your free hand, imagining it’s his rough palm twisting and tugging, his voice in your ear telling you how tight and messy you are for him?

You gasp as you push it in, slow at first, then desperate. You’re already soaked and your walls clench around the toy greedily. Your eyes flutter shut, jaw slack, hips lifting off the bed as you start to fuck yourself faster, harder.

And all you have in your mind is Caleb. His purple eyes, his strong and big body that could easily manhandle you—roughly.

You moan—loud, unashamed—and arch off the bed, back taut, lips parted as the waves build fast and wild.

You don’t hear the door creak open.

Not until—

“I keep hearing you making noises, I’m worried you—”

You freeze—only for a second—when your eyes, heavy and glassy, blink toward the doorway.

Caleb is frozen mid-step, one hand on the doorknob, his brows dawn in confusion that melts into something darker. His mouth parts, his eyes drop to the way your legs are spread, how your hand is working that dildo inside you like you need it to breathe.

But at this point? You truly don’t care. Your hips keep jerking, desperate and out of control, slick coating your thighs in glossy streaks. Your gaze meets his—blurry with tears of frustration—and you let out the most fragile, needy whine.

He doesn’t move, he simply stares—like he’s watching the holiest, dirtiest thing he’s ever seen. You can only see his chest rises and falls, nostrils flaring.

His eyes drop to the soaked sheets, the obscene squelch of the toy still buried between your legs and your fucked-out eyes begging him to do something are driving him into oblivion. His cock already hard and painful.

“you’re fucking yourself…” his voice is low, “lying in here whining for me like that. Thought you were sick.”

You watch as he approaches—slow at first, like he’s afraid the dream will vanish—before he kneels at the edge of the bed. He grabs your wrist, almost gently, and yanks the toy from your cunt with a wet, messy pop. You keen at the loss, hips bucking, slick spilling onto the sheets.

“You needed this bad, huh? So bad you couldn’t ask me? So bad you were ashamed to sit next to me on the couch?”

You can’t answer—just nod through the haze, cheeks flushedyour walls clenching around nothing, feeling so empty it hurts.

His gaze drops to your empty hole and how your hips keep twitching.

“Are you in heat or something?” his eyes are still fixated on your cunt, almost like he’s talking to her. “You smell like it. Like you’re ready to be bred.”

You whimper, spreading your legs wider, offering yourself. “Caleb... Fuck, do something ‘bout it. I can’t... it’s too empty... I need—I need—"

That’s all it takes.

Caleb lunges, hands bruising on your thighs as he pulls you down to the edge of the bed.

“fuckin’ hell.” He buries his face between your legs with a groan that sounds like agony and bliss all at once. “This pussy’s crying for cock, babe.”

You gasp when he wraps his arms under your thighs and locks you in place, dragging his mouth through your folds—tongue’s everywhere sloppy and greedy, licking everything you could give him.

“mmmh such a sweet taste.” His voice’s muffled by your puffy lips. “You gonna cum for me, sweetheart? Please, let me have it, please. I want you to mark me. Wanna be drenched in you. I’ve waited so long to be covered in your cum, your sweet liquid all over my face, hot and warm.”

His lips suck on your clit, hard—creating suction.

“No more toys. No more hiding in your room touching yourself when I’m out there. All this cum going to waste? Not in my watch.” You’re lips part in a silent scream when he suddenly inserts two long fingers into your soaked pussy, curling them just right—just onto your spongy spot.

“Caleb, don’t stop—ah!—feels so good,” you pant, rocking into him. “Your tongue—oh! Right here! Yes, fuck—need more…”

“You’re gonna get it—mph keep tugging on them—” Caleb’s eyes roll back as your fingers grope his hair, pushing him deeper in your cunt. “gonna give you the real thing if you make a pretty mess on my face. You can do that right?”

Your heart is pounding so hard, and your walls keep clenching and clenching. At this point, you’re gushing all over his face.

The pleasure overwhelming your sense. “Caleb move your fingers faster..”

And he does just as you asked. His fingers soaked, filthy sounds escaping your pussy every time he moves them in, they’re white. White of your arousal.

And when he sucks on your clit once again, you cum harder than ever. Back arching, scream ripped straight from your lungs as you convulse around his fingers.

But when you collapse, breath ragged, the ache in your core only gets worse. Your body aches, womb throbbing—begging for him and only him. A hunger that no toy, no fingers and no tongue could satisfy.

You prop yourself on your elbows, eyes blown wide and pupils sharp as you look down the thick, flushed length already in his hand. Veins running up the shaft, the tip swollen and deep brown. So pretty your mouth goes dry. There’s probably drool coming out of the corner of your lips.

“Need you to fuck me.” You rasp. “Fuck me so deep I could feel you for days.”

His jaw clenches, knuckles going white around the base of his cock. “You’re not ready—”

“You smell me, don’t you?” you grab your knees and pull them up, wide, exposing everything. “You said it—I’m in fucking heat. I want to be stuffed. I need to be bred. Caleb, please…” you look up at him with teary eyes.

“Fuckin’ mine.” He snarls, yanking your hips down until your ass is flush with the edge of the bed and he’s lined up, cock head brushing over your soaked entrance. You arch up into him panting and almost crying from the pressure building under your skin.

Caleb moves his cock head up and down your entrance, circling your sensitive clit with his fat tip—smearing all his precum across your folds.

“Caleb…stop the tease. Put it in.”

He leans over you, face twisted in lust and longing. “As the lady begs.”

And in one brutal thrust, he’s deeeep inside you. Your cunt stretches wide around him, to its maximum, it’s borderline with pain. His cock’s so thick you swear you can feel every tiny twitch, every fucking pulse against your walls.

His forehead presses to yours, one hand fisted in your hair, the other locked under your knee to keep you open. “You’re so tight. . like so fuckin’ tight—shit, hiding this perfect pussy from me, you some of selfish girl, ain’t you ?”

“Caleb,” you cry, tears leaking from your eyes. “If you don’t move—”

He lets out a guttural sound, something animalistic—cutting you off—and starts driving into you, fast. The bed creaks under his thrust, wet slaps echo around you.

“My needy little fuckdoll…” he whispers against your ear, “So so wet and desperate, how long have you been walking around wanting this pussy to be fucked properly?” He pants, thrusting harder, “My cock’s the only thing that’ll help you, mhh? Say it.”

You sob, words crumbling in your throat, your pussy gripping him so tight it’s like you’ll never let him go. “Forever.” The word rips out of you, cracked and breathless. “I thought about you every night. Wanted this cock in me so bad I couldn’t fucking sleep—please, Caleb, I need it.”

“Oh, fuck,” he groans, thrusts getting messier. “I knew it. Knew you were touchin’ yourself thinkin’ about me—slippin’ fingers into that sloppy little hole pretending it was mine.”

“Yes!” you cry, choking on it, back arching off the bed.

Big rough hands suddenly slam into your hips, holding you down—pinning you on the mattress as his thrusts becomes more and more sloppier. And when his fat tip hits something wicked inside you—

“Holy fuck,” his voice wrecked, pausing only a split second to look down at the mess you just made. “Did you—did you just…squirted?” his eyes are still on the white liquid all over his pelvis, his balls and thighs.

You nod, a bit ashamed, a bit too fucked-out to fully comprehend.

“Gonna make you do that again.” He shifts your legs up higher, hitting now at a deeper angle, hips pistoning without mercy. “Wanna see that pussy gush all over me again, spill for me—paint my cock with it even. Fuck that’s so hot, you have no idea.”

𓂃۶ৎ XAVIER

Are you a whore for wanting to fuck Xavier’s cock buried deep in you again? And right before his big concert, no less.

He’s waited for this moment for so long, going on and on about how excited he was to perform with his band at this famous festival — a major turning point in their career.

And it’s not like Xavier didn’t satisfy you before coming here. He knew you were ovulating and was more than happy to fuck you for who knows how long—long enough to cum dry, reduced to those weak, poor little spurts.

But it is his fault for looking so damn sexy in the back stage waiting room : pretty makeup, painted nails, and some mouthwatering outfit—if we could call even call that an outfit. It’s just tight leather pants and a jacket with nothing under it, his abs—and the tattoo down his hips—plus his pink nipples are right there in front of you. and watching him run through his setlist on guitar wasn’t helping one bit. His long fingers gliding over the strings, teasing the cords…

“Hey, you good?” Xavier’s voice pulls you out of your trance. “You all flushed and…shifting in your seat.” He tilts his head, clearly concerned. “If you need something I can call—”

“No!” you respond too quickly, making him furrows his brows.

When he smirks and his pupils dilate more, you realize he knows exactly what’s going on. “You really are one horny girl.” He laughs softly, shaking his head in disbelief before turning his attention back to his guitar.

“God forbid a girl wants her man all over her.” You mutter, crossing your arms with a fake pout.

Xavier hums, amused—only making you even more irritated.

You cross your legs. Then uncross. Then squeeze your thighs together, desperate for relief.

“Something wrong with the seat?” he asks, still pretending to look at his guitar, rings flashing under the light.

You shoot him a glare, but it only fuels him. He lets his eyes roam over you for a long second, slow and unashamed. “You really are squirmy tonight. Is it the pants?” he gestures lazily to himself. “You don’t like leather, maybe?”

Before you can answer, someone passes by the open door of the backstage lounge, tossing Xavier a quick, “Five minutes, man!”

He waves a hand without looking. His eyes stay on you. “I’ll make it quick,” he shouts back—but you don’t know if he means it to him or…to you.

More people start moving outside—crew, staff, the bandmate walking past, making it much worse. The room doesn’t even have a door, just a curtain half-drawn. But it might as well not be there at all.

And Xavier starts tuning again, lazily, strumming slow, deep chords. It’s like foreplay with a guitar. Every sound, every note, synced to the rise and fall of your breath. Like he’s playing you.

“Touch yourself,” he says quietly.

Your head snaps up.

“No one’s looking. Just a little. Over the pants.” He adds like that’s supposed to help your case.

“No need to tell me twice.” You shift, subtly, rocking your hips the smallest bit where you sit.

“Rub your clit a bit, get some relief before I go out there.” He whispers for only you to hear, his pupils have eaten the deep ocean blue of his eyes. “I’ll be thinking about it the whole time.”

You bring a hand to your clothed pussy, cupping it, your thumb coming to your swollen bund, pressing and circling it—you whimper at the sensation, a deep exhale leaving your lips.

“Fuck this.” He groans.

He drops the guitar onto the couch, grabs your wrist and pulls you up like you weigh nothing. You stumble into his chest, dizzy with the contact, with the heat radiating off his skin. He looks left, right and practically drags you out of the lounge, down a narrow hallway and around the corner.

There’s a supply closet. Barely lit. barely big enough to stand in—but it will do.

He shoves the door open and pulls you in.

The moment it shuts, he slams you against it—hard enough to rattle your bone in the best way—and cages you in with both arms.

“You couldn’t wait,” he breathes against your cheek. “My cock is still sensitive from earlier and here you are. Shifting in your seat like a brat. Was it not enough?”

“Well, you wore leather,” you tease, smiling fully—but it disappears as fast as it appeared when his mouth crushed onto yours.

His tongue licks your lips, kissing you with all he got. One thigh sliding between yours and pressing against your aching core. His hands move down your hips, forcing you to grind down on him, adding more pressure as his tongue invades your mouth.

The kiss is filthy—both of you fighting for dominance. Nothing sweet or gentle. Just teeth, spit and bruising heat. Wet sounds echo in the cramped closet—muffling the world behind the tiny door—drool dripping down your chins.

“I swear you’re gonna be the death of me,” he says once he pulls away to take a needed breath. “My cock is barely functioning, and—fuck” his eyes rolls back when you arch to reach one of his strawberry-colored nipples with your mouth, teeth tugging enough to make him hiss.

“We gotta be quick, okay? Don’t be too loud—”

“I’m not the one who’s loud, Xavier,” You snap, hands already on his belt, pulling his cock free. “Pull my pants down now, would ya? It’s not like we have time to lose, mh?”

You nuzzle into the side of his neck, kissing the sensitive spot under his ear while his thigh presses back and forth against your soaked panties.

His hands move fast, yanking your pants and underwear down in one go—then flipping you around so your bare ass is pressed flush to his leaking tip.

“I don’t need to be prepared—”

“So greedy,” he cuts you off, slamming his hips forward and sinking into your warm, dripping cunt.

“Oh, fuck.” You moan, palms flat against the cold wall, pushing your hips back, desperate to take all of him. Xavier’s cock is curved perfectly to hit that throbbing, aching spot that had your vision going white within seconds.

He holds you tight, grinding his hips into yours in a punishing, frantic rhythm. His mouth crashes to your shoulder and his bites into it. “How’s that?” he pants, breath hot and wild. “Is it a good fuck? Do you like being fucked like this?” one of his hands grabs a handful of your ass, fingers digging in hard.

“That’s what you wanted? My fat cock inside your needy cunt.” his hips clapping against yours with filthy, echoing slaps. You can feel it. Every inch. Every stretch of him.

And you feel so full—the pressure is insane. Your belly is tight, heat coiling in your core and crawling up your spine. When you glance down, just barely, you can see it—a faint bulge at the bottom of your stomach every time he slams in, punching the air from your lungs.

“Fuck,” you gasp. “You’re so deep—I can see you inside me.”

His rhythm stutters, a choked moan ripping from his throat as he presses a hand flat over your lower stomach, right where his cock is visible. “Stuffing this tight pussy all nice.”

Your head tips back, a broken moan ripping from your throat as your back arches, hips rocking to meet him halfway. “So good—ah!—really good Xavier—don’t you dare stop,” you cry out, voice trembling.

And just as his other hand comes to twist your nipple, hard fast, just how you like it—

“Has anyone seen Xavier?” a voice cuts in, rushed and far too close.

Your head whips toward him, but he’s already looking at you—his face stricken for a second, then overtaken by that same unhinged, hungry need.

“He was in his room, like, two minutes ago.” You distingue one of his bandmate’s voice.

“Shit, shit—we gotta hurry,” he grits out, barely louder than a breath. He’s still buried in you, still chasing that last high.

His thrusts grow ragged and sloppy. He grips your hips tighter, slamming into you harder, deeper—the slap of skin on skin is loud and soaked with all the slick leaking down your thighs.

“Please, come with me, sweetie…” his voice’s raw, fucked-out against your shoulder. One hand fumble between your legs, fingers finding your clit, rubbing fast, messy circles.

Every thrust slam into your sweet spot with punishing accuracy, and the pressure in your belly coils tighter and tighter. You can’t think—can’t breathe—his cock is pulsing inside you, so hot, so hard—

“gonna come—I’m gonna —” you whisper, eyes fluttering, completely gone.

“Do it,” he groans. “Let go. Come for me. Make a mess on my cock—make this pussy gush, baby.” He demands, fingers pressing tighter to your clit—coaxing your orgasm, his thrusts getting more erratic and rougher.

Your walls locking down around him, gushing, your legs shaking. The orgasm crashes into you like a fucking truck. Your body convulses, clit pulsing under his fingers, your cunt fluttering around his cock—the bulge in your stomach pulses with every thrust.

Xavier hisses through his teeth, losing control the second your walls squeeze once too hard around his wide length. “Jesus—fuck, yes!—j-just like that—oh shit…” he chokes out, burying himself deep inside as hot ropes of cum fills your womb, cock twitching.

His head drops to your shoulder, forehead slick with sweat against your skin.

For a second, it’s just your breathing—ragged, tangled, all-consuming.

“Xavier! You coming or what?” someone shouts, just outside the door.

“Goddamn it.” He mutters, pulling out of you with a protesting whimper, trying to steady his breath. His cum starts dripping down your thigh as he stumbles back, moving fast and try to shove himself back into his boxers, one hand fumbling with his zipper.

You stumble a little, legs shaking as you fix your clothes, heart still hammering in your chest.

Before he can fully turn away, you grab his jaw—his breath stills, eyes snapping to you.

You pull him into a filthy, wet kiss that’s all tongue and teeth. Going on your tiptoes, you bring your mouth to his ear and murmurs “Don’t forget…we’re not done, pretty boy.”

Your tongue flicks against the shell of his ear—goosebumps parkouring down his neck.

You smirk and purr at his reaction. “And don’t forget who you belong to when girls start throwing their bras at your face, mh?”

His eyes widen, hungry, and then he’s gone—rushing out the door, jaw still tingling from your grip.

𓂃۶ৎ RAFAYEL

It was such a hot day. .

The kind of heat that slicked your skin in sweat before you’d even moved, the kind that left the air heavy and unbearable.

So, when Rafayel suggested a beach day, with that shy little tilt of his head, you had almost laughed. Not because it was stupid idea, but he thought it would cool you down.

He didn’t know better.

You were absolutely a wet mess for his cock. Your body was way more much hotter than the sun hitting on the sand.

So, of course, when you found the hidden cove—all shadows and crashing waves—you were on Rafayel before he could even make a comment on the view.

“Please, Rafayel,” you whispered, breath ghosting hot across his lips. Your chest heaved against his, pinning him effortlessly, and your fingers curled around his wrist.

His breath hitched, pupils blown wide, violet eyes barely visible through the haze of lust and disbelief. Even his lips were still kiss-swollen.

“I—I don’t think I can even fuck you properly,” he stammered, voice cracking so cutely. “Even If I wanted to. I’m still—God—I haven’t recovered yet…”

And indeed, you’d both spent most of your times in the hotel’s bed sheets, fucking all night all day from the kitchen floor to the bathroom’s sink. His mouth and dick buried between your thighs pulling so many orgasms out of you, and him. Non-stop.

Your body pressed tighter, practically purring against his as you leaned into his neck, nipping just above his collarbone. He gasped—so easily startled 

You could feel his pulse against your lips—frantic. You took your chance and slid your hand down his toned stomach until it reached the front of his swim shorts. When you cupped his length with your palm, he twitched violently.

“For a man who says he hasn’t recovered, you’re quite well-functioning y’know.” You mock.

You slowly lift your gaze from his cock to his face—eyes glassy with hunger—and you whisper, “you only have to be here. I can do all the work…please, Rafayel. I need to soothe the ache.”

He blinked, breath stuttering hips already betraying him with a slow roll forward. “I can’t take much more—”

You cut him off with a grind of your hips, dragging your soaked bikini bottom over the swell of him, letting him feel exactly how needy you were—your folds stuck to the fabric, your slick a mess between you both, and he whimpered.

“Just keep looking pretty,” you murmured, licking into his open mouth. “That’s all you ever have to do.”

You sank to your knees, hands tugging at the waistband of his shorts with zero patience. His cock slapped up against his stomach—flushed an angry pink, throbbing, soaked in precum—his tip redder than usual from the overstimulation.

You let out the most pornographic moan ever, head tilting as you watched the fat bead of slick drip from his slit. He twitched under your gaze, a pitiful whimper slipping from his bitten-red lips.

You flattened your tongue against the underside of his cock, dragging it cruelly from the base to the tip, savoring the salty-slick taste of him. You circled his swollen head with the tip of your tongue, smearing his own precum around it, watching his thighs tremble.

“F-fuck—ah, I—” he choked, fingers scrambling against the rock behind him, eyes wide. “P-please—please, baby, don’t tease—”

You laughed against his cock before sinking down, swallowing him in one wet, choking glide, shoving your face until your nose pressed into the soft curls at his pelvis.

His back arched.

One hand clawed helplessly at the rock wall behind him while the other gripped your hair in a panic-tight hold, trying to either stop you or pull you deeper—he didn’t even know.

You moaned around him, loud and guttural, your thora vibrating around his cock, drool bubbling at the corners of your mouth. Your ruined bikini clung to your body like a second skin, soaked clean through—fabric bunched between your folds, practically dripping as you rocked your hips against nothing.

You pulled back just to spit thickly onto his cock, watching it mix with your slick and his precum, running down your chin, stringing between your lips and his tip as you licked back up with filthy abandon.

“I—I can’t—” he sobbed, head slamming back against the rock. “Y-you’re too—fuck—it’s too much, I can’t—”

“You can,” you snarled, fisting the base of his cock with one hand, pumping him hard as you licked his tip with quick, sloppy little flicks. “You will.”

The second he came—spilling down your throat, twitching in your mouth, voice broken and wrecked—you climbed on top of him. Still on your knees in the sand, bikini bottom shoved aside, folds glistening and dripping with need.

He was still softening when you straddled him, and he looked at you with dazed, glassy eyes—eyes that screamed mercy.

But you were past hearing it.

“Fuck, I need you,” you rasped, nails digging into his chest as you guided him back to your soaked, pulsing heat. “I don’t care if you’re not ready. I can’t—I can’t wait anymore, Rafayel. I need to cum or I’m going to lose my fucking mind.”

“I—I just came…and maybe, your pussy needs to—”

“I’ll make it fit,” you snapped, grinding his oversensitive cockhead through your swollen clit. His body tried to flinch away from the contact, but you caged him in—legs strong, body relentless—and pushed.

His mouth fell open in a silent moan, his whole frame spasming beneath you. “Oh God—it’s too much, I swear—”

You dropped onto him fully, hips slamming down as you bottomed out in one desperate stroke—not listening to what he was saying, driven by lust.

Even softening, his cock was stretching you full, he still reached deep.

“Rafayel, babe—I need it,” you whimpered, already riding him, pace feral. “Need to cum sooo bad.”

Your cunt was making noises to the point of indecency, your juices squelching loud and obscene, splashing everywhere around you—on you. His hands gripped your hips weakly.

“You’re milking me—I can’t, it hurts—please, fuck, I—oh fuck!”

“you’re gonna take it,” you snarled, sweat dripping down your temples, your ruined bikini top falling askew, tits bouncing with every thrust. “I want to cream on your cock, Rafayel. You want it too, right? Lemme pretty, be a good boy.”

His hips bucked up once, involuntarily, and you screamed—your clit grinding against his pelvis, your pussy fluttering, sucking him in deeper like your body knew nothing but this hunger now.

With tears in his eyes, cock twitching helplessly inside you, he whispers “I’m gonna cum again—”

“Fucking do it,” you panted, riding him faster, rougher, losing all rhythm, chasing your orgasm like a woman possessed.

And no long after, you felt hot long ropes of cum filling your cunt, his fingers bruising your thighs as his eyes closed shut. Cumming harder than before, body completely at your mercy.

You followed seconds after, cunt spasming wildly around him, milking him through his own overstimulation.

You collapsed forward, chest to chest, both of you soaked in sweat and cum.

𓂃۶ৎ ZAYNE

you squint at the red glow of the alarm clock on the nightstand.

4:00 am.

You stare at the ceiling like it might talk you down. It’s fine. One day. You can do it. You’re not a sex addict, right? One day is fine.

You tell yourself that. Over and over. For over an hour now. Since you woke up, heart pounding hard against your ribcage, panties soaked.

You’ve twisted in the sheets, rolled from side to side, trying to calm it, trying to wait it out.

No use.

You sigh as your turn your head toward Zayne. You watch the slow raise and fall of his back as his breath steadily. He’s out cold, like someone completely exhausted can be. And you get it—he had a brutal shift at the hospital. He has… What? Twelve or thirteen hours on his feet? Probably more. And he’ll be up again in ninety minutes.

He needs this sleep.

But the way his back stretches in the moonlight, muscles taut and perfect like someone sculpted him out of sleep and sweat—it makes you ache. Makes your thighs clench. Makes patience feel like a joke.

He’s always giving so much. To his job, to everyone. Always putting in more than he has to. Always chasing better. And he deserves rest. He really does.

But unfortunately, there’s this pulse between your thighs, stubborn. A knot of need that won’t untangle. Your panties feel like a tease, there’re soaked to the point it feels like they’re mocking you for trying to be patient.

You turn toward Zayne once again. Your gaze shifting between the ceiling and him.

He hasn’t moved. His lips are parted just slightly, his skin’s warm under your fingertips as you brush his hip.

You bite your lower lip as you mentally curse yourself for what you’re about to do.

You swloly slide closer to him, careful not to wake him up, your legs slips between his, and you press in, grinding your needy core against the strong curve of his thigh—it’s solid and so perfect… exactly what you desperately need.

You bite your lip, hard. It’s the only way to stop the sound that nearly escapes when your clit drags just right across his thigh.

His skin against yours, the faint scent of him clinging to the sheets, the little flex of his leg when he shifts ever so slightly in his sleep—it’s so freaking good.

There’s nothing cute or sweet with what you’re doing.

You’re rutting against your boyfriend’s sleeping body like some feral thing, chasing your orgasm in silence, praying he doesn’t wake up and see you like this—panting, wide-eyed.

You’re so wet it should be illegal—slick soaking through the lace, leaving his thigh all slicky with your arousal.

Every roll of your hips sends sparks through your core, your face twists.

Stop. You should stop. Just go to the bathroom. Use your hand.

But you can’t. even with all the will power of the world.

You can’t.

His body, his warmth, his strength. There’s something so Zayne that only him can do.

Even if he doesn’t touch you back, even if he’s deep in some dream far away from you—you’re still losing your mind grinding on him.

Quietly.

Your thighs tremble as the pressure builds, heat coiling low and tight, your body twitching for more, more, just a little more—

You bury your face in the pillow, teeth sinking in, trying to smother every sound.

You’re right there—hips twitching, whole body shivering around the friction, balancing on that thin, shaking edge. One more grind and—

“Mmh…” Zayne stirs, a low grunt rumbling from his chest as he moves, disoriented.

“what time is it…?”

Shit.

Heart in your throat, you stop moving entirely.

Too drenched in need to think straight, too mortified to breathe.

You don’t say a word. Maybe he’ll roll over. With a bit of luck…maybe he won’t even notice.

His thigh flexes, your slick clings to his skin. And he goes still too.

A long pause.

“…are you grinding on me?” his voice is thick with sleep, raspy—making your clit throb.

You press your face deeper into the pillow, cheeks burning, shame crawling down your spine. “I—I didn’t mean to wake you up,” you whisper, voice cracking. “I just...I couldn’t sleep.”

His gaze drops. To your hips. Then your ruined panties. His thigh wet with your arousal.and even though he looks like he’s still trying to process the image, his body reacts faster than his brain.

“Jesus.” he mutters, voice rougher. “…How long have you been doing this?”

“…a while.” You reply quietly.

That pulls a breathy, stunned laugh from his, still half-asleep but definitely hard. Zayne props himself up on one elbow, eyes adjusting, blinking—trying to pull himself out of the sleep.

“I tried not to wake you.”

He watches you for a long second, hair messy, “You were gonna cum on my thigh and not say a thing?”

You nod, barely, ashamed and aching.

“Fuck. You’re actually serious.” His hand reaches out, thumb brushing the curve of your tummy. “You needy little thing,” His lips twitch in a mean smile. Way too amused for someone who just woke up to his girlfriend fucking herself on him.

“You’re so fucked.” He drags the words out in that wrecked, sleepy voice of his—the one that send a shiver down your spine.

“Take ‘em off.”

You blink.

He tapes your panties, eyes glinting. “Go on. Take those ruined little things off. Since you’re already this far.”

You hesitate, heart pounding.

“Aww, now you’re shy?” his tone turns sharp with mock sympathy as his golden eyes fix yours. His hands come to your hips, and he rips your panties off.

The sharp sting causing you to gasp. “Here we go…wasn’t that hard.”

He leans in, breath warm against your cheek, that grin still curling his lips. “You gonna finish what you started?” he murmurs. “Gonna show me how bad you needed it? Since you couldn’t even wait for me to wake up?”

You can’t even answer—just a shaky whimper as you straddle him again, your body obeying even as it trembles, already too raw. Zayne leans back, propping himself up against the headboard, spreading his legs wide. “Atta girl,” His voice’s thick with sleep and arousal. “Show me.”

But the second you drop your full weight onto his thigh, your body jolts. Your hips twitch instead of rock, thighs squeezing as your head falls back in a helpless arc.

It’s too much.

You can’t move. Can’t even breathe right. The slick drag of skin-on-skin against your pulsing clit is sharp and unbearable—like pleasure and pain got tangled together and started burning.

Zayne notices instantly.

“Ohhh,” he breathes, tilting his head to the side, lip caught between his teeth. “You really were fucking losing it, huh?”

Your mouth falls open in a pretty O, eyes fluttering shut as he flexes his muscles under you.

“Look at you,” he laughs softly, darkly, pressing a kiss to your jaw as his other hand threads into your hair and pulls—not hard, just enough to make your throat arch for him. “Fucked yourself out all alone, like a big girl. What, thought you’d just hump my leg and sneak off to sleep after?”

He kisses lower, breath brushing hot against your neck as his mouth drags over your skin. One hand grips your ass, the other holding your hair tight to keep your neck bared as he leaves kiss after kiss down the curve of it—open-mouthed and wet.

Every part of you is sensitive. Your cunt’s throbbing, leaking onto his thigh, your whole body barely stilling with every tiny shift of friction.

“Lemme take this off for you,” he whispers onto your collarbone, hands slipping beneath your shirt. “There we go… You feel much better like this don’t you?”

He doesn’t wait for an answer. He just smirks at the sight of your bare chest, nipples hardened and flushed, completely at his mercy.

He leans in, blows softly onto one—just enough to make you shiver—and the sensation shoots straight between your legs. You whimper, hips bucking as one of his hands returns to your waist, forcing you to grind your drenched pussy against the firm muscle of his thigh.

“Go on,” he murmurs, voice muffled as his mouth closes around your nipple. He nips at it, then sucks

“Be a good girl. Cum on me. I want you to make a mess on me.” he flexes his thigh just right beneath you and you can’t hold it anymore.

A loud moan escapes you as his teeth close again on your nipple, this time a slow aching chew—your body locks up—back arching, nails digging into his shoulders as you cry out. Your climax rips through you, messy and unrestrained.

Before the tremor even leaves your body, he’s moving.

You feel his hands slide beneath your thighs—rough, commanding—and in a blur, you’re flipped onto your stomach, face buried into the pillows, ass lifted high.

You barely catch your breath before he’s behind you, spreading you open with no hesitation, breath hot, voice gone dark.

“You will take this like a good girl, ‘kay?” He murmurs, almost too gentle for how he manhandles you. He peppers kisses across your shoulders—probably apologizing in advance.

His weight settles over you, chest pressing into your back, caging you between the mattress and his wide, unrelenting body. His hands keep your ass in the air, firm and unyielding, while his cock brushes teasingly against your soaked, oversensitive center.

“Gonna be a bit rough,” he warns, breath warm against your ear. “That okay with you?”

You whimper, nod, and he grins—low and sharp.

“Yeah… I know it is. You love being fucked like this. Like a dirty little whore.” He slaps your perfect little ass before adding, “Hold onto the pillows, love.”

And in one brutal push, he’s all the way in. his cock buries to the hilt, stretching you wide open, the sudden fullness knocking the breath from your lungs. His hips are flush to yours, pubic hair brushing your holes, his body locked tight against yours.

“Fuck!—Z-Zayne…’s lot—ah!—”

“That’s okay,” he pants, mouth at your neck—almost drooling over your skin. “You’re my strong girl. You can take it.”

And then he moves—thrusting into you like he’s lost to it, all control burned away. Each stroke is brutal, deep, precise, pounding you into the mattress with relentless force. The bed slams against the wall with every thrust, the headboard rattling loud enough to drown your cries.

He keeps you pinned, keeps your hips arched just right, locked in that perfect angle. All you can do is hold on—fingers twisting in the sheets, face pressed into the pillows, body trembling with the force of it all.

“’S right,” he rasps, pleasure thick in every breath, sweat sticking his chest to your back. He’s nearly gone, nearly forgetting he’s got to be up in less than an hour. “Takin’ this dick so damn well… you’re perfect.”

Your body responds on instinct—tightening around him, walls clenching like a vice. It hits him like a punch to the gut.

“Fuck,” he groans.

You whimper beneath him, nearly sobbing into the pillow. You can feel everything—every thick ridge, every puffy vein, the way his cock drags and stretches you just a little more with every deep thrust. It’s overwhelming. Too much. Not enough.

He hisses through his teeth, hips stuttering for half a second.

“Shit,” he grits out, golden eyes locked to where your bodies meet—where you’re dripping, splashing, making a soaked mess with every slam of his hips. “You tryin’ to choke my cock or somethin’, huh?”

His hands move from your hips until both palms are cupping your breasts. He squeezes onto the soft plush, thumbs brushing over your sensitive nipples as his thrusts keep slamming into you from behind—only to hear your pretty ‘Ah! Ah!’ followed with ‘Deeper Zayne!’

“Can’t stop clenching. So sensitive—these fuckin’ tits—” he groans again, rolling one nipple between his fingers.

You arch into him, helpless. His cock driving into you, his hands pulling at your chest, his mouth licking your neck—all of him wrapped around you, inside you.

“Hold still,” he growls, voice barely human now, hips picking up pace, bed slamming again. “I wanna feel you cum on my cock with my hands all over you.”

𓂃۶ৎ SYLUS

“Again?” Sylus’s voice comes raspy, broken in the edge.

“Pleaaaase,” you purr, letting the word rolls on your tongue, hands firmly pressed on his chest—pushing him against the cold wall.

His head falls back with a dull thud. “Kitten…” he breathes, his ruby eyes dropping to look at you as you press your body against his. “We’re on a mission… I don’t think that’s the moment—”

“You’re sweating,” you whisper, fingers dragging down his forehead, lips ghosting the corner of his jaw. “That’s not like you.” You’ve seen him calm in gunfire, unfazed in blood—it was uncharacteristically of him to have an uneven breath.

“I just think…” you trail off, rising onto your toes, mouth brushing his ear, “if we make it quick… no one has to know.” You bat your lashes, voice a soft, sultry question. You already know the answer. You know you got him wrapped around your finger. You only needed to find the right arguments. It was just a matter of seconds.

Sylus exhales hard through his nose, like it physically hurts to resist you. His jaw ticks.

“You’re insufferable.” He snaps as his hand fists in your shirt, dragging you down the hall without a word.

You smile like crazy. He’s just so cute, isn’t he?

You pass doors. Equipment crates. A stack of mission gear left behind. His body is tense, every step coiled like he’s keeping himself from pinning you to the wall right there and tearing into you in front of anyone who might walk past.

Once he finds a room, he shuts the door with his boot and pin you against it. Dim light filters through a single wall panel, dust swirls in the air, it’s abandoned, quiet and safe.

His hands cage your jaw, his forehead presses to yours. He's panting like he just fought someone off.

"You drive me insane," he growls.

“Is that so?” you blink up at him, biting the inside of your cheek to stifle the laugh. You play dumb, “didn’t notice.”

His hand shoots up, fisting the collar of your shirt. And before you can even gasp, his mouth crashes into your—bruising, teeth clicking, no space to breathe between the kiss and the punishment.

There’s nothing delicate.

His lips crush yours, dragging your bottom one between his teeth until you whimper. The heat of it stings the ache spreading deliciously down your spine. He kisses like’s he’s mad at you, mad at him for not knowing how to tell you ‘No’.

And you kiss him back just as hard. Your fingers tangle in front of his shirt, twisting fabrics tight in your fists. One hand slip between your bodies, palming him through his pants firmly.

He jerks in your grip, groaning straight into your mouth. His hand flies to your hip, squeezing hard enough to leave a bruise. The other grabs your wrist, stopping your hand mid-stroke.

“I don’t think I can cum.” His eyes are heavy-lidded when he looks at you.

“As long as you can get hard,” You smirk, lips swollen and heart racing. “that’s all I need.”

With a growl, Sylus moves fast. He drags your pants down your legs with urgency. Your panties don’t stand a chance—he doesn’t even pull them off, just pushes them to the side, fingers grazing hot and rough against your soaked heat.

You’re already undoing his zipper, not bothering with finesse. His pants stay on, barely shoved down enough to free his cock, thick and flushed in your hand.

He lifts you with no more ceremony, strong hands under your thighs then rapidly under your knees so your legs could rest on his wide shoulder. The position locks you open, exposed—your back pressed to the cold door, legs draped high and wide against his warm body.

His cock drags upward through your slick folds, heavy and hot, teasing that swollen ache with just enough pressure to make you whimper. The contrast of his warmth against the door’s chill makes your skin burn.

Teeth graze along your jaw, and his voice comes out low, “Gonna fuck you all nice and good, promise. Hold on tight.”

You don’t even realize you’ve grabbed two fistfuls of his white hair until he thrusts forward, so hard that your entire body tightens, already bracing for the stretch, the slam, the mess.

His forearms warp around your thick thighs, holding you in place with an iron grip as he piston into you. You’re suspended between the door and his chest, barely able to think—let alone speak.

When he moves it’s rough—slow but deep. The weight of his pants clings to his hips, the waistband scraping your thighs every time he thrusts in.

His mushroom cock head kisses your cervix each time he brutally bottoms out, drawing a raw cry from your throat.

The sound of the scrape of wood behind you is almost louder than your own voice breaking. “Is this how you wanted it?” he rasps against your mouth, his breath hot, sharp. “On a mission—still begging to be stretched wide?”

Sweat beads at his temple. His jaw’s clenched. And all you can do is take it.

“Yes-Yes! Exactly…you’re so—oh shit!—good to me Sylus.” You pant, head hitting the door behind you as your eyes roll back. The way he’s still mostly dressed, the grind of fabric and heat—it's driving you to the edge faster than you’d admit.

His jaw tightens when you yank on his hair again, and he groans—low and ragged. A bead of sweat rolls down his temple. He keeps you pinned high, panting into your neck as his pace builds—fast now, reckless. His gaze flickers down to the way you’re clinging around his length.

His arms flex with the effort. He resumes his pace to quick deep strokes. Wanting you to reach your orgasm.

“I—I think I’m going to cum dry...” he chokes out against your ear.

“That’s okay Sylus, j-just don’t stop—” You can feel his cock twitching violently against your gummy walls.

“You feel so—so—fuck!” He drops your legs from his shoulders, almost trembling himself, he doesn’t let your feet hit the floor. He keeps you flush against the door, panting into your neck.

His hips keep moving, slower but no less intense—the friction of your ruined panties, pressed awkwardly between you, makes everything more unbearable.

His hands slide under your thighs, lifting you again to tilt your hips, to find that devasting spot that has your vision white out at the edges.

“’m gonna cum, kitten—’m sorry—” he rasps.

You feel the stuttering of his hips, the soft broken sound he makes into your shoulder as his body goes taut and shudders hard. What little he has left spills in weak, pulsing ropes.

But you? Sylus’s long fingers slip beneath what’s left of your panties, finding your clit instantly. He presses and flicks in quick, messy motions. He’s still coming from his high as your pussy paints his cock white.

^⌯𖥦⌯^੭

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wonryllis · 7 months ago

Text

TEMPTING THEM DURING NO NUT NOVEMBER.

─────𝖠𝖭𝖣 𝖳𝖧𝖤𝖸 𝖢𝖠𝖵𝖤 𝖨𝖭. 汚い ❛ 𝗌𝗁𝖾 𝗌𝖺𝗂𝖽, "𝖼𝖺𝗋𝖾𝖿𝗎𝗅 𝗈𝗋 𝗒𝗈𝗎'𝗅𝗅 𝗅𝗈𝗌𝖾 𝗂𝗍" ❜

featuring. enhypen hyung line with fem!r wordcount. 1250 ( around 300 each ) check out the catalogue?

warnings. ⚠︎PG18! public teasing, groping, rough sex, dirty talk, degradation, dry humping, car sex, riding, handjob, shower sex, choking, clit rubbing, p in v obviously.

𝗟𝗘𝗘 𝗛𝗘𝗘𝗦𝗘𝗨𝗡𝗚

heeseung knew he fucked up the moment he agreed to take on the challenge. he knew it so so well, yet he decided he could do it and he could pull through the entire month if tried just hard enough. that he could keep his dick in his pants and not in you.

and it was hard. it is hard. his fucking cock twitching underneath his boxers as you discreetly palm him over his suit pants. right in the middle of a dinner with all his friends sitting around the table. unaware of your indecent touches and the looks you throw at your boyfriend.

batting your lashes at him while biting your lips, grabbing his thigh and then moving your hand up to squeeze his cock. it is absolute torture till it lasts. till his resolve breaks and he immediately drags you along to the nearest bathroom. his friends looking at the scene knowing he's done for— just a week into november.

“shit you just had to make me lose didn't you?” heeseung slaps his hand over your mouth, muffling your loud moans as he drills his cock into you. fast and rough; holding your thigh around his waist in a grip so tight it'd probably leave purple bruises.

he tugs you closer on the counter each time you move back from the force of his thrusts, skin slapping into red, painfully pleasurable marks,“couldn’t keep your hands off my cock for once,” he grunts, brows furrowing as you clench around him every two seconds.

“if you keep doing that baby, i might just knock you up with how much i cum,” he moves his hand from your mouth, his lips immediately find yours in a messy lock, nibbling on your lower lip in supressed groans and pants, his balls tightening up when he feels yours walls clamping onto him hard.

𝗣𝗔𝗥𝗞 𝗝𝗢𝗡𝗚𝗦𝗘𝗢𝗡𝗚

if muscles could tear off easily. jay would be in shreds right now. the sheer amount of restraint it is taking him, each part of him painfully tense— beyond he ever felt in his entire life. absolute hell he is going through watching you prance around in just a croptop and freaking bikini bottoms.

his eyes almost popping out of the sockets with drooling desire and want for you as he follows along the way you bend over or reach up for absurd and insane reasons. purposely to tease him of course.

he is aware of what you are trying to do. he really is. but he still just can not seem to look away for the sake of his cock and the expensive dinner on line for losing. gaze continuing to follow you as you settle into his lap, arms draping over his shoulders and your ass resting right on top of his now hard cock. oh he's about to lose.

“had this dream last night and— fuck princess you couldn't keep your hands off me and— oh god it was so hot,” jay rambles, his hands gripping your waist guiding you as you grind your drenched folds across his hard cock. back and forth, back and forth. your wet bikini bottoms sliding off to the side each time you reach up to his tip. warm slick smearing over his twitching cock pulled out of his sweatpants just enough.

his soft gasps and grunts filling the room,”gonna lose the no nut but it's worth it,” his eyes stay fixated on your face, watching the way it twists with pleasure and how your lips form an o when you let a moan amidst the constant mewls.

only two days left, but jay just can't resist it anymore. feeling your thighs shake against his and your eyes roll back when he nudges just the tip inside.

𝗦𝗜𝗠 𝗝𝗔𝗘𝗬𝗨𝗡

jake's knuckles turn borderline white against the steering wheel. grip so tight he might as well rip it off the console. he tries so hard to focus on the road, to keep his eyes and his mind on the lane. but god you make it impossible with your hand caressing his thigh. his gaze drifting down each time your pinky rubs against his balls. and mind drifting off to danger zone of no nut november.

a sharp intake of breath and a silent curse falling off his lips when your fingers trail over his bulge in a feather light touch.

calm down, calm down, calm down. jake chants repeatedly— don't get hard, don't get hard, changing the words when he inevitably feels himself throbbing and growing stiffer by the second— fucking don't get hard damn it, all futile for his cock practically springs against the fabric of his cotton pants after you brush over his tip. should have worn the goddamn boxers.

“oh yeah— oh fuck yeah— your pretty pussy feels so good baby,” jake groans against your parted mouth, the sounds leaving you, the way you bounce on him, the sweat trickling down between your breasts; oh he doesn't care it's only been four days since he decided to participate in no nut november.

“how did i even think i could live a month without you cumming on my cock,” his hands squeezing your ass, guiding your movements as the car flaps with your lewd squelches in the backseat. the windows fogged up and filled with your moans and jake’s dirty mouth running rampant.

noticing your face scrunching up in pleasure, he immediately moves his hand over to rub your nub in quick circles,”god yes you're gonna cum for me?” his feet planting firm onto the floorboard before he starts pounding up,”me too baby, gonna fill you up so well.”

𝗣𝗔𝗥𝗞 𝗦𝗨𝗡𝗚𝗛𝗢𝗢𝗡

the cold shower did nothing to help his raging mind. and his raging cock. images of you begging for his cock flashing before his eyes on repeat. you were such a vixen when it came down to sex. knowing exactly how to tempt him in a way he would not be able to be resist.

it's only been ten days. sunghoon reminds himself, a hand rubbing down his face as he tries taking in deep breaths. coming home to you waiting for him right by the front door with fucking bedroom eyes was not something he was ready for. and especially not for the way you tried to persuade him to give up the challenge. pulling him closer by his sweatpants and throwing out the most sensual begs he'd ever heard from you.

it took every cell in him to deny you, rushing into the shower to avoid you before you could notice his boner. he did not lock the door though—

“fuck doll, keep doing that and i’ll cum so hard,” sunghoon throws his head back, water running down his chest and over your pretty little hands jerking his hard cock in sloppy strokes. his hips buck involuntarily, furious and wild despite all the warnings flashing red in his subconscious.

“shit shit shit— fuck wait—” as the tight coil in his stomach threatens to bust, he instantly pulls away. albeit only to push you against the glass wall, haul up your left leg, and shove his cock inside in a brutal thrust. his forehead resting against yours as he fucks rough. rough and mad.

his other hand reaching up to grip your throat in a light choke,”you were so desperate to be fucked, you just had to ruin my challenge didn't you?” thumb pressing onto your windpipe just enough while he stares into your glazed eyes,”so desperate for my cum,”

taglist . . open ! @s00buwu @lilyuwon @pockyyasii @nctislifue @shawnyle @enhastolemyheart @aaa-sia @criminalyun @oddracha @satan-223 @seochangbinnnnnnnnnnn @jayjw16enxp @laylasbunbunny @riribelle @ancnymcnzjy

#enhypen smut #enhypen hard hours #enhypen hard thoughts #enha smut #enha hard hours #enha hard thoughts #enhypen heeseung smut #enhypen jay smut #enhypen jake smut #enhypen sunghoon smut #heeseung smut #jay smut #jake smut #sunghoon smut #enhypen imagines

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yuujispinkhair · 9 days ago

Note

Imagine firefighterSukuna…..sigh….😵‍💫

I am losing my mind, Émilie 😵 Thank you for sending me this!

FIREFIGHTER!SUKUNA X READER (FEMALE) 2.5k words. 18+, fluff + smut, mentions of cigarettes. Sukuna is a bit of an asshole at first lol, but we change his ways, and now he will be a good boy only for us ;) Divider by lacedolliee + benkeibear. Minors don't interact.

Sukuna isn't the typical firefighter. He isn't like those heroic guys you see on TV or read about in sappy newspaper articles. Sukuna doesn't do this out of the goodness of his heart. He doesn't need to save random strangers out of a burning house to sleep better at night. If he's honest, he doesn't give a fuck!

But Sukuna is good at his job. He is strong, fearless, and insane enough to walk into the worst situations. He is here for the thrill of it. He loves the adrenaline rushing through his veins when he gets called to a fire. And the more dangerous it is, the more fun it brings Sukuna!

He doesn't hesitate before walking into your burning apartment complex a second time, even when everyone around him says it's too dangerous. Sukuna just gets a mad glint in his eyes, and a feral smirk lifts his lips when he says, "You think I'm scared of a little fire? One day, I'll burn in hell anyway, so fuck it!"

The Itadori twins are the only ones who enter the building a second time. Sukuna knows his brother does it because he has a little savior complex, always willing to sacrifice his own life to save someone else. Sukuna, on the other hand, does it for the challenge, for the thrill. He always wants to win, no matter who the opponent is, a guy he fistfights in a bar or a fucking fire. Nothing will defeat Sukuna!

Sukuna kicks down the door of your apartment when you thought all hope was lost. He carries you out of the burning house, smirking victoriously under his helmet when he feels your hands cling to his muscular biceps desperately.

He brings you to one of the ambulance cars, setting you down on a stretcher before he pulls off his helmet and his heavy jacket, revealing the white tanktop beneath it and a good portion of his broad chest and muscular, tattooed arms, sweaty and smeared with grime and ashes, and yes he finds the way you stare at him very amusing.

Your wide-eyed gaze slowly trails over his body until you finally look up at Sukuna's tattooed face with tearstains on your cheeks, your lips trembling, and your voice raspy from all the smoke when you ask him dazedly for his name.

And Sukuna flashes you a playful smirk while running a large hand through his pink hair as he fixes you with a smoldering gaze out of his eyes, which glow red right now from the flames of your burning apartment complex reflected in them.

He tells you his name in a low, seductive drawl and watches your face twist with emotions. A shaky sob escapes your lips, and fresh tears slip out of your eyes,

"Thank you so much, Sukuna! You saved my life! You are my hero!"

Sukuna laughs gruffly, shaking his head and smirking at you,

"Trust me, sweetheart, I am not a hero."

He really isn't. He isn't doing this because he is a good guy who wants to save people. He is only here because his brother dragged him along to his work after Sukuna got fired from another job, unable to stay employed because he simply doesn't do well with authority.

And then he went into a burning building for the first time and realized that fighting against the flames and the smoke and tearing down walls and kicking in doors, somehow was where he felt at home. So Sukuna stayed.

Well, and the nice side effect of this job is all the girls he gets to fuck because of it.

Sukuna watches you with a lazy, amused expression on his face, already knowing what will happen. You gulp hard, reaching out to touch his arm tentatively, eyes wide, full of admiration and a desperate plea swimming in them,

"Please, I want to thank you. I want to pay you back for saving my life. What can I do?"

Oh, Sukuna knows exactly how you can pay him back, but he just grins and shrugs his broad shoulders,

"It's no big deal. But you can check into my cousin's motel if you need a place to stay until you find a new apartment."

It's extremely convenient to have a cousin who owns a motel, and of course, you agree, thinking that way, you can at least do Sukuna a favor by giving money to his family.

"Come on, I can drive you, princess."

Sukuna wraps a strong arm around your shoulders, steadying you, taking care of you, making you all kinds of crazy for him. The big, strong, sexy firefighter who saved your life. You lean gratefully against his strong body, letting him lead you to his car, help you inside, and even buckle your seatbelt for you.

Sukuna can already see the little hearts dancing in your eyes. It makes him grin to himself as he starts the car.

It's a rather long drive from here, and you get stuck in traffic for a long time. And Sukuna learns that, as shy as you are, you seem to be uncomfortable with silence, and so you start to fill it with babbling about all kinds of things. Your apartment, your job, your family, how you like your coffee.

It's amusing how awkward you are, but somehow Sukuna's smirk softens into a smile one hour in, and he catches himself replying with a playful tone, asking more questions about you and your rather boring life, which, to his surprise, is kind of cute to him.

When he finally pulls up in front of the motel, Sukuna already knows what will happen. He accompanies you to your door, standing before you, tall and strong and with a sexy smirk, and you get on your tiptoes to kiss his tattooed cheek, letting your soft lips linger almost longingly on his skin as you whisper,

"Thank you again, Sukuna. I will never forget what you did for me."

And before you can pull away, Sukuna places a large hand on the small of your back, keeping you right there in front of him, so close that your body brushes lightly against his, and his other hand cups your chin and turns your face so he can claim your mouth in a playful kiss, his tongue licking teasingly over your lips, pushing inside to flick slowly against yours, making you gasp softly and twist your hands in the front of Sukuna's tanktop, pulling him closer.

Yeah, that's it, princess, Sukuna thinks to himself. If you want to thank him, this is exactly how he wants it. Thank him with your tongue in his mouth and your hands on his body.

Sukuna knows he is an asshole, but he doesn't care. All his coworkers are far too decent guys. They say it's wrong to sleep with the ones they saved. They say it would feel like taking advantage of them.

Sukuna can only laugh about that. The way he sees it, there is nothing wrong with getting rewarded with sex. And after all, it's not like you don't get something out of this, too. Sukuna will show you the night of your life. He will dick you down so good you will thank him again afterward.

He scoops you up into his strong arms for the second time today and carries you into the motel.

It's you who touches him first and yanks on his tank top. So needy for him and his dick, so desperate to get your hands on his naked skin. So why should Sukuna feel guilty?

He mounts you from behind, fucking you hard and fast in doggy with a hand around your throat before he pushes your face into the pillow and continues to take you in prone bone, pressing you down onto the bed, covering you completely with his heavy body, making you sob his name anytime he pushes his fat cock into you.

He was right, you really thank him as he feels your pussy becoming tighter and tighter around him right before he fucks you over the edge.

For the second round, you turn around and look up at Sukuna, and maybe that was a mistake because your eyes are so full of those damn little hearts, and your face is alight with total bliss and adoration and, yeah, love. Your arms are wrapped so tightly around Sukuna's body, your fingers tangled in his pink hair, caressing him, pulling him down, begging him with breathless whimpers,

"Closer... please come closer... please, I need you, Sukuna."

He kisses you just to shut you up and make you stop looking at him like that as if he is your world. But he still hears the way you moan his name, not Sukuna, but Kuna, when you squeeze around him, and it makes him cum harder than he has in years.

Sukuna slumps down on top of you, not thinking for a moment in his post-orgasm high, basking in the way you feel under him, so soft and warm, and your silky heat still pulsing so deliciously around his cock. He turns his head to lightly bite your neck as if he needs to leave his mark on you, when usually he never leaves anything behind.

Sukuna frowns, rolling off you and lying on his back next to you, staring up at the ceiling with a slightly uneasy feeling. Why is he acting like this? Maybe he inhaled too much smoke tonight. Maybe the heat was too much.

No matter what it is, Sukuna finds himself staying in your bed much longer than he usually does. Every other time he finds his way into someone's bed, he acts as if his alarm went off and he has to leave for another fire, finding the perfect excuse to leave while his dick is still wet.

But tonight, he doesn't bolt right after cumming. Maybe he really just needs some rest. And it's just very comfortable how your smaller body seems to fit perfectly into his side as you roll over and snuggle against him, like some housecat looking for cuddles.

Sukuna knows he should get up, but he is too comfy. He will just rest for a moment longer, just close his eyes for a few seconds, and enjoy the way it feels to get cuddled like this.

When he opens his eyes again, the lights are off, and only the soft glow of the streetlamps drifting in through the window casts some dim light into the small motel room.

"Oh fuck..."

Sukuna curses under his breath, the instinct to run kicking in, but he gets stopped by a pair of arms wrapped around him, and everything comes flooding back. The drive here, the sex, the way you looked at him, how nice it felt to let you cuddle him.

Sukuna freezes up. He knows he should leave. Knows he should untangle himself from you and sneak out while you are still fast asleep. Run away like he always does, never to see you again.

But somehow, the way you cling to him makes him hesitate. He must have turned onto his side in his sleep, and now you are behind him, playing the big spoon, which is ridiculous considering your size difference, but here you are, hugging Sukuna tightly from behind. Clinging to him, pressing your warm, naked body against him.

Your face is buried in Sukuna's broad back, breathing softly against his tattooed skin. And somehow, Sukuna doesn't know how to breathe anymore because the realization washes over him that he likes to get held like that.

But there is still a little fight in him left, and Sukuna growls softly, gritting his teeth and carefully plucking your small hands off his abs. He doesn't get far, though. He has barely moved when your arms wrap around him again. Of course, Sukuna could easily slip out of your grasp, but what really makes him stop is your soft whisper,

"Stay. Please... don't leave me alone. Not tonight."

You sound so small and scared, and Sukuna has no idea why his heart clenches at the sound of that. But what he knows is that he stops moving and mumbles something about just stretching his legs a bit because he is about to get a leg cramp.

And his large hand cups yours to give it a reassuring squeeze, something he only ever used to do when his brother and he were still kids, and Yuuji cried because of something. It makes him feel awkward and weird and so fucking weak.

But you let out a relieved sigh and snuggle against Sukuna's broad back again, hugging him and whispering, "Thank you."

Sukuna's mind is whirling because why the hell does it feel so fucking nice to be held by you like this? It's concerning.

But he doesn't try to run, just huffs softly and interlaces his fingers with yours where your hand is resting against his naked chest.

"Get back to sleep, princess. I won't leave."

And he means it. For the first time in his life, Sukuna stays.

He wakes up in the morning to the warmth of your body wrapped around his and the feeling of your lips trailing sweet little kisses over his broad shoulders, and your soft fingers caressing his tattooed biceps tenderly. You say his name all sleepy and sweet-sounding, and Sukuna asks himself if the fire last night fried his brain because everything about you makes him feel such weird things right now.

Maybe it's your sweet and slightly shy smile. Maybe it's the way you babble so cutely when you are nervous. Maybe it's how innocent you seem to be, how genuine with the affection you give him.

Sukuna fucks you again, but slower this time, with the sunlight pouring in through the window, and somehow he can't look away from your face. Somehow, he gets lost in your eyes when you whisper his name and dig your nails into his broad back. You cum so sweetly on his cock, so wet and hot, sucking him in even deeper, crying out his name and calling him your hero, and Sukuna's vision goes black for a moment when he cums with such a loud and feral moan, that he never heard coming out of his mouth ever before.

He stays an incredibly long time in your bed. Cuddling with you, kissing you, almost purring like a cat when you run your fingers through his pink hair while he rests his head on your tits.

When a real alarm tells Sukuna it's time to leave and do his job, he groans and only reluctantly gets up. His eyes never leave you while he gets dressed, watching as you wrap the blanket around you and smile dreamily at him.

And Sukuna catches himself stepping closer to the bed again, leaning down to grab your neck and capture your lips in another kiss, which is too long, too tender.

You ask him for his phone number, and Sukuna gives it to you, which is also something he usually never does.

He walks out of the motel with a casual wave of his hand, but the strange feeling in his chest isn't casual at all. He tries to ignore it, gets in his car, lights a cigarette, and takes a deep drag as he turns up the music and drives off. But even as he's driving away from you, he can't suppress the feeling that a part of him stays with you right there in the bed of that shabby motel.

Sukuna goes through his work day routinely while the ghost of your touch still stays on his skin, reminding him of last night and this morning, and not even the adrenaline of running into a burning building can chase the memories of those lingering touches away.

He rescues another girl from a burning house, and she smiles at him and thanks him profusely, lifting a hand to touch him, but Sukuna takes a step back and out of her reach. When she asks him how she can pay him back, he just shakes his head and says

"No need to pay me back, ma'am. That's my job."

Sukuna feels strange when he drives back home to his apartment. All alone, just his music and the cigarette smoke filling his senses. But he finds that he doesn't regret turning this girl down. Because there is something else he craves. Someone else.

At the next red light, Sukuna pulls out his phone and presses dial, and then your sweet voice fills his car.

"Sukuna? Heyyy, how are you? I am so happy you called!"

A grin lifts Sukuna's lips when he answers,

"Hey princess, I'm coming over. What kind of food do you want for dinner?"

Sukuna has no clue how or why this happened, but it feels right. It feels right to call you and to drive to your motel. It feels right to spend the whole night in your arms and the next one, too, and maybe all of his nights from now on.

Maybe it's because no matter how much Sukuna still denies being a hero, he really likes being your hero.

OH BABYYY. I really want him to be my hero, too 😵😵 I hope you enjoyed this short story about sexy firefighter Sukuna! Thank you so much to Émilie for putting him in my mind. I can't wait to see your drawing of him!! 💗😋

Thank you so much for reading! Comments and reblogs would be very sweet 💗

#sukuna x reader #sukuna x you #sukuna smut #sukuna fluff #sukuna #jjk x reader #jjk x you #jjk smut #jjk fluff #sukuna x y/n #jjk x y/n

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luvsupa · 8 months ago

Text

“WHATT? NEVER SEEN A GHOSTT..”

summary: next time be respectful for gojo’s memorial. . .

tags: ghost!gojo x fem!reader, smut, threesome (ig ..?), use of clone techniques, jjk spoilers, mean gojo, ōral sex (f!recieving), size difference,belly bulging, full nelson, degrading, dumbification, etc, mdni.

w.c: 4k . . .

a/n: GUYSSS WE GOIN UPPP ☝🏽 TYY FOR 1,7K MWAAAAA

+ sorry for the errors

kinktober masterlist

the halloween theme park buzzes with screams from rollercoasters and actors in horror costumes that look almost too real. you walk arm in arm with your friends, all of you decked out in matching monster high costumes. at first, you weren’t into it, but after enough pestering, you caved and ordered clawdeen’s full outfit.

the crowd can’t stop complimenting the four of you. from the boots to the hair, everything is spot-on. but gosh these platform boots are killing you. you can already feel tomorrow’s regret setting in.

“ooo, let’s try this ride before we leave,” one of your friends says through the fake fangs she’s wearing as draculaura. you all turn your heads to see what she’s pointing at. a sign reads infinity maze, with eerie, glowing blue eyes blinking on and off. it’s famous, mostly because the guy who designed it—gojo satoru—died a few years ago, turning it into some kind of attraction with ghost stories attached.

you scoff. people are suchwimps.

as you approach, you’re grateful for your speed passes because the line is insane. “okay, how about we make a bet?” your cleo-dressed friend suggests. “slowest time pays for dinner.”

you grin at the challenge, nodding along with everyone else.

as you wait, something catches your eye—a giant memorial statue of gojo satoru, standing tall near the maze entrance. his cocky grin is frozen in stone, and beneath it, the descriptiom reads,

in loving memory of satoru gojo. forever lovable and the strongest.

you roll your eyes so hard it almost hurts. “who gives a fuck about him?” you say, loud enough for your friends to hear. they giggle, and you continue, “seriously, they’re doing the most with this memorial. it’s not that deep.”

one of your friends shakes her head, trying not to laugh too hard. “it’s haunted, remember?” she says mockingly, to which you just snicker.

“haunted, my ass.”

your first friend goes into the maze, and you start timing her on your phone. almost three minutes later, she comes out breathless, claiming the only scary part was a worker grabbing her ankle at the end.

next up are the others, who all manage to escape in under two minutes. the pressure’s on now, but you refuse to be the one paying for dinner. with a quick glance at your friends, you flash your speed pass to the coordinator, ready to sprint through this lame maze and leave them all in the dust.

your platform boots thud heavily against the creaking wooden floor, each step echoing in the suffocating silence. the door slams shut behind you with a sharp clack, sealing you inside. a deep breath fills your lungs, but the air feels heavy, thick. the faint glow of flickering lights ahead barely cuts through the darkness, revealing the first room—a classroom?

it’s an old, japanese-style classroom, but something feels off. chairs are scattered across the floor like a struggle took place, and bloody handprints—too real for comfort—smear the walls. your heart races as a sudden crack of thunder rips through the air, making the weak lights above you flicker wildly. it feels like you’ve been transported, as if this isn’t a theme park anymore... like you’re somewhere else, somewhere you shouldn’t be.

you inch forward, boots sinking into the floorboards with each loud creakk. you can’t shake the feeling that the room is watching you. the chalkboard looms at the front, with jagged, uneven writing smeared across it

look behind you

your stomach twists. your mind fights to stay rational—it’s just part of the maze, it’s not real. but your hands are trembling as you slowly turn. nothing. just scattered desks and the harsh, stuttering light overhead. thunder crashes again, timed too perfectly.

your heart rate slows a bit, but you mutter under your breath, stupid maze, trying to shake off the unease as you head toward the next door. the sign above it reads, hall of mirrors,

the knob feels cold in your hand as you twist it, stepping into the next room. pitch-black darkness swallows you whole, except for the mirrors that tower from floor to ceiling. hundreds of them, endless reflections stretching out in every direction. your eyes adjust to the faint, flickering light—just enough to see yourself, but not much else.

“fuck,” you whisper, hating mirror mazes with a passion. you move cautiously, knowing you’ll bump into a dead end at some point. your reflection multiplies with every turn, making it feel like you’re being watched from all angles. you stop in front of one mirror, catching your breath, and take a moment to adjust your costume.

you smooth down the sheer purple mini skirt, making sure your wolf ears are straight on your head. you shift slightly, checking out your ass in the reflection, appreciating how well the outfit hugs your body. you’re about to laugh at yourself when your eyes catch something—a shadow

a figure. behind you.

your breath stops cold. your friends hadn’t mentioned anyone being in here with you. you freeze, heart pounding as you stare into the reflection, too terrified to turn around.

“o-oh um, did I come in the room too early?” you stammer, your voice barely steady, assuming he’s the worker who grabbed your friend’s foot earlier. you swallow hard, trying to make sense of the tension creeping up your spine. the lights flicker again, casting shadows that stretch too long. your eyes twitch as you stare into the mirror—he’s still there, standing so still it sends a chill down your spine.

the lights flicker again, plunging the room into darkness. your pulse races. you can feel his presence behind you, closer now, even though you haven’t turned around. every hair on your body stands on end, anticipation mingling with fear. when the lights finally come back, your breath catches in your throat.

gojo satoru.

he stands right behind you, towering over your smaller frame, his eyes glowing like cold fire through the mirror. his presence is overwhelming, suffocating, andelectrifying. his ocean-blue gaze locks onto yours through the reflection, freezing you in place. you can’t move, can’t breathe, as his lips curl into a slow, dark smile.

“nahhh, you came at a good time,” he drags out, voice low, rough, as it echoes through the room. the sound of it, mixed with the flickering lights, makes your knees weak. he steps closer, his icy fingers brushing the hem of your skirt, sending a shiver down your spine. your breath hitches as you feel his touch, subtle yet possessive.

“and who are you supposed to be?” his voice is condescending, almost mocking, as his hand continues to toy with the fabric, lifting it just slightly. the way he says it makes your heart race faster, your skin prickling with a mixture of fear and something else—something darker.

you glance up, meeting his gaze in the mirror, tears forming in your eyes. this can’t be real. his white hair falls messily around his face, his long lashes shadowing those dangerously beautiful eyes.

“h-how? y-you’re dead,” you blurt out, ignoring his question as panic takes over. but his chuckle—low, dark—vibrates against the back of your neck, making you shudder. you’re trapped between the mirror and him, his breath warm and taunting against your skin.

“that i am,” he murmurs, his lips so close to your ear, “but you know what they say… energy never dies. you brought me here.” his words wrap around you, suffocating, intoxicating. your mind spins, trying to comprehend. you brought him here? how could you possibly—?

“h-how?” your voice is barely a whisper, trembling as you try to make sense of his words. it feels like the room is shrinking, like the walls are closing in, the air too thick to breathe.

“don’t play dumb now,” he chides, his hand sliding higher up your thigh. the heat of his palm sends sparks through your body. you shouldn’t want this, but the way his fingers tease your skin, the slow drag of his hand, has you clenching your thighs together.

suddenly, it hits you. images of you mocking his memorial, laughing at his statue, flashing through your mind. his low chuckle tells you he knows exactly what you’re remembering.

“i-i didn’t mean-”

“didn’t mean it? nahh, pretty, you fuckin’ meant it.” his plush lips press against your neck, leaving a trail of kisses that make your knees weak. fuck, you shouldn’t be getting turned on by this, by a ghost. yet, your body betrays you, burning up under his touch.

he leans into you, his teeth grazing your exposed skin, making you flinch. fangs? you tremble as he brushes his fingers under your chin, lifting your face so your wide, glossy eyes meet his through the mirror.

“all that nasty energy you have within you… mmm, that’s why.” his voice drops as he nibbles on your earlobe, tugging lightly on your hoop earrings, making you wince.

“‘m sorry, j-just don’t hurt me, I’ll do anything,” you stammer, your voice shaky as his grip on your chin tightens. his movements still, and the way he smirks behind you makes your heart sink. you’ve never felt so exposed, so vulnerable—like you just handed him your dignity on a silver platter.

without a word, he pushes your back down, forcing you to brace yourself against the mirror, your fingertips smudging the glass as you struggle to keep steady. glancing to another mirror, you see him crouching down, eyeing your clothed cunt with dangerous curiosity.

“anything, she says”, gojo quietly says, his teeth sinking into his bottom lip as you arch your back just right for him. his eyes darken when he notices how soaked your panties are, the fabric clinging to your folds, sucked in by the wet heat between your thighs. of course, the lights choose now not to flicker—how fucking embarrassing.

with a quick, rough tug, gojo hooks his finger into your panties, pulling them side to side, watching how your chubby folds swallow the fabric before yanking them aside, fully exposing your dripping cunt. you clench hard at the sudden cool breeze against your exposed skin, and he pauses, mesmerized.

“you like this, huh? getting off to a dead man… ohh, you’re disgusting,” he mocks, his voice low and sinister.

“‘m going to make sure you live your dirty fantasies,” he growls, his tone laced with intent.

and he really is.

gojo has been diving into your cunt for what felt like hours, his impossibly slimy tongue lapping up your juices as your gummy walls snugly embrace him. your hands grip the sides of the mirror for dear life, feeling him reach the deepest parts of you. you’re moaning like a bitch in heat, your desperation rising as his spare hand mercilessly toys with your clit, not in cute circles, but pinching and pulling on your sensitive nub with no mercy whatsoever.

your thighs begin to shake uncontrollably as he pushes you to your third orgasm, broken moans escaping your glossed lips. your pussy slowly feels numb, overwhelmed by how hungrily he’s eating you out. do they not feed him in his world?

“ngh—‘toru, it’s too m-much,” you hiccup, and he growls behind you, the sound vibrating through your body. at this point, you’ve completely forgotten about your friends, about the stupid bet—you’re lost in the most toe-curling head of your life.

your stomach churns unexpectedly as you cum again, your brain so fuzzy that you can’t even comprehend it. he loudly slurps up your mess, not wasting a single drop as he licks you clean, your cunt twitching around his tongue. when he pulls his tongue from your gaping hole, your swollen folds throb in response as he grins at your state.

“heh, look at you—just a slut for a ghost!” he taunts, now standing behind you, grinding his achy bulge against your exposed cunt. his eyes never leave your face in the mirror.

“let’s see how much dick she can take,” he mutters to himself, cupping your pussy, clearly addressing her rather than you. as you catch onto his words, a wave of confusion and excitement hits you. how much? there’s more than one?

before you can process anything, you blink once and find yourself in the most insane position you’ve ever been in—full nelson. gojo has you completely at his mercy, holding your legs high above your head with a firm grip, locking you in place like a ragdoll. your tall platform boots dangle helplessly in the air, the sensation thrilling and humiliating as you stare at your reflection in the endless mirrors surrounding you. your stomach twists at the sheer size difference between your body and his, your eyes widening as you see your slick, swollen cunt clenching around nothing, desperate for him.

your miniskirt is now so short that it’s bunched up around your waist, exposing more skin than you’d ever intended. your eyes drop lower, and you gulp as you take in the sight of his cock, standing proudly upright. the base is a tan colour, thick and powerful, with mean veins decorating the sides that pulse with each heartbeat. the bulbous tip is a deep pink, glistening with droplets of cum that catch the dim light.

with one hand firmly securing your legs, gojo uses his other to tease you, rubbing the tip of his cock along your folds, the sensation sending electric jolts through your body. you bite your lip at the girth of his shaft, feeling a mix of excitement and horror. he’s definitely bigger than all your previous exes, and with every second you spend in this position, he brings undeniable shame onto them.

“can you handle it, baby?” he taunts, his voice dripping with condescension as he revels in your predicament.

“yes, I can-”

without lettint you finish, he thrusts into you, burying himself deep within your slick warmth. the suddenness takes your breath away, and you let out a gasp as he fills you completely. his girth stretches you in a way you’ve never experienced before, almost burning as your gummy walls clench around him, trying to accommodate his size. each thrust sends waves of pleasure crashing over you, a delicious blend of pain and ecstasy as you realize you can only take it.

gojo holds you firmly in place, using this ruthless position to keep you utterly at his mercy, revelling in your helplessness. with each powerful thrust, he drives deeper, hitting spots inside you that make your vision blur and your legs tremble. you can’t escape, all you can do is take what he gives you, your body completely surrendered to the pleasure.

“look at you, taking it so well,” he growls, a wicked grin stretching across his face as he watches your reflection in the mirror. your moans fill the room, echoing off the glass, mixing with the sound of skin slapping against skin. the sweat glistens on his body, making his white hair stick to his forehead, adding to the rawness of the moment. “you’re nothing but a greedy little slut, aren’t you?”

you can only whimper in response, your head spinning as his relentless rhythm pushes you closer to the edge. your thighs shake uncontrollably as he hits that sweet spot, the coil in your stomach tightening with every thrust. you’ve completely forgotten everything but the way he stretches you out, your body fitting around him perfectly as if you were made for him.

as gojo thrusts into you relentlessly, your collar jingles with every powerful movement, a stark reminder of your current position. each chime echoes in the room, amplifying your vulnerability as he drinks in the sight of your pretty, disheveled form. he watches how your eyes flutter in bliss, how your lips part with each thrust, and how your reflection reflects the pure ecstasy etched across your face.

“what happened to all that toughness?” he sneers, his breath hot against your ear as he quickens his pace. “wanna tell me how stupid this is?” his laughter reverberates through the air, as he reminds you of your sly comment.

the humiliation of his words ignites a flame deep within you, and despite the embarrassment, your body craves more. your jewelry clinks and jingles as he pounds up into you, each sound mingling with the echoes of your moans. the sensation is overwhelming, and you find yourself teetering on the edge of submission, your mind hazy as pleasure clouds your thoughts.

as you struggle to keep your eyes open, the world around you blurs and spins. you can’t tell if it’s the overwhelming pleasure or the way he’s wrecking you, but you swear you see multiple gojos swarming around the two of you in the mirrors. they grin wickedly, each one reflecting the same smug confidence, but you’re too lost in ecstasy to process it completely.

am I seeing things? you wonder,

your mind foggy from the pleasure coursing through your body. each thrust sends you spiral deeper into submission, heat pooling in your core, ready to explode.

then, without warning, you feel another hand, another gojo, playing with your pussy. your eyes shoot open, panic flooding your senses as you choke back a gasp.

he can clone himself!

your body responds eagerly to the dual sensations, the original gojo still jack hammerinh relentlessly inside you while his clone teasingly rubs your clit, heightening your pleasure to unimaginable heights. as if sensing your need, the clone moves closer, rubbing his chubby tip along your widened folds. you scream internally, panic flashing through your mind as he presses against you, the overwhelming stretch igniting both fear and pleasure.

there’s no fucking way.

the clone pushes in slowly, stretching you beyond your limits, sending shockwaves through your body. you cry out, your voice a mix of pleasure and pain, tears brimming in your eyes. he’s moulding himself deep within your walls as you feel every inch of your velvety walls being re-designed for him.

the original gojo leans down, his breath hot against your ear. “c’mon, big baaaad wolf, can you handle both of us?” he taunts the nickname referring to your costume, as his thrusts becoming more forceful as the clone fills you. “i thought you were a big girl.”

you can only moan in response, the sound mingling with the jingle of your jewelry as they continue to drive you wild. the mirrors reflect your state—multiple gojos swarming around you, each one more enticing than the last. their mocking smiles deepen your humiliation, but the pleasure they bring you makes it impossible to care. both their cock heads rushing as if it were a race to reach your cervix as you squeak at the brutal thrusts.

“look at you, a pathetic mess,” the original gojo mocks, his eyes gleaming with satisfaction as you squirm between them. your gaze lazily drifts to the your tummy where a large bulge forming beneath your costume, moans escaping your lips at the sight. “you love being filled up like this, don’t you? who’s the stupid one now?”

your body betrays you, your pussy clenching around both of them as they thrust in sync, stretching you to your limits. the lewd squelches and sloshes of your dripping cunt fill the air, drowning out all coherent thoughts. each thrust pushes you closer to the edge, the overwhelming sensations causing your mind to spiral into oblivion.

the clone suddenly flicks your head, thr pain forcing you to look at him, and you feel a rush of clarity amidst the haze. “stay with us, pretty,” he demands, his tone both condescending and sultry.

“we- hgnn -want to see that face you make when you fall apart.” you shudder at the sound of his voice, the way it sends waves of heat coursing through your body.

“mmf—i can’t. . . ’s too much,” you babble, your voice rising higher as the clone continues to push into you, the overwhelming sensation of fullness sending shockwaves through your body. pleasure and pain blur together, and you find yourself lost in a whirlwind of ecstasy.

“ohhh, but you can,” the original gojo growls, thrusting harder, your body shaking as you sob loudly, the sounds echoing off the mirrors as your achy walls clenching around his thick shafts.

every angle captures your struggle—your skin glistening with sweat, your costume soaked and clinging to your curves, and the way you’re trapped between two versions of the man you crave. the reflections amplify the chaos, a never-ending loop of desire and degradation as you’re thrust deeper into submission.

“what about your friends?” the clone taunts, a wicked smirk plastered across his face. “what will they think when they find you like this?” the thought sends a wave of humiliation crashing over you, but the pleasure is relentless, drowning out any semblance of reality.

“anddd what about that bet you had?” the original gojo continues from behind, his voice dripping with mockery. “i bet they wouldn’t believe how much you enjoy being filled up by us.” you nod at his words, sniffles escaping your nostrils as fat globs of tears streak down your cheeks, your makeup a ruined mess.

they’re so deep inside you that it feels like they’re going to split you in half. each thrust stretches you to your limits, their relentless rhythm pushing you closer to the brink.

you swear you feel him in your chest.

“please… i need to—” you gasp, your body trembling as the clone toys with your clit, electric jolts of pleasure coursing through you. your senses blur, and all you can feel is the overwhelming fullness and the pleasure spirall out of control.

“let go, pretty,” the clone whispers, fingers dancing over your sensitive bud. “show us how much you want it.”

with one final thrust from the original gojo, the heat builds to an explosive climax. you feel your body tighten around them, walls pulsing as a tidal wave of pleasure crashes over you.

“fuckk!” you scream, body convulsing as you squirt, release gushing out of you and mixing with his cum. gojo’s thick cum shoots deep inside as he paints your gummy walls a pretty milky white, creating an intense mess that ends up coats your inner thighs. the overwhelming sensation sends you spiraling into a realm of ecstasy, every nerve ending igniting as you succumb to the bliss.

“what a sight,” the original gojo grunts, breath heavy with satisfaction. you’re lost in the aftermath, body shaking as you ride the waves of pleasure, mind fogged with overwhelming satisfaction and disbelief at the chaos that has consumed you.

as you try to come back from your intense orgasm, the clone pulls back and disappears. when gojo finally slides out of your cunt, a waterfall of cum oozes from you, thick globs spilling forth—it’s utterly inhumane. gojo carefully places your wobbly legs, which had been in the air for what felt like hours, back on the ground as you collapse, the numbness too much to bear.

the mess cascades down your gaping hole, sticky and warm, creating a thick pool beneath you. you can’t help but feel utterly exposed, the evidence of their domination staining your costume and making you acutely aware of how thoroughly you’ve been filled.

the sight is almost too much to bear, the way your body quakes with the remnants of pleasure while the glistening fluid slowly drips, accentuating the chaos you’ve just experienced. you feel humiliated yet impossibly aroused, the reflections in the mirrors surrounding you amplifying your vulnerability as he stands, watching you tremble.

“c’mon, baby, your friends have been waiting,” he coos, picking you up bridal style as you mumble nonsense, your brain so fucked that you can barely string a thought together. he strides through the mirror maze and into the last room, steadying you onto the ground for you to exit on your own.

he fixes your hair and outfit, quickly pecking your lips before opening the door and giving you a final push. you stumble out, the cool breeze hitting you like a splash of cold water, bringing you back to reality.

“girl, what the hell took you so long?” your friends shout as you try to steady your wobbly legs. one of them shoves her phone in your face, and your jaw drops.

50 fucking minutes.

“t-the worker was—”

“t-the worker- shut up. now you’re buying us food.” one of them mocks, handing you your belongings while they stare you up and down, taking in how badly you’re shaking and your frizzy hair.

“jeez did a demon fuck you? you look like you got meannn dick in there,” she jokes, and everyone bursts into laughter, including you. they have no idea what you’ve just been through, but you can’t help but chuckle at the absurdity of it all.

#jujutsu kaisen #jjk x reader #jjk fanfic #jjk smut #gojo x reader #jujutsu kaisen smut #gojou satoru x reader #gojo satoru #gojo smut #gojo satoru smut #satoru gojo smut #gojo x reader smut #satoru gojo x you #satoru gojo x reader #smut #anime smut #kinktober

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roses-and-revolutions · 3 months ago

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After retiring from being a hero, Danny moves to Gotham and opens a little mechanic workshop. He doesn't only fix cars though. Bring anything broken to him and he'll fix it. Upgrade it a bit as well if you're nice.

He's a good guy, much better than your average Joe on the street. But there was something about him that was just... unsettling about him. Maybe it was the way he smiled? It did look a bit weird when you stared at it for too long. Or was it because he was always happy? No one was ever always that happy. No one but...

Anyway, it didn't matter. When people came to him it was to get a job done and to leave. They didn't do much chatting which he didn't seem to mind, he was just happy to do his job. Always happy.

One day Danny closed up shop early. That was unusual. He was open pretty much 24/7. Some people were pretty sure he didn't even sleep. They watched as Danny walked. They noticed that Danny wasn't smiling. He wasn't happy... well fuck.

There's a new psychologist in Arkham Asylum, and apparently, she's very good at her job. Joker has already heard a lot about her. Like how she's tall, very tall. With fiery red hair that falls to her knees, and sparkling blue eyes that speak to your soul. She was a hot commodity around the Asylum. A very pretty doll that he just couldn't wait to break.

He knew that he didn't have to wait long. People like her were cocky. They get bored after figuring out a few crazies and decide that they need a bigger challenge. They think they need to break him.

They never do though. They all either quit the profession after a few weeks or fall into his trap. In the end, they all end back up here and become just like the people they were trying to help.

He couldn't wait to do it. To corrupt her mind and watch her spiral into a web of insanity of their making. What? You didn't think he did it by himself, did you? Both parties were willing participants, he spoke and they wanted to listen. It was an equal exchange. An exchange that never came.

He waited, for days and weeks. He waited for months, and there was no sign of the red-head that plagued his thoughts. He waited for almost a year... she wasn't coming to him, was she? It was a bit strange, insulting really. Was she not intrigued by him? Wasn't his case the least bit interesting? What if it was that... she found him... well... boring? The thought pissed him off a bit. That couldn't be the case, could it? Well, he wasn't going to know like this. She wouldn't come to him so he'd just had to go to her, didn't he?

It was quite easy to find out where she lived. She was with the Robin he killed. And wouldn't it be a cruel twist of fate if your girl were to die the same way you did? Who knows, maybe she'd come back wrong too?

#Holy shit i found this in my drafts #Why did i stop T_T #dpxdc #dp x dc #dc x dp #dcxdp #dp x dc crossover #dp x dc prompt #dp dc crossover

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myjungkookthighs · 6 months ago

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MY FAVORITE JUNGKOOK FANFICS & RECOMMENDATIONS PART1 ✮⋆˙────────୨ৎ───────˙⋆✮

My first lists! These from my favorites JJK fics writers and how amazing their works and most of the fics are top-notch and i really recommend y'all to read it and show some love to their works!! 💗 ( Most of the fics are 🔞+ ) @myjungkookthighs

♥︎— NEEDY | Part 1, Part 2 by @girlygguk ( I'm going to say i love all of my baby lyssa's works she's an amazing writer that i adored so much. All her fics like a drugs to me , top-notch! lol)

nerd!jk x cheerleader!(f)reader

hiding his feelings when you didn’t even know his name was hard. hiding his neediness and obsession when you finally did know his name and you were his fucking girlfriend? impossible. well, then it's a good thing you like him needy.

♥︎—FIRST CLASS | Part 1 by @girlygguk ( chef kiss🤌)

rich student!jk x (f)rich student!reader

in which you are just another spoiled, bitchy, annoyingly gorgeous trust-fund baby who has everyone at Yonsei University eating from the palm of your hand. and jeon jungkook, your spoiled, fuck-boy, annoyingly gorgeous trust-fund baby best friend, is always first in line to take a bite.

♥︎—CRAZY | Part 1, Part2 by @girlygguk (addicted like a mad person)

ceo!jk x employee!(f)reader

you know it sounds twisted. that most people would see hyungwon as the perfect boyfriend. healthy, balanced, all the things that relationships should be. that’s when you realized... you weren't like most people. but that's okay. because neither is jungkook.

♥︎—HABITS (STAY HIGH) | Part1 by @girlygguk

student plug!jk x rich girl!reader

You9:06 PM do you be 🙄’ing other bitches yes or no

♥︎—BAD THINGS | Part 1 by @girlygguk

jock fuckboy!jk x nerdy fuckgirl!reader

getting jealous, sending mixed signals, simping for a gorgeous geek who has no idea what effect she has on him... it's just what jungkook does best. oh, and football. he's really good at football.

♥︎—DENIAL | Part1, Part2 by @girlygguk

idol!jk x (f)actress!reader

it's been a plethora of secret meetups, quickies in the bathrooms of his award shows, and 2 am 'you up?' texts during your year-long situationship with jungkook. you both agreed in the beginning that your careers are far too hectic to commit to anything serious, but you can't shake the shitty ache in your chest every time the high wears off, or when you're crawling out of his bed in the middle of the night. trying to exile the shitty feeling of longing that you harbor for him, you spend time with another one of your guy friends. jungkook sees, and he's ma

♥︎— BETWEEN THE RIDE AND THE ROSES (series) by @focusonkayjay

biker!Jk x flower shop owner!Reader

There's an insane turn of events when your calm and peaceful life is intruded by Jungkook, a biker boy who sets up his loud business right next to your own. Your paths cross under unlikely circumstances, starting with a clash of personalities but gradually you find yourself establishing a deeper connection with the annoyingly attractive biker jerk. You both have no idea what's in store for you guys as you try your best to put up with each other.

♥︎— FRIENDS WITHIN TOUCHING DISTANCE (series)by @dailynnt (Shout out to my love, her fic so amazing !!)

Best friend!Jungkook x Fem!Reader fwb!

What happens when two best friends try to get along under the same roof? You've been living with Jungkook for three months now, but your cohabitation is still a challenge for you. He continues to live like a real bachelor without following the rules you agreed upon from the beginning of your decision to live together. Should you find a compromise or should you find a new place to live?

♥︎—OLDER by @lovieku

dilf!jk x inexperienced!fem reader (i'm sucker for older or dilf jk!😭)

you’ve tried, but you can’t help yourself from crushing on your best friend’s dad. hot, buff, tatted up and successful, mr. jeon is the starring actor in all of your wettest dreams. and as you wake up from one while sleeping over at his house after his daughter’s birthday party, you don’t expect all of them to suddenly come true. but they do.

♥︎—HANDS ON ME by @lovieku

nerd!jk x popular!fem reader

it’s about to look like jeongguk’s birthday everyday with you.

♥︎—OBVIOUS by @lovieku

bookstore employee!jk x virgin!fem reader

you lose your virginity to jeongguk, the only boy you’d ever trust with such weight. and what you both feel for each other couldn’t be more obvious.

♥︎— GUYS MY AGE (one-shot) Drabble 1, Drabble 2 ,by @kooktrash

dilf jk x female college student!y/n [she/her] ( i had read 3 times cuz i'm sucker of it bcs IT'S CHEF KISS🤌)

a summer spent at your friend’s place wasn’t something to be anything to look forward to. her hot, young dad would seem to change that for you when you decide a game of teasing would suffice your boredom. you got more than you bargained for when you realize he’s not a fan of games.

♥︎— INFRUNAMI by @kooktrash

friends to lovers. y/n[afab, she/her] x best friend jungkook

you’ve made great friends throughout the years but none like jeon jungkook. he’s there for you when you need him and although at times when things get complicated between your feelings and thoughts… there’s one thing for certain. you both have been wasting time acting like there’s nothing between you.

♥︎— DEPEND ON ME by @kooktrash

Hybridbunnygirl!reader x human!jungkook

you’re so used to letting Jungkook do everything for you. he babies you almost and you’re both constantly reminded of the strangeness in your friendship. you’ve always loved him but he can’t see you as anything but the little bunny girl he used to protect. you change his mind

♥︎— NEVER AGAIN by @kooktrash

neighbor!jk x Reader

jeon jungkook is just your nosy neighbor who can’t seem to be anything less than a selfish, heart breaking, prick in your eyes. yet somehow he manages to wiggle his way into your life but is it enough for him to change your mind or will he prove your judgements right?

♥︎—MY DEAR FRIEND by @kooktrash

friends!jk x experienced!reader, f2l ( about a few day need to moved on from this fic)

just friends? keep telling yourself that, you and Jungkook have always danced on the line of friendship and something more but lately you’ve struggled being able to tell where you guys stand.

♥︎— BUNNY ADVENTURES by @kooktrash

hybrid!Jungkook x human!reader

you had absolutely no intentions of ever owning a hybrid until jungkook came along. a mistreated, misunderstood rabbit hybrid who’d only ever wanted was to be treated like an equal.

♥︎— RISQUE (series) by @mercurygguk

older!jk x reader age gap au (my all time favorite 😭)

in which jungkook struggles to keep his relationship with you strictly appropriate and it’s not like you’re making it easy for him.

♥︎— THE DILF INSTALLMENTS (series) by @mercurygguk

dad!jungkook x f. reader

this series follows jungkook’s life as a divorced father. but wait, how exactly does one balance being a father, a boyfriend, a friend, and a respectable boss at the same time? read the installments below to find out!

♥︎— THE ART OF (DILF JK SERIES) by @venusiangguk

dilf jk x grocery store clerk reader ( never over this bcs it's cute 🤧)

you find a baby in your store and in turn, a dilf finds you

♥︎— ONLY WHEN IT'S US (series) by @luvismenu

Uni! Jungkook x Fem Reader Strangers to??

you both say it’s nothing serious, but with every touch and argument, it gets harder to stay away.

♥︎— STARBOY (series)by @luvismenu

popular classmate!jungkook x class president!reader

everyone assumes you two can't stand each other, but is that really true?

♥︎—BED CHEM (Mini Series) by @muniimyg

Uni student!Jungkook x uni Student! Reader Frenemies to lovers!

after overhearing jungkook fuck someone else; you can’t help but want out of being his frenemy

♥︎— BABYDADDY!JK (series) by @muniimyg

ex!au jungkook x ex!reader

Co- parenting

♥︎—ITBOYFRIEND!JUNGKOOK | (1) (2) (3) (4) (5) by @muniimyg

ITbf!Jk x Fem Reader

♥︎—JUST TAKE IT (series) by @ahgasegotarmy116

Inexperienced f!reader x Best Friend's Dad Jungkook (20 year age gap) dilf! jk

A turn of events has the people you thought you trusted stabbing you in the back and leaving you broken hearted and betrayed. Who knew though that sometimes things just happen for a reason

♥︎—BANG-ABLE (mini one-shot/drabble) by @ahgasegotarmy116

f!reader x Sex Bot Jungkook (I'm obsessed!! 😭)

You've been single for way too long and you're done with causal sex and all the drama that comes along with it...so why not try something new?

♥︎— DEEP SIX (mini series) by @bratkook but i read on AO3

biker!jk x reader

It’s like a stranger had a key, came inside of my mind and moved all my things around. He didn’t know snakes can hear the prey, can’t try to break the psyche down.

♥︎— CHAMPANGE CONFFETI by @margotw10bis

boyfriend!Jungkook x camgirl!reader

Your boyfriend loves watching you on live but his whole mood changes when he reads one specific comment from one of your fans

♥︎— PARADISE (series) by @minisugakoobies i read on AO3

Stripper!Jungkook x Reader (my absolute favorite!😭)

That sexy man on stage - the one currently giving your friend the lap dance of her LIFE - is your super shy neighbor, Jeon Jungkook?!

♥︎— THE PINK PILL -"3 DAYS" by @dollfaceksj

best friend!jungkook x fem!reader (top-notch!i read twice😭)

In each of these universes, you find yourself consuming what is known as the pink pill. This pill is essentially a drug that enhances your libido to the max and you’ll quite literally never experience arousal like you do when you’ve taken this pill. Thankfully, in each universe, there’s a man that’s ready to help you explore and reach your peak of sexual euphoria.

♥︎— THE WEEKEND by @chryblossomjjk

dilf!jk x babysitter reader ( the best thing ever! 😭)

every weekend, you give jungkook a little taste of something he’s missing monday through friday.

♥︎—SUGARPLUM ELERGY by @bymoonchild

College!Jungkook x Reader , fwb (i can't let go of this story top-notch)

You know no bounds nor depth with Jungkook. While your fuck buddy loves sleeping in your bed and doing laundry for you with his favourite fabric softener, you are in love with a mysterious honeyed, velvety voice on Soundcloud. All’s fine, until you find out that the voice that metaphors your heart to a sweet sugarplum melody actually belongs to the boy who has been taking up a special spot in your bed and in your heart, strumming at your heartstrings all this while. Or, Jungkook has one braincell, but it’s heart-shaped.

♥︎— MICROWAVE (MIS)ADVENTURE by @bymoonchild

housemate!Jungkook x Reader

Out of all things to be afraid of, Jungkook, the seat-stealer of your 8am class and annoying housemate whom you despise with every fiber of your being, chooses to have a phobia of microwaves, but he loves buying microwaveable food – because come on, they’re irresistible – and you somehow find yourself getting dragged into his microwaves (mis)adventures. Cue chaos, sarcasm-laced banter and an unplanned romance.

♥︎— COLD NIGHTS AND BLURRED LINES| WARM NIGHTS & CLEAR LINES| cnbldrabbles by @awrkive

basketball!jungkook x nerdy!(fem) reader,fwb (i'm crazy over this 😭)

jungkook and you have been in a sexual relationship with each other for four months now, and it’s casual for the most part. but as time passes, you can’t help but feel that some of the lines suddenly got blurred in the process. is it a cliché to blur the lines with your fuck buddy? it definitely is. will you do something about it? both of your emotional constipation have a hard time saying yes.

♥︎—CAN'T LET IT GO (part 1)| PHYSICALLY OBSESSED(part2) by @chunghasweetie

dom!oc x nerdysub!jjk

loser nerd jk has crushed on her for years and is assigned to be her college tutor for her calculus class. studying doesn’t go exactly as planned and he ends up losing his virginity in the best way possible.

oc finally cuffs jk and they celebrate

♥︎— HE GIVE IT TO ME (Part1) | WONT TOUCH YOU LIKE ME (Part2)by @chunghasweetie

fem!oc x dealer!jjk

always giving out free shit to his favorite customer.

after a petty argument jungkook spots you showing out at a party with the hosts arm around your waist.

♥︎— MERAKI by @taegularities

grumpy!Jk x sunshine!reader

Jungkook finds you irritating; far too energetic and insistent. But his perception of you changes bit by bit, minute by minute, when he's persuaded into spending an entire night with you at places he doesn't know.

♥︎—NO NUT NOVEMBER by @2hightocare

dilf!jungkook x fem!reader

Jungkook didn’t think stuff through when he made a bet for “No Nut November” he seemed to forget that he can’t say no to you.

♥︎— FOR ME (DILF!JK DRABBLES COLLECTION ) by @personasintro

dilf!jungkook x reader

A collection of drabbles accompanied with dilf!jk

♥︎— BURNING HOUR by @jungqkook

Richbf!jk x gf!reader (you gonna need holy water later lmao!)

there’s nothing better than spending an entire day at your boyfriend’s yatch, tanning and waiting for the sunset with a drink in your hand… too bad your boyfriend had other plans for you.

♥︎—BETTER BOYFRIEND THAN HIM by @jungqkook

friend!Jk x reader

jungkook makes it a mission to prove to you that he can be better than your boring boyfriend. when it comes to sex, at least.

♥︎— FIGHT FOR YOU (series) by @ahundredtimesover

bodyguard!jk x heiress!reader

Working at a private security agency has its perks. The downside? Being the personal bodyguard of spoiled, rich heiresses like you. But there are things that Jungkook didn’t expect, like rejecting you, falling for you, and realizing what he’d been missing all along.

♥︎— GUARDED by @junghelioseok

bodyguard!Jk x Reader

❛❛ good girl. ❜❜ ❛❛ don’t get shy on me now. ❜❜

♥︎—BODYGUARD by @sxtaep

bodyguard!jk, idol!reader

when you’re stuck in a near-death situation, your high school crush, now your bodyguard, begins to regret ever rejecting you 5 years ago.

♥︎—STRIKE THREE by @avveh (ao3)

Bodyguark!jk x Bratty!Reader ( i'm obsessed!)

When discipline and chaos meet, one will always rise to the top.

♥︎— EVERYTHING IN YOU |Part1, Part2 , DRABBLE1, DRABBLE 2, DRABBLE 3 by @jjungkookislife

roommate!sperm donor Jk x pregnant! Reader (my favorite iso cute)

You want a baby and Jungkook is willing to help

♥︎— BABYMAKER by @badbtssmut

bestfriend!Jk x Reader

You want a baby, but you just broke up with your boyfriend but your best friend Jungkook offers you the solution to your heart break, he’ll give you your baby, no strings attached.

♥︎— SPECIAL PREPARATION by @badbtssmut

Piercer!Jungkook x Reader

You go to a piercing shop to get a clit piercing but your piercer Jungkook has an interesting way of prepping his clients.

─────────────────────⋆⋅☆⋅⋆───────────────────

Actually i like all Miss Cherry @redcherrykook fics and i read them all and her works always the bomb never disappointed me and here i will share my most favorites from her🤪💗

♥︎— SAFEWORD

daddy!jungkook and sub oc

♥︎—SPOT ME INSTEAD

gymrat!JK x gymrat!reader

♥︎—MIDNIGHT SNACK

idol!Jk x gf!Reader

♥︎—MILK AND CREAM

sub!JKx noona!Reader

♥︎—BAD BOY,GOOD GIRL/HIGHSCHOOL SWEET

highschool sweethearts!jk x Reader

♥︎— (TENT)ATIVE ENEMIES

friendnemie!Jk x Reader

♥︎— Kinktober D1-SOMNOPHILLIA

needy JK x reader

♥︎—Kinktober D8- OFFICER PLAYS & CUFFS

roleplay!!JKx bad girl oc

♥︎—Kinktober D10- SPANKING & PUNISHING

DADDY KINK JK! x sub oc

♥︎—Kinktober D12- MIRROR SEX

idol bf! Jk x gf! Reader

♥︎—Kinktober D16- MARKING

possessive bf! JK x Reader

♥︎—Kinktober D19- DACRYPHILLIA (crying kink)

Daddy! Jk x Crybaby! reader

♥︎—Kinktober D22- EXHIBITIONISM

bf!jk x gf reader

by @redcherrykook

That's it for part1 !

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elikajinnie · 25 days ago

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P: Ghostface!Heeseung X Fem!Reader (Recommended age 18+)

Warnings: Stalking, Obsession, Possessive Behavior, Murder, Violence, Knife Use, Manipulation, Noncon/ Dubcon, Suggestive Content, Mental Instability (hes insane but in love), Yandere Undertones, Voice Kink, Choking, Light Manhandling, Voyeuristic Tones, Degradation, Dark Themes, Chasing, Forced Proximity, Implied Torture

Synopsis: Heeseung’s spent years loving you from the sidelines, silently watching you give your heart to the wrong people. Now, as Ghostface, he’s done waiting. He’ll tear your world apart, piece by piece until the only place left to run is straight into his arms.

Wordcount: 19k

a/n: After disowning my previous Ghostface!Heeseung fic, I am ready for a do-over :D

now playing: do i wanna know by arctic monkeys | i was never there by the weeknd

You never had much luck with people.

Whether it was fate, bad timing, or some cruel curse stitched into your skin at birth, you never met someone who stayed. No one who let you cry on their shoulder without expecting something in return. No one who hugged you just because they noticed you needed it, even when you didn’t say a word. No one who remembered the little things, like the way you only like white lilies in the spring, or that you always hum when you're nervous.

You were always too much, or not enough. Too quiet, too distant, too soft around the edges for people who only wanted you when it was convenient. If you were unlucky with friends, you were a full-blown disaster when it came to love. Your exes left faster than they said I love you, and those words never felt real anyway. They only knew the version of you that smiled at dinner and made polite conversation. None of them stayed long enough to learn how you took your coffee or what your silences meant.

None of them really saw you. And the ones who claimed they did turned out to be liars in the end—liars, cheaters, or something worse.

And even if you told yourself every time that the next one would be different—someone better, someone kind—you’d hold onto that hope like it was gospel. You told yourself you’d find someone who would treat you like a flower, or at the very least, like a person with a heart. With dignity. But you never did. What you always found instead were the bottom-feeders—the emotionally vacant, the cruel, the ones who looked at your softness like it was a challenge to break. They’d call you dramatic for crying, clingy for needing affection, a burden for simply wanting to be heard. Some of them didn’t even bother pretending. They treated you like an inconvenience, a piece of gum stuck to their shoe, something to be scraped off and discarded the second it lost flavor.

And the ones who came back… They never came back out of guilt. Or love. They came back when they needed something. When they were bored. When they missed the feeling of being wanted and knew you’d still answer. Some just came back to watch you break again just to see if they still could.

Still, you held onto that hope. That slim, flickering chance that maybe, just maybe, you’d find someone who would choose you every time. Someone who wouldn’t make you beg to be seen. Someone who’d put your needs first—not when it was convenient, not when it made them feel powerful but simply because they wanted to see you happy. Someone who would hold you while you cried and swear they'd never let the world touch you like that again. Someone who would burn everything down just to stop your pain.

And maybe that was your biggest mistake. Because if only you had realized that someone had already been there. Right under your nose. Watching. Waiting. Loving you so much it made him sick. So much that he couldn’t stand the way others touched you. So much that he had to make it stop.

Because Heeseung had been patient. Painfully, cruelly patient. He watched from the sidelines with clenched fists and a twisted heart, swallowing the urge to act every time you smiled at someone who didn’t deserve it. Every time you cried over a person who wouldn't even notice if you disappeared. He told himself he had no right to intervene. He wasn't your boyfriend. He wasn’t really your friend either, just the guy who hovered near, talked when you let him, looked away before his gaze gave too much away. He didn’t feel like he deserved you. He never had.

That’s why he stayed quiet. Why he didn’t reach for you, didn’t touch, didn’t confess. Because if he let himself have just one taste of what it would be like to call you his… He knew he wouldn’t be able to stop. He knew it would break him. But you were always kind to him. Gentle. You didn’t know how much that alone unraveled him, thread by thread. You spoke to him like he mattered. Looked at him like he wasn’t just Lee Heeseung. You smiled. You gave him hope. And that hope festered. Grew teeth. So when he saw them hurting you—again, and again, and again. He snapped, because if no one could love you right, then he would make sure no one else ever got the chance.

His breaking point was simple.

You were seeing a guy. Not the worst you'd ever dated, but not the kind of man who looked at you like you were everything either. Heeseung had tried to stomach it—biting down on jealousy so hard it tasted like iron, pretending not to notice how fake the guy's smiles were, how his hand always lingered too low on your back.

And then you found out. He’d been cheating. Not just once. Not just with one girl. Multiple women. Meaningless flings. You’d heard it from someone else first, then saw the proof with your own eyes. And it shattered you.

Heeseung watched from across the courtyard that day—watched the way your expression crumbled while you stared down at your phone, watched the way you left early, head low, arms wrapped around yourself like you were trying to hold in all the pieces. And he didn’t move. Not at first. He just sat there on the bench, watching you walk away with that broken look on your face, like your chest had been cracked open and all the softness inside was spilling out. He could feel your pain like it was his own.

He’d seen you hurt before. But never like this. And maybe it was selfish, but something in him broke too. Because no matter how close he was, how many smiles you’d given him, how many conversations you’d shared in passing. He still wasn’t the one you ran to. You didn’t even know he was there.

Heeseung sat there long after you disappeared, hands in his lap, fists clenched so tightly his nails dug into his palms. His heart was racing, his breathing uneven, something cold and sharp blooming in his chest like frostbite. He didn’t go to class that day. He followed your boyfriend instead. Just watched. At first. Watched him flirt with other girls like nothing happened. Watched him text while walking, probably lining up his next lie, his next hook-up. He watched until his vision blurred with fury.

Because how could someone treat you like that? How could anyone look at you and not realize how fucking lucky they were? You deserved someone who would memorize the way you liked your tea. Someone who’d know when you were overwhelmed just by the way your shoulders tensed. Someone who would never, ever make you feel like you were easy to leave.

And if no one else could give that to you... Then Heeseung would carve out a place for you himself. But first… He needed to rid the world of the scumbags who hurt you. He needed to make them disappear. And he knew exactly how to do that.

The moment the chains around him snapped, so did his restraint. And with it, his sanity. He had spent years studying you, memorizing your habits, your smiles, the little shifts in your mood when something wasn’t right. But he’d also studied them. The ones who broke your heart. The ones who made you feel like nothing. The ones who looked at your kindness and mistook it for weakness.

He remembered names. Faces. Addresses. It was almost too easy. Tracking them down was like finishing a puzzle he’d been piecing together in his mind for years. And once he found them, once they were alone… He gave them no mercy. Not an ounce of it. Not when he cornered your ex behind that bar where he always flirted with anything that breathed. Not when he followed the girl who spread those rumors about you in high school into the dark parking lot after her shift. Not when he faced the ones who laughed at your tears, who used you and tossed you aside like you were disposable.

They all begged. They all screamed. And he watched—expression calm—as they writhed beneath him, as the light bled from their eyes, as their bodies twitched and stilled, and finally… stopped. He watched them take their last breath with his knife buried deep, his gloved hands covered in everything that made them human. They were monsters, all of them. And monsters deserved to die.

He didn’t regret it. Not a single one. Because every time he plunged the blade in, he thought of you. Of your tears. Of your voice cracking when you tried to laugh through the pain. Of how small you looked when you thought no one was watching. And now… you’d never have to suffer because of them again. Now, he was cleaning the slate. One body at a time. And when it was over—when the world was quiet, and every hand that ever touched you wrong was rotting in the dirt— then, finally, he’d come for you.

Not to hurt you. But to give you the love no one else ever could.

Watching the news on a rainy evening about the latest murder had started to feel… routine. You sat on the couch, legs curled under you, fingers cold around the steaming mug you’d forgotten to drink from.

Another body found late last night... police have yet to connect the murders, though the brutality and frequency are causing rising panic across the city...

This was the fourth murder in the last 48 hours. That alone was terrifying. Unusual, sure. But it was more than just the numbers that started to bother you. What made your stomach twist with something colder than fear was that… you knew them. All of them.

Every single victim was someone who had wronged you. An ex. A former classmate. Someone who’d said something cruel behind your back. Someone who’d touched you without asking. At first, it had been easy to brush off. A coincidence. Maybe your mind just latched onto familiar names, making patterns where there were none. But now?

You stared at the screen as the reporter listed off graphic details from the latest crime scene—the wounds, the lack of mercy, the chaos and something inside you started to go very, very still. You weren’t listening anymore. You were somewhere else. The room faded out, replaced by memories. Faces. Conversations. Fights. That one night you cried in your car after another argument. The time you flinched when someone raised their voice. All those moments when someone should’ve protected you and no one did. And now they were gone. Your chest tightened. Not with grief. But confusion. Dread.

You blinked. Realized the rain tapping against the window had grown louder. Realized the room was dark except for the flicker of the television. Then your phone buzzed.

Unknown Number. No message. Just a missed call.

A shiver crept up your spine. Who would call you at this late hour? You stared at the screen, trying to breathe evenly as your mind raced for a logical explanation. A wrong number, maybe. A scam call. Something innocent. Your thumb hovered over the screen, debating whether to lock your phone and forget it, but then, the screen lit up again.

Unknown Number. Incoming Call.

It rang once. Twice. You swallowed. The apartment suddenly felt too quiet—like the walls were listening. Like something was holding its breath with you. Your finger trembled as it hovered above the “decline” button. But something stopped you. Curiosity? Fear? That twisted voice in your head whispering What if it’s not random?

You answered. The silence on the other end was immediate. No static. No breathing. Just... quiet. “Hello?” you said, your voice more unsure than you wanted it to be.

Still nothing.

And then—softly, like velvet soaked in something darker—a voice responded. “What number is this?” he asked.

“Ehm, who are you trying to reach?” you replied, trying to keep your tone steady.

“I don’t remember,” he answered, voice low, teasing.

You bit your lip, fighting the flutter his voice was causing deep in your chest. You didn’t want to admit it, but there was something… magnetic about the way he spoke. “If you don’t remember, maybe try calling them when you do,” you said quickly, trying to sound casual.

“Oh? Really?” he purred, amusement clear beneath the words.

“Yeah, bye,” you said firmly, and hung up.

Wrong number.

But then your phone lit up again. The same unknown number, calling you once more. You groaned, frustration and unease bubbling beneath your skin as you answered again. "What?"

A low chuckle rumbled through the speaker, slow and deliberate. "Now, now. Don’t do that tone with me." His voice wasn’t any louder, but it curled around your spine like smoke, thick and teasing.

You gulped. There was something about the way he said it—so familiar, so confident, like he knew you. Like he had every right to speak to you like that. You shifted slightly on the couch, glancing toward your window even though the blinds were shut tight. You suddenly felt watched. “I… I really think you have the wrong number,” you said quietly, voice tighter now, smaller.

He didn’t respond immediately. Then, slowly, like he was smiling behind every word. "Mmm. No. I think I’ve got exactly the right one."

Your grip on the phone tightened. "Who are you?" you asked, trying to keep the tremble out of your voice.

A pause.

Then, in that same velvet voice, low and dangerous. "Someone… wanting."

You blinked, confused. “Wanting? What do you mean—what do you want?” But he didn’t answer. Not directly. Instead, his voice shifted—just slightly. A little more playful. Mocking. "What’s your favorite scary movie?"

Your heart stopped for half a second. “Excuse me?” you asked, voice barely above a whisper now.

Another pause. You could hear the faintest breath, the kind someone lets out when they’re smiling just a little too wide. Like they’re enjoying every second of your confusion. “C’mon. Everyone has one.” The tone was lighter now, taunting, like he was trying to make this feel like a game. “Or do you only like romance?”

Your blood ran cold. That wasn’t just teasing. That was knowing.

He knew you liked romance. He knew you never talked about horror, how you instead cried at the end of movies where the love wasn’t strong enough. And that voice— God, that voice—it was ruining you.

You hated the way your skin prickled, the way your stomach dipped at the sound of it, the way your body betrayed your brain. It wasn’t fear, it was something darker. Something that twisted low in your gut and pulsed with heat beneath the chill. You didn’t know him. You couldn’t. And yet… he spoke like someone who memorized you.

Your silence seemed to thrill him. “I like scary movies,” he continued softly. “But only the ones with a pretty girl who doesn’t run fast enough.”

You jolted up from the couch, heart in your throat, instinctively checking the locks on your front door, the windows, the corners of your apartment. Your phone was still pressed to your ear.

“Don’t bother,” he said, voice dipping lower. “If I wanted to be inside, I would be.”

You froze mid-step, hand hovering above the kitchen window latch. Your heart was racing now, thudding so loud you swore he could hear it through the line. You swallowed hard and reached out anyway, checking the lock on the window with shaking fingers.

Then came his voice again—closer this time, somehow softer and more intimate. “Does that scare you, baby?”

Your breath hitched as you backed away from the window, phone still clutched in your hand, knuckles white. He sounded like he was right there. Like he was behind the glass, watching you fumble in the dark.

“It should.” He didn’t wait for you to respond. “You’re so easy to read. You get this little crease between your eyebrows when you’re panicking. You’re doing it now, aren’t you?”

You didn’t answer. You couldn’t. Your throat was too tight.

“Cute.” The word dripped through the receiver like poison disguised as honey. “Do you want me to stop?” Another pause, heavy and expectant. “Say the word. Tell me to stop.”

You wanted to. God, you wanted to. But your mouth wouldn’t move. Because a part of you—some dark, traitorous part—wasn’t sure you wanted him to.

The line stayed quiet. Waiting.

“That’s what I thought.” The call ended suddenly. And all you could hear now was your own breathing and the rain, still tapping gently against the glass.

Heeseung leaned back in his chair, the soft creak barely audible over the quiet hum of his equipment. His eyes were locked on the monitor in front of him, the glow from the screen casting sharp shadows across his face.

There you were. Right there, in the center feed—framed in soft light, trembling slightly as you backed away from your kitchen window. He groaned, low and breathless, as he watched your expression twist in fear. You looked so small. So vulnerable. So perfect. Every little flinch, every shaky breath, every frantic glance to the door—he watched it all unfold through the tiny cameras he’d installed the night before.

He had been careful. Waited until you were asleep, crept in through the second-story window like a ghost, moving in total silence. The cameras were hidden—blended into vents, the back of your bookshelf, nestled above your kitchen cabinets. Nothing invasive… Just enough to see you. To know you. And God, he did. He knew everything.

Heeseung ran a hand over his face, exhaling slowly, eyes still glued to your screen. He had to admit, you were holding out better than he expected. He liked that about you. He leaned forward again, resting his elbows on the desk, his mouth curving into a soft smile as he watched you sit down slowly, phone still in your hand, eyes darting toward the hallway like you half-expected a shadow to crawl from it.

God, you were beautiful like this. Stripped down to your bare instincts—paranoia sharpening your every move.

Heeseung tilted his head slightly, watching as your hands trembled just enough to give you away. You were trying to hold it together. Trying not to look scared. Trying to convince yourself this was nothing. That it was just a prank call. That the world wasn’t closing in around you. But he knew, because he’d studied you—memorized every microexpression, every nervous habit, every subtle crack in your voice. And right now, you were falling apart so prettily. He let out a soft breath, tapping his fingers against his thigh. He could almost feel your fear like a pulse in the air and it thrilled him.

He knew a part of you didn’t hate the sudden attention. He saw the way you looked at the phone even after the call ended. How long your eyes lingered on the window, like a part of you was hoping to see someone out there. Someone you couldn’t name. Someone who already knew everything about you.

Heeseung bit his lip, dragging his gaze across the screen to watch the way you leaned forward, slowly, hesitantly, like your body couldn’t decide whether to run or stay rooted in place. “You’re already mine,” he whispered to the screen, voice soft. He reached toward the keyboard, fingers ghosting over the button that would turn the camera feed off… but paused. Instead, he opened a drawer beside him, pulling out a small velvet box. He turned it over in his hands, then opened it to reveal what lay inside. A single, perfect white lily. Your favorite. The same one you mentioned offhandedly two years ago at a party, when no one was listening—but he was. He always was. His eyes flicked back to the screen. Maybe it was time you started seeing just how much he cared. Really seeing it.

Tomorrow, he decided.

Tomorrow, you'd get a gift.

You hadn’t meant to sleep in, but when you finally opened your eyes, the sun was already at the highest point, and the blinking numbers on your alarm clock told you it was late—well past anything productive. So you didn’t move. Not for a while. Because… what was the point? You felt drained. Like something invisible had pressed its hands against your shoulders and kept you pinned to the mattress, stealing the motivation to do anything. Even the thought of eating or showering felt too big to reach. So you stayed. Wrapped in your blanket, eyes half-focused on the cracks in the ceiling, letting the world outside spin without you. You kept thinking about the call. The voice. The way he spoke like he knew you—like he’d been watching you for longer than you could guess.

You told yourself it had to be a joke. Some sick prank. Someone with too much time on their hands and a voice changer. But it didn’t feel like a joke. It felt real. Too real.

You hadn’t checked your phone again. You didn’t want to. Just the thought of seeing that same number pop up made your skin crawl, your heart pound. You turned your head toward the window, half-expecting to see nothing but the usual blue sky but your gaze snagged on something. A velvet box sat on the windowsill. Perfectly placed, as if it had been waiting for you to notice.

It hadn’t been there a few minutes ago. It couldn’t have been. You hesitated for a moment, heart beginning to race, then slowly pushed the blanket off your legs and stood. Each step toward the window felt too loud in the stillness of your room. Your hand trembled as you reached for the latch, eyes flicking across the yard, the sidewalk, the trees beyond.

Nothing. No one. Just the quiet hum of wind and your own breath. You slid the window open with a reluctant creak, then reached out and carefully pulled the box inside. You opened it, and gasped.

Inside lay a single, perfect white lily.

That night, you barely moved after finding the box. You left it on your nightstand, wrapped shut in a towel, as if that could somehow make it less real.

By the time evening crept in, your body was running on autopilot. You went through the motions—washing your face, tying your hair back, standing under the harsh glow of the bathroom light like it might protect you from the dark pressing against your windows. You refused to look in the mirror for too long. You didn’t like the expression on your own face. You were reaching for your toothbrush when your phone, resting on the counter, lit up.

Your heart dropped.

Unknown Number. Again.

Your hand hovered over it, frozen, the dread curling tighter in your chest like a rope being pulled. It rang once. Twice. You should’ve ignored it. You should’ve thrown it across the room. But your finger moved before your brain caught up, and suddenly—

Click.

You pressed it to your ear. Didn’t speak. Didn’t breathe.

Then came the voice. That same voice, smooth and low, laced with something too soft to be safe. “Did you like the flower?”

You gripped the sink with your free hand, knuckles white. “Who the fuck are you?” you hissed, voice shaking. “What do you want from me?”

A short, amused breath. “That’s not a thank you.”

Your pulse pounded in your ears. You could hear your own breath now, loud.

“You looked beautiful this morning, by the way.”

Your entire body went cold. “I didn’t leave the house,” you whispered.

He laughed—soft, delighted, fond. Like you’d said something endearing. Like he loved watching you piece it together. “I know.” A pause. “I always know.”

You didn’t respond. Couldn’t. Your throat was tight, heart hammering so loud you thought it might drown out his voice. But it didn’t. You heard everything. The sound of his breath. The low hum of satisfaction in his tone. Like this wasn’t fear to him. It was foreplay.

“You have no idea how long I’ve waited for this,” he murmured. “To hear your voice. To talk to you without pretending anymore.”

You braced yourself against the sink, your hand shaking as it hovered near the phone. “You’re sick.”

Another soft laugh. “I’m devoted. There’s a difference.”

You felt something twist in your gut. A mix of fear and something worse crawling under your skin like poison. Because it wasn’t just his words. It was the way he sounded when he said them. Like he believed it. Like he worshipped you.

“You’ve let so many of them touch you,” he said next, voice quiet, dangerous. “People who didn’t even know your favorite flower. People who didn’t care when you cried.”

You went still.

“But I did,” he added. “I always cared. I see you. I’ve always seen you.”

Your mouth opened—no words came.

“Don’t be afraid of me, baby,” he whispered, almost gentle now. “I’d never hurt you.” His voice dripped with sincerity, as if that made everything he’d said before… less terrifying. As if breaking into your life, watching you, leaving flowers on your window—all of it—was some kind of act of love.

You couldn’t speak. Your throat was dry, your pulse thundered in your ears, and yet—your body refused to move. Rooted to the bathroom floor, still clutching the phone, still listening to him like he had you under a spell.

And maybe he did.

“They didn’t deserve you,” he continued, voice low and firm, like he needed you to believe him. “None of them saw you the way I do. They only wanted to break you.”

Your knees nearly buckled. You reached for the counter for support, but your hand slipped—your palm knocking your toothbrush to the floor with a soft clatter. The noise startled you back into the moment, just long enough to feel a sharp pang of clarity cut through the fog.

This wasn’t romantic. It wasn’t sweet. It was wrong. It was dangerous.

“I don’t know you,” you whispered finally, your voice barely audible.

There was a breath of silence. “Oh, not fully,” he replied, tone smooth, unbothered. “But that’s okay. Because I know everything about you.”

Your stomach flipped.

“Like how you forgot to lock your bedroom window…”

Your breath hitched violently, body going rigid. The phone trembled in your hand now.

No. No, you hadn’t. You’d checked it. Twice. You always checked. You were sure—weren’t you? Slowly, eyes wide with disbelief, you turned your head toward the hallway, where your bedroom door sat half-open in the dim light. The shadows beyond it suddenly felt too thick.

“Or how you sleep with one leg out of the blanket when you’re too warm,” he continued, voice softer now, as if he were reminiscing. “You hum to yourself in the shower. You talk in your sleep when you’re anxious. You said your favorite scent was rain on pavement once. You don’t even remember saying it, do you?”

Tears pricked at the corners of your eyes. You backed up slowly, retreating from the hallway like the shadows might reach out and grab you. “Stop,” you whispered, barely holding your voice together. “Please stop.”

He ignored you. “You tilt your head when you read something sad. You chew your straw when you're lost in thought. You cried three nights ago.”

The phone slipped from your hand, clattering to the tile floor with a sharp, echoing sound. Your chest rose and fell in shallow, rapid breaths as the silence pressed down around you like a second skin. Every creak of the floorboards. Every distant car outside. You stared at the phone lying on the tile floor where it had fallen, but you didn’t pick it up. You couldn’t. Your fingers were too numb, too shaky. Instead, your eyes flicked around the room, searching, until they landed on the only thing within reach.

A hairdryer.

It wasn’t much. It wasn’t anything, really. But in your trembling grip, it felt like something. Like you were trying. You inched toward the bathroom door, barefoot and tense, your breath caught somewhere between your lungs and throat. The hallway beyond was quiet, lit only by the dull glow of your bedroom lamp down the hall. Shadows stretched long across the walls, dancing every time your body shifted.

You hesitated at the threshold, hand clutching the hairdryer so tight your knuckles ached. Then, slowly you peeked out.

No one. Not in the hall. Not in the corners. Not in the bedroom. But that didn’t mean you were alone. You stepped out, your heartbeat thudding in your ears louder than your own footsteps. You moved slowly, glancing over your shoulder every few seconds, sure you’d catch someone disappearing just out of frame.

Heeseung didn’t move. He didn’t need to.

He was tucked into the shadows like he belonged there—silent, still, a shadow in the shape of a man. The mask wasn’t on yet. Not for this part. This moment was his. And he wanted to see you clearly.

You moved so slowly, so carefully, your bare feet padding along the hardwood floor like you expected the house to turn on you at any second. You were gripping a hairdryer in your hand, knuckles white, body trembling—holding it like it was a weapon. Like it could save you from whatever monster you thought might be lurking.

Heeseung nearly smiled.

God, you were adorable. Clutching that little thing like it was a sword, trying to be brave in the middle of your fear.

Your fear that he gave you. That he fed from.

You were trembling, vulnerable, beautiful in the way only you could be when you thought you were alone—when your instincts were screaming that something was wrong, but you still pressed forward anyway.

So brave. So stupid. So perfect.

Slowly, with a quiet reverence like he was performing a ritual, Heeseung reached into the shadows beside him and picked it up.

The white mask. Simple, smooth, emotionless.

He had found it in a Halloween store years ago, half off and hanging beside plastic axes and fake vampire teeth. It had looked ridiculous on the shelf. Just a cheap costume piece, nothing special.

But in his hands… it became something else.

It became his face. The one the town would fear. And more importantly—the one you wouldn’t recognize. Because as long as he wore it, he could be the monster that haunted your nights, and still be the boy who held the door for you at the coffee shop. The one who smiled quietly from across campus. The one you never looked at twice.

He could be both. And he was.

Heeseung slipped the mask over his face with practiced ease, the cool plastic fitting perfectly against his skin, hiding all the things he didn't want you to see. The world blurred behind the eye holes, but it didn’t matter. He didn’t need clarity to see you.

He watched you pace down the hall, your back turned to him now, completely unaware that just down the corridor, in the walls of your own home—he was there.

The corners of his mouth tugged upward behind the mask, invisible but real. You thought you were being careful. You thought you were alone. But he’d been here longer than you knew. Inside your home. Inside your routines. Inside your mind.

And tonight, watching wasn’t enough anymore.

You had just passed the living room.

The hallway behind you stretched long and dim, and the silence clung to your skin like static. You clutched the hairdryer tighter in your hand, your pulse pounding against your temple. Something still wasn’t right. The air was too still. You should’ve trusted your instincts the second the chill ran down your spine. But by the time you stopped—by the time you turned—

It was already too late.

There was a sound—soft, like the shift of weight on hardwood—and then he was there. A flash of white. A blank, faceless mask. The glint of dark eyes behind the holes, locked onto you like prey.

You barely had time to gasp before he lunged. "No!" you cried out, stumbling back, trying to raise the hairdryer in defense—but it didn’t matter. He was fast. Too fast.

His body slammed into yours, knocking you clean off your feet. You hit the ground with a sharp thud, the air knocked from your lungs, the hairdryer clattering across the floor uselessly. His weight pinned you down, not crushing, but inescapable. Precise. Controlled.

You thrashed beneath him, heart hammering, limbs shaking, but he caught your wrists in one strong hand and held them above your head with terrifying ease.

Your eyes met the hollow black gaze of the mask hovering inches above your face. And you knew he was watching you. Drinking in every second. You could feel his breath through the thin voice modulator, warm against your cheek as he hovered too close.

“You’re even more beautiful up close,” he whispered, voice low and muffled. “Terrified. Shaking. Finally looking at me like I matter.”

You squeezed your eyes shut. “Let me go—please—” Your voice cracked. It sounded too desperate.

He groaned at the sound of your voice—quiet, trembling, raw. There was something about your desperation that broke him open from the inside, something he’d craved without fully realizing it until now. So soft. So real. So his.

His gloved hand moved with agonizing slowness, reaching toward your face like he meant to soothe you.

But your gaze snapped downward—Not to his hand. To the knife still gripped tightly.

The blade gleamed dully in the low light, and now it was inches from your face. Your breath caught violently, your body going rigid under him, the fear suddenly clawing its way to the surface in full. You whimpered before you could stop yourself, eyes wide as you tried to lean away—tried to pull your head back.

His eyes behind the mask didn’t miss it. He let out a low hum of satisfaction, fingers brushing along your jaw in a mockery of affection, while the knife hovered dangerously close, threatening, intimate. “Look at you,” he murmured. “So pretty when you’re scared.”

You clenched your jaw, trying to suppress the sob clawing at your throat. “I won’t scream,” you whispered. “I won’t… I won’t tell anyone. Just—please don’t hurt me.”

That earned a soft chuckle through the mask. “Hurt you?” he repeated, as if the very idea offended him. “No, no, no, baby. You still don’t get it.” He brought the knife a little closer—just enough for the cold metal to kiss your cheek, resting lightly against your skin. “This?” he whispered. “This isn’t for you. This is for them.” He tilted his head, mask brushing against your hair as he leaned in further. “The ones who made you cry. The ones who left you. The ones who used you like you were nothing.” His voice dropped to a near growl. “I made sure they’d never touch you again.”

Your blood ran cold as the blade drifted slowly along your skin. From your cheek, down the line of your jaw, and then… to your throat. He wasn’t applying pressure. But you could feel the threat beneath every movement. Like he was savoring the moment.

You didn’t dare breathe.

Then it moved lower—down the center of your chest, ghosting over the thin fabric of your top. You tensed, your fists still trapped above your head, nails digging into your own palms, breath trembling through your lips.

And then he said it. Calm. Casual. Like you were discussing fashion. “This top doesn’t look good on you…” He tilted his head. “Let’s get rid of it, shall we?”

Before you could scream, move, beg—The knife slashed.

A quick flick of his wrist, and the fabric split cleanly from collar to hem with a quiet tearing sound. You gasped, instinctively twisting beneath him, but he only pressed a little closer, still holding your wrists firm, still watching. The ruined fabric fluttered open slightly, exposing bare skin to the cold air of the room—and to him.

He let out a low hum of satisfaction behind the mask. “Much better…” He brought the knife back—not the edge, but the blunt side—and pressed it gently against your bare skin.

You flinched. Not from pain, but from the cold. From the weight of his stare behind that blank mask. From the way he watched every reaction. Every shaky breath. Every involuntary shiver. Every whispered, broken “please…”

He dragged the back of the blade slowly down the center of your chest, past your ribs, following the rise and fall of your breathing like a line only he was allowed to trace. “So soft now,” he murmured, almost mockingly. “Where’d all that attitude go, hm?”

You clenched your jaw.

“You were so mouthy on the phone. So brave.” His voice dipped, cruel now. “And now look at you.” The blade drifted lower, slow enough to keep you shaking, but never cutting. Never quite crossing that line. “Begging. Squirming. Needy little thing.” He leaned closer, his breath fanning hot across your cheek. “Is this what you wanted all along?”

You shook your head. “No,” you whispered, though even you could hear how weak it sounded.

“Liar.” His tone turned sharp, cold. “You liked pretending to be scared when we both know you’ve never had this kind of attention in your life.”

Your face burned with humiliation—and something else. Because the worst part wasn’t what he was saying. It was that he wasn’t entirely wrong.

You would never admit it out loud. Not to him. Not even to yourself.

Something deep inside—buried beneath years of being overlooked, unloved, untouched something was stirring. Something you had locked away, stuffed into the furthest corner of your mind like a shameful secret. It was preening under the weight of his obsession. Sick with need. Starving for affection in any form it came. And for the first time… it was clawing at the bars of the mental prison you built for it.

You hated it. You hated him. You hated how your body reacted.

You stared up at him—at the hollow, unmoving face of the mask as his voice dripped like poison into your ears.

"Pathetic little thing," he murmured, dragging the blunt side of the knife along your stomach, just enough pressure to make you shiver again. "Is this all it takes to make you fall apart?"

Your lips parted, breath catching, but you bit down hard on the inside of your cheek. You wouldn’t give him the satisfaction. You wouldn’t let him see the way your body responded. You couldn’t. “No,” you said, forcing your voice to come out even. But it didn’t. It cracked. And he heard it.

He laughed softly—so quietly—like you’d confirmed something for him. "Liar," he whispered. "You say no, but you're shaking like you want me to keep going. Like your body already made the choice your mouth won't admit."

You turned your face away from him, shame burning deep in your chest. Your wrists still pinned. The ruined fabric of your top spread open beneath you like an invitation you never meant to give.

He moved the blade up again, slowly, deliberately trailing it up your side. His free hand ghosted over your hip, then your ribs, not quite touching. Hovering. Always watching. Always calculating how far he could go.

"You want someone to control you. To put you in your place. You act like you're better than that, but you’re not."

You shook your head. “Shut up.”

"You don't want a prince," he growled, the knife pressed flat against your sternum now, "You want a cage. You want to be owned."

“No, I don’t!” you snapped.

He stilled. Then, slowly, his head tilted, eyes behind the mask locked on your every twitch. "Then why aren’t you fighting harder?”

You had no answer. Because your voice kept denying him, and still—your skin was on fire beneath every word. Your muscles ached from holding back every reaction. Your body and your mind were at war, and you didn’t know which one was losing faster.

You were unraveling. And he knew it. God, he knew it. And that was what he wanted. To take you apart. To make you question where fear ended and surrender began.

It took everything in you to stay still. To not recoil. To not lean into it.

The knife slid higher again—not sharp enough to cut, but cold enough to make you feel every inch of the movement. A line of pressure. A silent threat. And you hated yourself for noticing how steady his hand was. How controlled. How he handled you like he already knew every reaction you’d try to hide.

He laughed softly—low, cruel, and devastatingly satisfied. “Your mouth lies,” he whispered. “But your body loves me.”

You shook your head, voice cracking before the words even formed. “No—”

But he was already answering you, voice dropping into that mocking warmth that made your skin crawl. “Sweetheart, you’re dripping desperation... Even now. Even when you’re terrified. Isn’t that sick?”

You wanted to scream. To cry. To vanish from under his gaze, from under the weight of his words. Because they stuck to you like oil—foul and heavy and impossible to wipe off. It made that part of you whisper.

Please. Don’t stop.

You clenched your jaw, as if that alone could silence it. As if willpower could erase the ache of being seen.

He watched your silence with the patience of a predator that had already won. “You don’t have to pretend,” he murmured. “Not with me. I know what you look like when you’re lying. And I know what you look like when you want to be caught.”

You shook your head again, a little more forcefully this time. But the tears gathering in your eyes betrayed you. Your silence betrayed you. The tears gathering in your eyes betrayed you.

In one smooth motion, his gloved hand moved and wrapped gently but firmly around your throat.

Your breath caught. Not from the pressure, but from the sheer shock of it. The control it implied. Your eyes widened, your body going rigid beneath him, and you choked on a breath that barely made it past your lips.

His masked face tilted closer, close enough that you could hear every breath he took behind the plastic. “Why so quiet, puppet?” he asked softly. “What happened to all that fire?”

The nickname cut through you like a cold wind, mocking, possessive, knowing. You swallowed hard beneath his hand, the tension in your throat pressing against his palm. Still, you didn’t answer. You didn’t trust your voice. You didn’t trust what might come out if you opened your mouth.

He hummed, like your silence only amused him more. “You were so strong, weren’t you?” he murmured. “So sure you’d fight me off. Tell me I’m wrong. That you don’t feel anything when I touch you.”

You shook your head again, slower this time. Less defiant. More… confused. At him. At yourself.

His thumb moved slightly—tracing the line of your jaw now, not pushing, just resting there. “So why are you crying?” he asked, voice so low it could’ve been mistaken for concern. “Is it because you want me to stop… or because you’re afraid I might?”

You didn’t have an answer. Maybe there wasn’t one.

He watched you beneath him—still trembling and crying—and yet not fighting like you should have been. Like you could have been. “You should admit it,” he said softly, his voice taking on that familiar, dangerous sweetness that made your stomach turn. “You love this.”

You shook your head, lips trembling. “No… I don’t…”

He clicked his tongue. “You do. You love the idea of someone obsessing over you. Watching you. Following you. You love knowing you have me wrapped around your little finger this whole time.” His words cut deeper than his knife ever had.

Because part of you had wondered. Had sensed something off. Had ignored every red flag, every shadow where it didn’t belong, every chill down your spine—because something in you liked being wanted.

He leaned down again, his voice now right beside your ear. “You want control, but you also want to be seen. To be needed. Worshipped. Owned.”

Your eyes squeezed shut. “Shut up.”

“Make me.” The words were a taunt but his tone was tender. “Say you hate it. Say you hate me.”

You forced the words out, voice shaking, catching in your throat like glass splinters. “I… I hate it. I hate you.” But it didn’t come out the way you wanted it to. It wasn’t sharp. It wasn’t angry. It was small. Weak. Almost pleading.

He giggled. A soft, breathy sound—mocking and delighted. “Say it like you mean it, baby,” he murmured. “Or else I won’t believe it…” His hand didn’t squeeze, not enough to hurt, But it pressed. Enough to make your breath hitch. Enough to remind you that he was still holding all the power, and you were still pretending not to want it. “Go on,” he whispered, his voice curling around you like smoke. “Try again.”

You blinked up at the ceiling, tears spilling freely now, teeth clenched as your chest rose and fell in uneven rhythm. The panic, the shame, the betrayal your own body felt toward you, they all crashed together in a tide too thick to swim through. You didn’t repeat yourself. And that was all the answer he needed.

He’s masked face tilted, his thumb brushing away a tear that had slipped down your temple. “Stop lying to me, sweetheart,” he said softly. “I already know what you’re too scared to admit.”

Your chest heaved, trying desperately to suck in enough air—but it wasn’t enough. The pressure wasn’t brutal, but it was constant, just enough to tip the scale. Just enough to steal the oxygen from your lungs, second by second. You struggled for a while longer—your legs twitching weakly beneath him, hands still trembling where they had no strength left to fight.

And then. Everything started to fade.

The room tilted, colors bleeding at the edges of your vision. The heaviness behind your eyes swelled, swallowing the light. Your limbs slackened. Your breathing slowed. And then you went still.

Heeseung felt it the moment you lost consciousness. The exact second your body gave out—limp, soft, breath shallow beneath him. He froze, hovering over you, staring. Then, after a heartbeat of silence, he slowly pulled his hand back from your throat. Just looked down at you. Silent. Calm. Like a painting he’d finally finished. His gloved fingers brushed gently down your cheek before he reached into his coat pocket and pulled out his phone.

Click.

One picture. Just one.

You—quiet, breath barely rising beneath your torn shirt, tears still drying on your cheeks. He slipped the phone away and exhaled softly. Not rushed. Not guilty. Just… satisfied. Then, with surprising care, he leaned forward and slid one arm under your legs, the other beneath your back—lifting you as if you were something delicate.

His.

He carried you to your bed, moving through your space like he belonged there and lowered you gently onto the mattress, arranging you like he had rehearsed it in his head a thousand times before.

And then, he reached up. Fingers curled around the bottom of the white mask. And slowly, he lifted it just enough to reveal his mouth, his jaw, the sharp line of a smile that was real this time—not hidden behind the plastic.

He leaned in. Softly—almost lovingly—he pressed a kiss to your forehead. Just one. Then he straightened, tugged the mask back down over his face, and turned toward your window.

Silent. Swift. And gone.

By the time the night air drifted in and your curtains swayed again, you were still asleep. Alone in your bed.

You woke up in your bed, groggy and disoriented. For a long, slow moment, you thought it had been a dream. But your shirt was still torn. Your throat still ached. And your phone was still on the bathroom floor.

Reality settled in like a weight on your chest. You sat up slowly, arms wrapped around yourself, scanning the room for any sign that he might still be there. But it was quiet. And cold.

It took everything in you to find your voice—just enough of it to make the call. Hands shaking, you dialed.

“911, what’s your emergency?”

You stumbled through the explanation. You only left out the parts you couldn’t say out loud. Not because they weren’t real, but because saying them might make you sound unhinged.

The dispatcher was calm. Professional. Asked for a description. Took your name. Filed a report.

But when you asked what else could be done—what protection they could offer, how soon someone could come, their answer was a practiced kind of politeness that chilled you more than the silence in your room had. “Unless there’s an active threat on-site, we can’t dispatch an officer without cause.”

You paused. “But—he was here. I w—”

“Yes, and we have that in the report. If you call again and say you’re in danger, we’ll send someone immediately. I promise. But right now… there’s nothing else we can do.”

You were silent, lips parted, throat dry.

Then the dispatcher added, a little too casually. “But for now, we’ll dispatch a police officer to your house to run some investigations around the area. Ask a few neighbors. Just to cover protocol.”

That’s all.

Your fingers tightened around the phone. “Right,” you said quietly. “That’s… helpful.”

It wasn’t. You knew it. They knew it. A single officer showing up after the fact to ask a few questions wouldn’t stop anything—not someone like him. But it was something. And right now, something was better than nothing.

After hanging up, you sat in the silence of your apartment, still wrapped in the same clothes from last night. The air felt heavy. Your skin felt wrong. You hadn’t even dared to look in the mirror. You moved to your front window and looked out through the blinds, half-expecting him to be standing there.

He wasn’t. But that didn’t calm you.

Because if he was watching... He wouldn’t be where you could see him.

The knock on the door came an hour later.

You hesitated before answering, fingers curled tightly around the doorknob as you peered through the peephole. A uniform. A badge. A clipboard. You opened the door slowly.

“Miss Y/N?” the officer asked, glancing down at his notes. “Officer Han. Just here to follow up on the report you filed this morning.”

You stepped aside and let him in, your voice still hoarse. “Yeah. Thanks for coming.”

He entered with casual ease, taking a slow look around your apartment. No urgency. No tension. Just a faint smirk as he glanced at you again—and lingered a second too long. “I’ve had a lot of strange calls,” he said, chuckling under his breath. “But this one’s new.”

You bristled, but didn’t say anything.

He circled through your living room, checked the locks, the windows, even glanced at your bedroom door before shrugging. “No signs of forced entry. No footprints, no prints at all, actually. Window’s closed. Frame’s clean.” He turned to you and raised an eyebrow. “You sure you didn’t just have a bad dream?”

Your stomach twisted. “It wasn’t a dream.”

He nodded like he was humoring you, not believing you. “Right.” He made a few notes on his clipboard and then, with a glance at your bare legs beneath your oversized hoodie, added, “Well, it’s a good thing nothing happened to you. Would’ve been a shame.”

You didn’t answer.

He gave you a smile that didn’t reach his eyes. “You got anyone staying with you? A boyfriend maybe?”

You blinked. “Why does that matter?”

“Just thinking it might be safer. You’re pretty. Wouldn’t want someone creeping around again.”

You wanted to scream. Instead, you folded your arms. “Are you going to file your report?”

He raised his hands. “Alright, alright. Don’t bite.” He handed you a thin card. “Here’s my number. If anything happens again… or if you just need someone to keep an eye on the place tonight, I’m off-duty after six.”

You didn’t take it.

He set it on your counter anyway and left without looking back.

The second the door shut, you stood there, frozen. No answers. No protection. Just another man who didn’t take you seriously—who looked at you and saw an opportunity instead of a person.

The next morning, you were barely awake when the television in your living room crackled with breaking news.

You blinked at the screen from the couch, blanket wrapped around you, mind still clouded with anxiety and sleeplessness. Your ears caught only pieces at first.

“…body discovered this morning at a local motel…”

You sat up slowly.

The anchor’s voice was grim, serious now.

“The victim has been identified as Officer Han, who was reported missing last night after failing to return from a routine follow-up investigation.”

You leaned forward, eyes fixed on the screen. The image shifted to grainy motel security footage. A figure entering alone. The camera timestamp was from last night.

“Police were dispatched after the motel’s cleaning staff found the body early this morning. Authorities are calling the scene gruesome and disturbing, with signs of overkill and personal rage.”

Overkill.

Personal.

You barely breathed as the reporter continued.

“No suspects have been identified. Investigators declined to comment on whether this is connected to the recent string of local murders.”

But you already knew.

Your heart pounded in your chest, ice curling through your veins. It wasn’t just a coincidence. It wasn’t random. He had been watching.

And now, the man who didn’t believe you—who dismissed your fear and left you with a smirk—was dead. Killed for touching your space. But then—the dread sank deeper.

How would he know? You hadn’t told anyone. No one else was there. You hadn’t even said anything out loud. Your blood turned to ice.

No.No, no, no.

You stood abruptly, heart racing. Panic poured into your limbs like fire. You tore through your apartment, yanking open drawers, crawling under furniture, pulling books and photo frames off shelves.

Every corner. Every surface.

The chaos grew—piles of clothes tossed across the floor, cushions ripped from the couch, your closet emptied in seconds flat.

And then you saw it.

Tucked just behind one of the vents. Too small to notice unless you were looking for it. A black dot. A tiny lens. A blinking red light.

A camera.

Recording. Watching.

Your breath caught in your throat as you stared at it—this quiet little parasite hidden in your wall, this thing that had seen everything. You took a step back, grabbing a chair with shaking hands, your mind racing with thoughts of smashing it until it stopped blinking—

Your phone rang.

The shrill sound cut through the silence like a blade, making you jump. Your heart already knew before your eyes confirmed it. You looked down at the screen.

Unknown Number.

Your fingers froze. The world felt smaller. Tighter. Like it was caving in.

The ringing kept going.

You didn’t want to answer. But you couldn’t ignore it. With trembling hands, you lifted the phone to your ear, breath shallow. “…Hello?” There was silence—just for a second. Then his voice slipped through, smooth and sickeningly condescending.

“You really should just leave it alone, sweetheart.”

Your spine stiffened. “Like hell I will,” you snapped, louder than you meant to. “I’m going to smash it. I’ll crush it so hard there won’t be anything left—”

He tsked softly, cutting you off with a mocking sigh. “There it is,” he said, voice lilting. “The tantrum. The mouth.” Then his tone changed—sharper now, lower. The way someone might speak to a child acting out. “You love pretending you have control. But you never do, baby. Not really.”

You froze in place, knuckles white as your hand tightened around the phone.

“Putting on such a brave little face over the phone… But when you're underneath me…” His voice dipped—quiet, dangerous. “You turn into a pathetic, needy little mess. Don’t you?”

You clenched your jaw, trying to hold in the shaky breath that wanted to escape—trying so hard not to react. Not to show weakness. Not to let him win. But you knew he could feel it. Through your silence. Through the way your breath hitched. Through the way your gaze drifted back toward the camera.

“There she is…” he murmured, like he was smiling again. “Poor baby. Is it getting hard for you to think?”

You stared into the blinking red light, your body locked in place. He was turning your fear into something else—twisting it, warping it until even you couldn’t tell what was real. Every breath felt too loud. Every inch of your skin felt watched. Violated. But worst of all… you couldn’t move.

The silence stretched on the line for a second too long. Then his voice returned, laced with something dark and cold underneath. “That officer…” he said, almost like he was thinking aloud. “He deserved it.”

Your heart dropped.

“He looked at you like you were a thing. Like you were for anyone.”

He exhaled slowly through the speaker—something more controlled than anger. Possession. “He had no right. No one does. No one should ever see you like that except me.” His voice sharpened. “Only me.”

Your throat tightened. Your breath came faster, uneven now, like your body didn’t know what it was supposed to feel anymore.

“He thought he could touch what isn’t his.” His tone dropped, almost a growl now. “So I made sure he’ll never look at you again.”

The whimper slipped from you before you could stop it. Quiet. Shameful. Your hand flew up to your mouth—but it was too late.

He heard it. And he laughed. “Oh…” he purred, “you liked that, didn’t you?”

Your chest stung with the effort to keep still, to fight the heat crawling up your neck, the betrayal of your own body leaning into the sound of his voice.

“You like knowing what I’d do for you.” A pause. Then softer—“What I have done.”

He continued, voice like velvet over a blade. “You pretend you’re afraid of me. But deep down, you’re afraid of what it means that you’re not running.”

Your lips parted, but no sound came. Because he wasn’t wrong. You hadn’t moved from the spot where you found the camera. You hadn’t screamed or smashed it yet. Your phone was still pressed to your ear like it anchored you—like his voice had a hold you couldn’t break, no matter how badly you wanted to. And it terrified you. Not just that he was watching. Not just that he’d killed. But that a part of you—small and broken and starved—was listening too closely. Breathing too hard. And not looking away. You hated that. You hated you.

“See?” he whispered, sweet like poison. “You don’t need to say it. I already know.”

Your fingers curled tighter around the phone, knuckles aching, heart thudding painfully against your ribs.

“It’s okay to stop pretending, baby.” There was a beat of silence. “Be scared of what you’d become without me.”

Your knees felt weak. The room spun. Your breath hitched and stuttered in your chest. You hadn’t even realized you were crying until the tears blurred your vision completely. The phone slipped from your hand and hit the floor with a soft clatter.

You ran. Shoeless, directionless—your only thought was out. Out of the walls that had betrayed you. Out of the air that felt too heavy to breathe. The front door slammed behind you. Cool air rushed over your skin like a slap, but it wasn’t enough. Nothing was enough. You weren’t even sure where you were going. You just needed space. Distance. Something real. You didn’t realize your eyes were squeezed shut until your shoulder collided hard with someone’s chest. You stumbled back, startled. Hands gently caught your arms to steady you.

“Whoa, hey—are you okay?” The voice was soft. Familiar. Concerned.

Your eyes blinked open, vision still swimming, and then your breath caught again.

Heeseung.

Heeseung from school. From class. From quiet afternoons and passing conversations you remembered.

He looked down at you, brows knit, gaze sweeping over your tear-streaked face and shaking hands. “Y/N?” he said gently. “What happened?”

You stared at him, mind racing. He looked… normal. Kind. Steady. Just Heeseung. Safe. Right?

You couldn’t answer him. Your mouth wouldn’t move. Your voice was lost somewhere behind the panic and exhaustion twisting through your chest. So instead you stepped forward and collapsed into him. Your fingers curled tightly into his sweater like it was the only thing anchoring you to the earth, and your face buried itself against his shoulder. The sobs came next—choked and raw, your whole body trembling from the weight of everything you’d tried so hard to hold together.

He didn’t flinch. He didn’t ask questions. Heeseung simply wrapped his arms around you and held you. One hand cradled the back of your head, the other resting firmly between your shoulder blades—like he’d done this before, like he’d always known how to hold you. His voice was soft in your ear. “Shh… you’re okay. You’re safe now.”

The words should’ve comforted you. But a sliver of doubt lodged itself somewhere deep inside your ribs. Because part of you still didn’t know why his embrace felt so familiar.

You don’t know how long you cried. Minutes, maybe more. But eventually, the sobs softened, your breathing steadied, and the tremble in your hands began to fade.

Heeseung didn’t rush you. He just held you, his hand moving in slow, steady circles against your back, his chin resting lightly on the top of your head like he’d done it a hundred times before.

When you finally pulled away, his eyes met yours gently. “Come on,” he said. “Let’s get you inside, yeah?”

You nodded numbly.

He simply kept one arm around you as he gently steered you back toward the complex, keeping his touch light but steady.

When you reached your door, your legs wavered slightly, and without a word, he slipped his hand around your wrist to help guide you inside. The place looked the same. Still messy from your frantic search. Still silent. Still watched. You didn’t look at the vent again. You couldn’t.

And you didn’t mention the camera.

Heeseung closed the door quietly behind you, eyes sweeping across the room just once before they returned to you—soft, unreadable. “You should sit,” he said gently, nodding toward the couch.

You let him lead you there, your limbs slow and heavy. The moment you sank into the cushions, you felt his arm around your shoulders again—wrapping you up in quiet warmth like he’d been waiting for this exact moment. You didn’t see the flicker of a smile tug at the corner of his lips. It was subtle. Brief. Gone before you could lift your eyes. But it was there.

And as you leaned against him, his hand moved carefully over your arm, soothing, familiar—too familiar.

“It’s okay,” he murmured, resting his chin lightly atop your head.

You let your eyes close. Because in that moment, even with the storm still raging quietly beneath your skin…

He felt like the only person in the world who hadn’t left you.

And that’s exactly what he wanted.

With Heeseung, you felt safe.

You didn’t know when it started, when the panic in your chest began to ease the moment he stepped into the room, or when his voice became the one sound that could cut through the noise in your head.

He felt like your rock. The one steady thing in a world that kept tilting.

When you broke down, he didn’t flinch. He stayed. Listened. Held you when you couldn’t hold yourself together. He never made you feel like a burden, never treated your pain like it was inconvenient or dramatic. He treated you like you were more than a body to use and discard. Like you were worth something. Like you mattered.

There was dignity in the way he spoke to you. In the way he looked at you. Like he saw the parts of you no one else had bothered to slow down for. And maybe that’s why—despite everything, you stayed close to him. Because Heeseung was comfort. He was quiet safety in the storm. He was the only one who made you feel like you didn’t have to survive everything alone. And more than anything… You trusted him.

He never said it outright. Never told you to rely on him. He didn’t need to. Because whenever the world tried to pull you back into the dark—he caught you.

The first time a toxic ex showed up, it was sudden. You’d gone out to get air. Coffee. Something. And he was just there, leaning against a wall like he’d never broken you, like he deserved a second chance just because he decided he was bored again.

His words were sweet, poisonous. All charm and empty promises. You were frozen. Until Heeseung appeared.

He didn’t say a word at first. Just stepped up beside you, his body a wall between you and the past. His expression unreadable—but his presence said everything.

Back off.

When the ex didn’t take the hint—when his hand brushed your arm like he still had a right to—you flinched.

And Heeseung moved.

A single punch. Fast. Brutal. The guy stumbled back, clutching his face, cursing, scrambling like the coward he was.

Heeseung didn’t look at him. He looked at you. “You okay?”

And that—that—was when something inside you started to shift. Because it wasn’t just that he protected you. It was the way he didn’t ask permission to. The way he made it feel like he should be the only one standing by your side. Because no one had ever fought for you like that. No one had ever looked at you like they’d burn the world for daring to hurt you. And in that quiet, terrifying way—He became the safest place you knew.

It happened slowly.

At first, you just leaned on him when things were hard. Then you leaned on him when they weren’t. He answered every call. Showed up without you asking. Knew when you hadn’t eaten, when you hadn’t slept, when you were about to spiral—before you even did.

And you didn’t notice, at first, how the others began to drift away. Your friends stopped texting as often. One of them called once—just once—to ask why you never came out anymore. Why you never replied. Heeseung had been beside you when your phone rang.

He watched your screen light up. And he said nothing. He didn’t have to.

You silenced the call.

It became easier to stay in. Easier to say, “I’m tired.” Easier to believe no one understood you like Heeseung did anyway. Because he got it.

When you were anxious, he pulled you closer. When the nightmares came back, he held you until you fell asleep. When you doubted yourself, he reminded you how they were the problem. How he was the only one who saw you clearly. Who never left. Who never lied.

“You don’t need them,” he said once, brushing your hair behind your ear. “They don’t know how to take care of you.”

And you believed it. Because somewhere between all the sleepless nights and whispered reassurances, you’d forgotten what it felt like to stand on your own.

You stopped reaching out. Stopped checking your messages. Stopped answering your door.

The only voice that mattered was his.

And when you were with him, when he wrapped his arms around you and murmured, “I’ve got you,” into your hair you felt like maybe that was enough. It didn’t feel like control. Not at first.

He never yelled. Never threatened. Never even raised his voice. Everything he did came wrapped in affection—warmth so convincing it made you question why you’d ever trusted anyone else.

When you forgot to respond to a message from a former classmate, he smiled gently. “It’s better that way.” He brushed his thumb over your knuckles. “They never showed up when it counted. Why give them your energy now?”

When you mentioned your job stress, the way your boss ignored your ideas, Heeseung tilted his head, eyes soft and full of concern. “You don’t need to stay somewhere that doesn’t value you.”

You left the job two weeks later. He was proud. He always was.

“See?” he whispered in your ear one night, arms coiled around your waist. “It’s better when it’s just us.”

The more things you let go of—people, routines, independence—the more he filled the space they left behind. He started handling things for you. Picking up your groceries before you asked. Changing your locks for “safety.” Memorizing your schedule better than you did.

And when you forgot something—your meds, a meal, an appointment—he’d kiss your forehead and murmur. “That’s why you need me, baby. The world’s too much. But I’ve got you.”

You smiled, nodded. Felt warm and taken care of. Even as the walls in your apartment felt closer. Even as your phone stayed off more often than on. Even as your name started to feel like it only existed in his mouth. You didn’t leave the apartment for days at a time now. Sometimes, it felt easier not to.

Because when you did, people looked at you like a stranger. But Heeseung looked at you like you were the center of the universe.

“You were never meant to belong to them,” he said one night, pressing his lips to your temple. “You were made for me.”

The day had been normal. Heeseung had made you breakfast, kissed your forehead, reminded you to drink water and take your vitamins. You had even gone outside, just for a short walk. Heeseung said it was good for you, and with him just a block behind, you’d felt… okay.

But that illusion shattered the moment you turned a corner and nearly walked straight into her.

Your ex-friend.

She didn’t smile. Didn’t look surprised to see you. She looked… hungry—like she’d been waiting for this. “Wow,” she said, her eyes flicking up and down your form with a sneer. “Didn’t think you were still alive.”

You froze.

Her voice, so familiar and venom-laced, instantly pulled up old wounds. The gossip. The backstabbing. The way she’d spun lies about you with a smile and laughed behind your back like your pain was entertainment.

“I thought you disappeared,” she continued, crossing her arms. Her words were barbed, digging straight into the softest parts of you. The parts you’d tried to bury. The parts Heeseung had promised to protect. Your mouth opened, but no sound came out. Instead, your eyes darted—instinctively, desperately—searching the sidewalk, the street, the edges of every moving shadow.

And then..

He was there.

Like he had stepped out of thin air.

Heeseung appeared behind you, silent as a ghost. His arms slid around your waist with ease, grounding you, pulling you back against his chest in a gesture so certain, that your ex-friend’s expression flickered—first with confusion, then discomfort.

He didn’t say anything at first. Just stood there. Chest pressed firmly to your back. Hands resting over your stomach. And then his eyes met hers.

Glacial. Dangerous. Possessive.

Your ex-friend took a tiny step back.

“Is there a reason you’re talking to her?” he asked, quiet but cold.

She blinked, visibly thrown. “I—what?”

Heeseung’s arms didn’t loosen. If anything, they tightened. Protective. Possessive.

“Because from where I’m standing,” he said, his tone still calm, “it sounds like you’ve forgotten your place.”

You watched her stumble for a response, caught between outrage and unease.

“You don’t get to talk to her like that,” he said, voice laced with quiet venom. “Not anymore.”

Your ex-friend scoffed, eyes flicking from him to you. “Seriously? You letting him speak for you now?”

You didn’t answer. You didn’t need to. Because his fingers gently threaded through yours, grounding you. Reminding you that you didn’t have to speak. Not when he could protect you better than anyone ever had.

Heeseung looked down at you, brushing your hair gently behind your ear. “Let’s go,” he whispered, not even sparing the other girl another glance. “You don’t need to listen to people who never deserved you.”

And just like that, he led you away—arms wrapped around you, eyes scanning everything like a sentry. Because in his world, no one could hurt you. Not without consequences.

It didn’t happen all at once.

The illusion didn’t shatter like glass. It cracked like ice underfoot. Quiet. Slow. Barely noticeable… until you felt yourself slipping.

It started with the keys.

You were reaching for your spare set to grab something from the mailbox one morning, only to find the small bowl near the door empty. Confused, you checked the drawer. Then your bag. Nowhere. “Hey,” you asked gently, as Heeseung walked into the room, drying his hands on a towel, “Have you seen my keys?”

He didn’t look up right away. “You don’t need them,” he said easily, “I already got the mail.”

You hesitated. It wasn’t the first time. But now you were noticing. You didn’t press it.

Then came the phone.

You’d left it charging in the kitchen overnight, something you’d always done but one morning, you found it powered off, moved to a different table, and your passcode no longer worked. “Strange,” you muttered, trying again.

Heeseung’s voice came from the hallway. “Oh, the battery was acting weird. I reset it.”

“But my passcode—”

“I fixed that too. It’s the same as mine now. Easier to remember.” He smiled. “See? I’m just trying to help.”

You smiled back. Because it was Heeseung. Because he always helped. But something in your stomach twisted.

Then, there were the mirrors.

You hadn’t noticed right away, but you started to realize… there weren’t many left in the apartment. Your bedroom mirror had been removed. He claimed it cracked—bad luck. He hadn’t replaced it yet. The bathroom mirror had a towel draped over it “for cleaning.” The hallway mirror? Gone. You mentioned it once, half-laughing, “It’s like I barely see myself anymore.”

Heeseung had only smiled from the kitchen, voice light. “That’s okay. I see you enough for both of us.”

And then there was the voice in your head. The whisper that asked When was the last time you were alone?

When was the last time you left the apartment without him? Without checking in? Without that gentle, smiling permission?

You sat on the couch one evening, hands in your lap, heart beating a little too fast for no reason you could name. Heeseung sat beside you, arm around your shoulders, watching something on TV.

His thumb moved slowly over your upper arm. Back and forth. Reassuring.

But you didn’t feel settled.

It was just supposed to be a quick note.

Heeseung had left for work only twenty minutes earlier, humming something soft as he kissed your cheek and told you he wouldn’t be long. You'd smiled, waved, locked the door behind him.

Now, you stood in the quiet apartment, rummaging through a drawer by the bookshelf in search of a pen. Your fingers brushed against something cold and unfamiliar. You paused. Reached in deeper.

A small, black external hard drive.

Not yours.

You turned it over in your hand, frowning. No label. No marks. Just a single red sticker near the port.

Heeseung’s? Maybe. But why was it in the drawer you never used?

Your curiosity prickled. Sitting at the desk, you plugged it into your laptop. The screen flickered briefly and the drive loaded.

No folders. Just one labeled in lowercase: “x”

Your stomach turned, but you double-clicked.

And then the screen filled with photos.

All of you.

You sleeping on the couch. You sitting on the balcony, reading. You cooking in the kitchen. Slightly grainy, like they'd been taken from a distance. Some were dated from weeks and months ago.

You closed the folder. Then opened it again. As if maybe the pictures would be different this time. As if maybe you’d see something innocent in them—some justification.

But they were still the same.

You—caught in private moments. You—unaware. And he had them saved. Labeled. Hidden.

Your stomach twisted, your skin crawling beneath your clothes.

But still… You didn’t move to delete them. You didn’t scream. Instead, you quietly dragged the folder closed and unplugged it.

You walked back to the drawer. And slowly, carefully—like it might explode if you breathed too hard—you put the hard drive exactly where you found it. Nestled between pens and rubber bands. The drawer slid closed with a soft click. Your hand hovered over it for a moment longer, frozen.

There had to be a reason. Right?

Heeseung wasn’t like those other people. He listened. He stayed. He never made you feel small. Maybe—maybe the pictures were just his way of feeling close. Maybe he started taking them before you were this close and didn’t know how to stop. Maybe he was just scared of losing you and—

You’re making excuses.

Your own thoughts cut through the haze like a blade. Sharp. Merciless.

But you shoved them down—deep, deep down—into that same quiet place where you’d buried every red flag, every whispered instinct you didn’t want to hear. Because it had to be okay. It had to be.

So when Heeseung walked through the door, you were already standing. The lights were warm. A soft song played from your phone like nothing had ever happened.

He looked up and smiled the second he saw you. “Hey, baby.”

That voice. That warmth. That easy calm that wrapped around you like a favorite blanket—so familiar, so practiced, so comforting. You smiled back. Too wide. Too still. But he didn’t seem to notice.

Or maybe he did. And pretended not to.

He stepped forward, pressing a kiss to your temple as he wrapped his arms around you. “Miss me?” he asked, nuzzling into your hair.

You let out a breathy laugh that didn’t quite reach your eyes. “Of course.” You tucked your arms around his waist like nothing had changed. Like you hadn’t just seen your entire life through the lens of someone else’s control. Like you hadn’t realized the warmth you clung to was built on silent watching and twisted love.

Because if it wasn’t okay— If all of this was wrong—

Then you’d have to leave. And you didn’t know who you’d be without him.

He held you tighter, and for a moment, the silence between you stretched. Just long enough to feel like he was listening for something in your breath. In your heartbeat.

Did he know?

Had he always known?

But he only kissed your cheek again. “Go sit down,” he said softly. “I’ll make you some tea.”

And you went. Because that was what you did now. What you were supposed to do.

Everything was fine. It had to be fine.

You sat quietly, legs curled beneath you on the couch, hands resting in your lap like you were waiting for direction—like you couldn’t move until he was back in the room.

Heeseung didn’t take long. He handed you the tea with both hands, his gaze never leaving your face.

No questions. No suspicion. Just that same gentle smile. That same calm presence.

As if nothing had changed.

You took the mug, fingers wrapped around the warmth like it was something solid to hold onto—like it could keep you grounded. “Thank you,” you murmured, voice even.

Heeseung didn’t answer. He just sat beside you, close enough that his shoulder pressed into yours, his thigh brushing yours—every point of contact anchoring. Controlling, without seeming like it.

Then, without a word, his hand came up. He brushed your hair back from your face, eyes scanning your features with something close to reverence. His fingers traced the curve of your cheek. Your jaw.

Like he was memorizing you all over again.

You forced a smile. A small one. And in return, he leaned in—pressing a soft kiss to your temple. Then another to your cheek. Another just beside your eye. “You’re so quiet tonight,” he murmured between kisses, but his tone was gentle. Not prying. Not accusatory.

Just warm. Intimate.

You nodded faintly, managing a quiet, “Just tired.”

His lips brushed against your skin again—this time near the corner of your mouth. “That’s okay,” he said, his hand now on your thigh. “Just stay with me.”

So you did. You let him pull you into his arms. Let your head rest against his chest, listening to the steady rhythm of his heartbeat.

And you told yourself—again and again—

It was okay. It had to be okay. Because if it wasn’t…

You didn’t know what you’d do.

For once, you were alone.

Heeseung had left just after sunset, brushing a kiss to your forehead and murmuring something about “important business” with a tone that promised he’d explain later. He didn’t offer details—and you didn’t ask.

He said he’d be home late.

The silence he left behind pressed in from all corners of the apartment. At first, it felt like freedom. But after a few minutes… it didn’t. You paced. Flipped through shows without watching any of them. Scrolled on your phone, but everything felt dull, muted, meaningless without him sitting beside you—without his quiet commentary, without the casual touch of his hand resting on your leg like it belonged there. You hated the emptiness. The stillness. You hadn’t realized how completely you’d grown used to him filling the space.

Then—the craving hit.

Something sweet. Something salty. Something that would feel like comfort in your hands, on your tongue. A distraction. So, without thinking it through, you grabbed a hoodie and slipped on your shoes. No note. No message. Just air in your lungs and a late-night itch for something that reminded you of normalcy.

The 24-hour market was only a ten-minute walk away.

The streets were quiet. Empty, except for the soft hum of neon lights and the occasional car passing by. It felt strange being outside alone. Stranger still to realize how long it had been since you’d done it.

You kept your head down. One hand in your pocket, the other curled tightly around your phone—just in case.

When you reached the shop you grabbed chips, a drink, some candy. Something warm from the heater tray even though you weren’t sure if you were hungry or just… lonely.

You paid at the register with a faint smile, murmured a soft “thank you,” and tucked the snacks into your hoodie pouch and the small bag they handed you. The cashier didn’t look twice—just another late-night customer, just another quiet face passing through.

For once, everything felt… peaceful.

No tension pulling at your spine. No eyes following your every movement. No pressure to speak, to be still, to be watched. You stepped out into the quiet street, the warmth of the market replaced by the cool breeze of midnight air.

You were halfway home—barely two blocks from the apartment—when the first drop hit your cheek.

You looked up.

The clouds were heavy now, painted silver-blue under the streetlights. Another drop hit your shoulder. Then another.

Rain.

You gasped, pulling your hood up as you laughed softly to yourself, feet picking up pace. You hadn’t realized how much you’d missed the sensation of rain on your face.

You clutched your snack bag tighter and kept walking, hair dampening beneath your hood, shoes slipping just slightly on the slick sidewalk.

And for that one small moment. You felt like yourself again.

But just as your building came into view, lit by the soft glow of your porch light—

You paused.

Because through the misting rain, someone was limping toward you—unsteady, staggering, like their body was seconds from giving out.

At first, you couldn’t recognize them. Their hair clung to their face, and their clothes were torn, stained dark and slick with rain. Then they looked up. And screamed. A broken, hoarse sound, gurgled with panic and pain. They collapsed just a few feet from you, falling hard onto the sidewalk. You gasped and stumbled forward. “Wait—oh my God—” Your eyes widened in horror as you saw their face, barely visible through smeared blood but recognizable enough.

Her. Your ex-friend. The one who’d cornered you days ago. The one Heeseung had wrapped his arms around you in front of, like a shield made of silk and warning. She was barely conscious now, her lips trembling, trying to say something. Her hand reached for you. Clutching at your ankle. Blood pulsed from a wound at her side, soaking into the concrete, swirling red in the pooling rain. And that’s when you looked up and saw him.

The mask.

White. Expressionless. Flecked with blood.

Standing still at the end of the block like a ghost pulled out of memory, the very shape of your nightmares. The figure that had held you down, whispered to you, touched your skin like it was his to own.

Ghostface.

Your body locked in place, breath stolen from your lungs. He didn’t move. He didn’t need to. The sight of him alone rooted you to the spot—like a nightmare dragged into reality. Your breath fogged in the cold air as you slowly looked down again, heart hammering in your chest.

Your ex-friend’s hand had fallen limp against the sidewalk. Her eyes were half-lidded, staring at nothing. Her chest, once heaving with effort, had stilled. And then—just like that—she was gone.

You let out a choked gasp, stumbling back from her body.

No. No, no, no—

A scream ripped from your throat before you could stop it, raw and instinctive. The bag of snacks hit the ground with a splash as you turned and ran.

Rain soaked your hoodie. Your hair stuck to your face. Your lungs burned. But none of it mattered.

You just ran.

Down the street. Around the corner. Away from the body. Away from him.

Your mind raced faster than your feet, every thought loud and tangled.

She’s dead. He was there. He saw you. He watched you. He let you see him—

You didn’t look back. You couldn’t. Because something inside you whispered that if you did… you’d see him chasing after you.

Your feet pounded the pavement, soaked shoes slipping slightly on the rain-slicked ground. The cold air burned your lungs, but panic pushed you forward, faster, faster—until your legs ached and your vision blurred from more than just the downpour. You turned sharply into a side street, hoping—praying—for a place to hide. Something. Anything.

The alleyway was narrow, walled in with brick and stacked crates. Dimly lit. Empty. A dead end. Your heart dropped.

No fire escape. No open doors. No shadows deep enough to disappear into.

You spun on your heel, breath catching in your throat and froze.

He was there.

Standing silently at the entrance. Blocking the only way out. The white mask was soaked, stained, glinting faintly beneath the flickering alley light. His figure was still. Composed. And so very real.

You stumbled back, hitting the damp wall behind you, your hands searching wildly for something to grab, something to defend yourself—but there was nothing. Nothing but empty crates and rain pooling around your feet. “Stay away!” you shouted, voice cracking. “Don’t—please—just stay back!”

But he didn’t. Instead, he began walking toward you, slowly. Like he already knew there was nowhere for you to run.

You pressed further against the wall, your eyes wide, breath caught painfully in your throat. You followed his every movement, the slick black boots splashing through shallow puddles, the gloved hand still gripping the knife.

And then... He stopped. Right in front of you. Before you could scream or run or even think he dropped to his knees.

You froze. Your heart thundered, every nerve screaming that this wasn’t real—this didn’t make sense.

But then he reached up, slowly, and pulled the blood-streaked mask from his face.

Heeseung.

Your breath hitched as your vision spun for a moment.

No. No, it couldn’t be—

But it was.

There he was, kneeling in the rain like a man praying at an altar. His eyes locked on yours, wide. Raw. Desperate.

“Please…” he whispered, barely audible over the downpour. His hands reached out and grabbed the front of your hoodie, gripping it like it was the only thing anchoring him to the earth. “I didn’t want to scare you,” he said, his voice cracking. “I just—You don’t understand… You never saw what they did to you. You never saw how they looked at you. I was trying to protect you.”

You didn’t move. Couldn’t. Because everything inside you had suddenly gone quiet. Shocked still. You stared down at him, rain falling in heavy drops between you, soaking your clothes, your hair.

And Heeseung? He looked like he was about to break apart right there on the concrete. “Please don’t be afraid of me,” he whispered again. “I did it all for you.”

You opened your mouth to speak, but the words felt wrong. Like your voice didn’t belong to you. Like your thoughts couldn’t form fast enough to make sense of anything at all.

Heeseung’s grip on your hoodie tightened, knuckles white, rain dripping from his hair, from his lashes. His eyes never left your face, searching, pleading, trying to read something in you he could hold onto. “I had to,” he whispered, his voice hoarse, broken at the edges. “They hurt you. Every single one of them. Again and again.”

Your lips trembled, but still nothing came out.

“I watched you cry yourself to sleep more nights than I can count.” His eyes dropped to the ground for a breath, then rose again, brighter now, almost fevered. “They used you. Left you. Forgot you. But I never did. I never could.”

You took a shaky step back, but his hands didn’t let go—he followed the movement, still on his knees like a man in prayer. Desperate. Bound. “You’re the only good thing I’ve ever wanted,” he said, the rain making his voice rasp. “Don’t you get it? I didn’t take anything from you. I gave you peace. Safety. I made sure no one could ever hurt you again.”

The words slammed into you like cold water. Heavy. Smothering.

“You don’t have to be scared anymore,” he breathed. “You don’t have to fight for scraps. I’ll give you all of me. Everything you want.” His fingers loosened slightly, but only to slide down your sleeves, clutching your hands now instead, almost trembling. “I did it for you,” he said again, firmer now. “For love.”

And you just stood there. Soaking wet. Frozen. Held in the hands of someone who swear they love you enough to destroy everything else.

Snapping out of whatever trance you were stuck in, your hands pulled back from his like they burned. “No—” you breathed, finally forcing sound out of your throat. “I—I can’t—” Your voice cracked. The words stumbled over themselves. “I can’t think—I can’t—” You shook your head violently, backing up, stumbling over your own feet. “This isn’t love—this isn’t right!”

Heeseung’s face flickered—just for a second—like the sky itself cracked. But he didn’t move.

You decided then and there to run. You sprinted out of the alley like your body finally remembered how to run again, your breath ragged, your legs shaky beneath you. The rain slapped against your skin, but you barely felt it. You didn’t look back. You didn’t have to. Because he didn’t chase you.

Behind you, the street echoed with silence… until it didn’t.

A sound broke through the rain. Not footsteps. Not a shout.

Laughter.

Low at first. Then rising. A hollow, broken sound spilling from the alleyway like something unnatural.

Back there—on his knees, in the rain, face to the sky—Heeseung laughed. Like something inside him had finally snapped.

He crouched lower, curling in on himself, still laughing softly as the mask lay forgotten beside him. “I did it for you…” He whispered to the empty space where you’d once stood. To the shadows, to the night, to the part of you he still believed was his.

“All for you.”

You didn’t stop running until your apartment door slammed shut behind you.

Your fingers shook as you locked it—once, twice, three times—like the extra seconds would keep you safe. Like metal and bolts could hold back everything that had already gotten inside.

You collapsed to the floor, rainwater pooling beneath you. Tears blurred your vision. But for the first time in too long, your mind was clear.

You had to tell someone. And this time—you did.

Your voice trembled as you gave the report, but you didn’t stop. You told the dispatcher everything, the alleyway, the mask, the murders, the name.

“Heeseung. Lee Heeseung.”

They were quiet for only a second on the other end. Then came the response. “We’re dispatching a unit now.”

You didn’t sleep that night. You couldn’t. You sat curled on your couch, wrapped in a blanket you couldn’t feel, waiting for the phone to ring. For the sound of boots in the hallway. For something. But nothing came until the next morning.

You didn’t even mean to turn on the TV, your hands moved on autopilot.

And there he was.

Heeseung.

On the screen. Broadcast to the world. Surrounded by armed officers in heavy black gear. His wrists cuffed. Ankles chained. Expression unreadable as he was led down the courthouse steps in slow, measured steps.

The headline blared across the bottom of the screen in bold white text.

“LOCAL MAN CHARGED IN SERIES OF GRUESOME MURDERS — SUSPECT IDENTIFIED AS LEE HEESEUNG.”

Your breath caught when the camera zoomed in—closer, closer—until his face filled the frame. And then… he looked directly into the lens. Not by accident. His eyes found it like a target. And he stared. Dead. Unblinking. As if he were staring through the screen. At you. You froze. The mug in your hands slipped slightly, fingertips growing numb. It hit the table with a dull thunk, but you barely registered it.

The television screen shifted to inside the courtroom—clean, clinical, cold. Cameras weren’t allowed for the full trial, but now the final moments were being broadcast, the judge's voice calm but resolute as he read the sentence.

“Lee Heeseung. You have been found guilty on all counts—fifteen charges of premeditated murder, obstruction of justice, and illegal surveillance.”

You bit your thumbnail hard—so hard it hurt—but you couldn’t stop. Your legs curled tighter beneath you on the couch, the blanket long forgotten.

Fifteen. Fifteen victims. Fifteen names, fifteen lives.

The judge’s voice continued, steady and unwavering. “You are hereby sentenced to life in prison, without the possibility of parole.”

The camera cut to Heeseung being lifted from his chair. He didn’t resist. Didn’t speak. Didn’t blink. He just stared ahead. Emotionless. As if the weight of the sentence meant nothing. As if he expected it.

You leaned forward without realizing it, one hand still at your lips, eyes glued to the screen. You watched him being escorted out—four officers surrounding him, their grips tight on his arms, the heavy courtroom doors swinging open as he disappeared through them.

Just like that.

Gone.

Your heart thudded wildly in your chest, but you didn’t know if it was from relief or dread. Because while the world had just seen a monster locked away, you had seen the man who’d held your hand. Tucked you in. Whispered things that felt like comfort and turned out to be chains.

The room was suddenly so quiet, you could hear the blood rushing in your ears. And even as the broadcast faded into commentary and speculation, your gaze stayed on the now-empty frame.

You should’ve felt safe. Free.

But all you could think about was how he hadn’t looked angry. Or surprised. He’d looked calm. Like he still had something left to say.

It took years.

Years of therapy. Of waking up in a cold sweat and reminding yourself he wasn’t there. Of flinching at shadows and double-checking every locked door. Of trying to silence the voice that whispered maybe he meant it when he said he loved you. So unlearning what he planted in you took time.

Heeseung had stripped away your independence like it was his right. Isolated you. Softened you into dependence, control masked as care. It had taken everything in you to crawl out of that. But you did.

You started small.

A new job. A new apartment that didn’t creak the same way at night. Learning how to walk home alone again.

You found people. Real people. Ones who asked how you were because they cared, not because they wanted something. Ones who didn’t push when you went quiet. Who stayed, without smothering you.

You made friends—actual friends.

And one day, you realized you’d gone a whole week without checking over your shoulder. Then a month. Then longer.

The panic didn’t disappear overnight, but it dulled. The scars didn’t vanish, but they stopped bleeding.

And eventually, you had something. A life. A future. Yourself. You were learning what it meant to be whole again. Life had finally started to feel normal again.

Your mornings were filled with soft sunlight through kitchen windows, the smell of coffee in the air, and music humming quietly from your phone while you got ready for the day. You didn’t jump at every sound anymore. You smiled more freely, laughed more often. You were blissful.

Until that morning.

You moved through your usual routine with ease—coffee in hand, toast in the other, a blanket draped over your shoulders as you flipped on the television.

Just background noise. Just something to fill the silence. But the silence didn’t stay silent for long.

Your breath hitched when the red headline scrolled across the bottom of the screen.

“BREAKING: Convicted serial killer Lee Heeseung, also known by his alias ‘Ghostface,’ has escaped from federal prison.”

Your mug slipped from your fingers and shattered on the kitchen floor. You didn’t even look down.You just stared.

The news anchor’s voice droned on above the rising heartbeat in your ears. “Authorities are currently investigating the circumstances of the escape. Lee Heeseung was serving a life sentence for the murders of fifteen confirmed victims. He is considered extremely dangerous. If seen, do not approach—immediately contact law enforcement.”

They showed a still image of him. An old one. One that had haunted your dreams. Blank expression. Dark eyes. Looking right through the camera—through the screen—at you.

Your chest tightened. Your throat went dry.

It couldn’t be real.

It couldn’t be.

But the image didn’t fade. The headline stayed.

And all at once, the warmth of the morning, the peace, the healing, vanished.

You took a deep breath. Then another.

It was fine.

He wouldn’t find you. You had moved across the country—changed your phone number, your address, everything. You kept your social media locked down, erased traces of the past like your life depended on it. Because once, it did.

He’d be caught again.

Right?

That was the thought you clung to as you swept up the broken mug in silence, tossed the shards in the trash, and changed into something clean for work.

You didn’t tell anyone. You never had. No one at your job knew your history. Not the late-night horrors. Not the way Heeseung once made you feel like his world was built around you—only to reveal you were in a cage he’d designed.

The less they knew, the safer they were. And you… you were a private person.

You walked into work like everything was normal. You smiled at the front desk. Clocked in. Answered emails. Laughed quietly at a coworker’s joke in the break room.

No one knew your hands were trembling beneath the desk. No one saw the way your eyes flicked to the door every time it opened.

You told yourself over and over. He won’t find me. He can’t. He’s not here.

But still, even surrounded by people, even in the middle of the day, you felt it. Like a shadow clinging to your spine. Like breath on the back of your neck. That faint, familiar dread that came before everything once went wrong. It settled in your chest like a weight.

You didn’t want to be here. Not this late. Not with the sky already graying, the thick clouds overhead promising rain. You wanted to be home, door locked, curtains drawn. Safe.

But your supervisor had been frantic—overworked, apologetic, but firm. “Please—just a few more files. I’ll owe you one, seriously.”

And like the reliable employee you were, you offered a small, tense smile and nodded. “Sure. I’ll take care of it.”

Because maybe, if you worked faster, got through it all without distraction, you could leave before the worst of the storm rolled in.

You kept glancing at the clock. Every ten minutes. Then every five.

The office slowly emptied. Chairs pushed in. Lights flicked off. Quiet goodbyes hummed around you.

And eventually, you were alone.

You forced your eyes to stay on the screen. Pushed through the work as quickly as you could. Every so often, the lights flickered slightly—old wiring, probably. The kind that always seemed louder when the room was empty.

The clock read 10:12 p.m. You were almost done. Just a little more, and you could finally leave. You rubbed your eyes, blinking away the blur from staring too long at the screen. The office was silent except for the tapping of your keyboard and the low, steady whir of the building’s old HVAC system.

Buzz.

Your phone vibrated against the desk, the sudden noise slicing through the quiet like a knife. You jumped slightly, a chill crawling up your spine as you reached for it.

One new message.

Unknown Number.

And your heart stopped as you read the words.

“Did you miss me, baby?”

Your hand trembled as you slowly lowered the phone.

No. No, no, no—this couldn’t be real. It was a trick. A coincidence. A cruel joke. It had to be.

You hadn’t told anyone. You’d erased everything. You’d buried that part of your life so deep even you barely looked at it anymore. But those words.. Even in text, they pulled something old and cold from the pit of your stomach. Like a door creaking open in the back of your mind that you'd nailed shut years ago. The part of you that still remembered how he used to speak to you. How easily his voice could sound like a promise and a threat at once.

Buzz.

Another message. You didn’t want to look—but your hand moved on its own.

“Ready to come back to me, baby?” “You were so naughty to get me tattle.” “But it’s okay. I’ll pay you back… for all those years I spent behind those bars.”

Your throat tightened. You could barely swallow. The lights in the office flickered again. A hum in the vents above you, like the building itself was holding its breath.

No.

You shook your head, fingers clutching the edge of the desk. This wasn’t happening. It couldn’t be happening. He was taunting you. He wanted you to panic. And you were not going to fall apart.

But your vision blurred, and your chest felt like it was collapsing inward. That familiar feeling, the one where the room feels too small, and every shadow feels like it’s watching you.

You stood up too fast. Your chair scraped loudly against the tile, echoing down the empty corridor, you felt sick, your stomach twisted violently. You didn’t know if it was fear or nausea or both, but suddenly the only thing you could think about was the bathroom.

Somewhere to breathe. To get away. To throw up, anything to feel in control again.

You stumbled down the hall, shoes slipping slightly on the polished floor. The world felt off-kilter, tilting around you with every step. Your breath was too loud in your ears. Your hands wouldn’t stop shaking.

You pushed the door to the bathroom open with trembling fingers.

And stopped.

Cold.

Right there, on the mirror above the sinks..

Red. Dripping. Smeared with clear, deliberate strokes.

“No one can love you like I.”

The room tilted and for a second, you didn’t know if your knees would hold, and they didnt, you stumbled back a step, your shoulder hitting the doorframe.

It wasn’t paint. You didn’t need to be close to know that. You knew the color. The thickness. The faint, coppery scent already hanging in the air. And worst of all, you knew the handwriting.

You turned on your heel and bolted from the bathroom, shoes slipping slightly on the tile, breath tight in your throat. You ran through the quiet halls, through the glass doors, and into the storm.

The rain hit your skin like needles, soaking you within seconds—but you didn’t stop. You sprinted across the empty lot, and yanked open the driver’s side door of your car. You threw yourself inside, heart pounding so hard it felt like it was trying to escape your chest.

Your hands fumbled blindly for your keys. Panic made your vision blur. Come on, come on—where were they?

Knock.

Right by your head.

Your breath caught mid-gasp as your gaze snapped to the window beside you.

A man. Standing still. Soaked hood pulled low over his face, water dripping from his sleeves.

You were already paranoid. Already spiraling. Maybe it was just a stranger. Someone needing help. Someone lost. You told yourself it was fine. Just some random guy.

But then he lifted a hand. Pressed it to the fogged glass.

And slowly...

He breathed out.

The condensation spread across the window. And with one finger, he began to write.

"XO"

Your body froze.

No.No, no, no—

Your fingers went numb.

And then, he slowly pulled back the hood.

It was Heeseung.

Soaked in rain. Hair plastered to his forehead. That same, unreadable look in his eyes.

Like he never left. Like he never would.

And through the glass, he smiled.

Your scream tore through the storm as the car door suddenly yanked open.

You barely had time to react before he was inside, soaked from head to toe, eyes wild even in the dark. “Oh, baby…” he said, his voice low, like he was seeing a ghost he’d missed for years. “I’ve missed you so much.”

You scrambled back across the seat, trying to put space between you, but the car wasn’t big enough. Nowhere near far enough.

He climbed in after you slowly, like he had all the time in the world. “You don’t know how awful prison was,” he murmured, closing the door behind him. “All those days… nights… and not a single one with you.” His presence filled the car. The scent of rain and metal clung to him. Your breath hitched as your back hit the opposite door.

He reached out, not fast, not forceful but like it was natural. Like this was how it was always supposed to be.

You jerked your leg away as his hand grazed your ankle. “Don’t—” you gasped, shaking.

But he tilted his head, eyes soft and strange. “Why are you scared?” he whispered. “I’m here now. Everything’s okay.”

You could feel the panic bubbling in your throat. “You’re not supposed to be here,” you said, voice cracking. “You’re not supposed to find me again.”

Heeseung blinked, as if confused by the very idea. And then he smiled, gently, like he was somewhere else entirely. “But I did find you again.”

You swallowed hard, every part of you tense as you tried not to show how your fingers had slowly moved behind your back, toward the door handle. Just a flick. That’s all you needed. Just a second to slip out.

But Heeseung kept talking, eyes locked on you like you were the center of his world. “You can never escape me,” he whispered. “Not my love. Not what we are.” His voice was soft, like a lullaby laced with something beneath. “Every day in there, I thought about you. You made me strong.” He leaned closer, his voice lowering even more. “Strong enough to take over everything. Strong enough to come back to you.”

Your fingers reached the lock. Quiet. Careful.

Click.

Too loud.

Heeseung’s eyes darted to the sound in an instant. And he giggled. Soft, amused. Like a secret had just been told. Then he reached out and, without force, just pulled you closer. As if it were a dance you’d both already agreed to. “I learned so many fun things in prison, baby,” he whispered, nose brushing too close. “I can’t wait to try them all with you.”

You froze.

“But not here.” He looked out the rain-streaked window, expression calm, almost dreamy. “First, we need to go somewhere quiet. Somewhere no one will disturb us.... Just you and me again. Like it was always supposed to be.” Heeseung turned his gaze back to you, eyes unreadable but locked in place like a magnet. “But first…” he murmured, voice dropping lower. “I need a taste.”

Your breath hitched, confusion and panic colliding in your chest as his hand snapped forward, fingers gripping the back of your neck.

Too fast. Too close.

And suddenly, his face was inches from yours, his lips pressed against yours in a way that wasn't tender, it was possessive. Heavy. Wrong.

Your whole body went stiff, frozen in shock. It didn’t feel like affection. It felt like control. You pulled back instinctively, your hands pushing at his chest as your voice cracked, “Stop—don’t!”

Heeseung paused. His grip loosened only slightly as he stared at you, his expression flickering between hurt and obsession. “You always fight it at first,” he said quietly, like it was a memory instead of a moment. “But you’ll remember that you always come back to me in the end.”

The rain beat down harder outside, the storm muffling the sound of your heartbeat as it thundered in your ears. You twisted in your seat, eyes searching the street through the fogged-up windows.

You needed to run. You needed help. Now.

Your mind was racing with how to get out, what to do, what to say but then you felt it. Something cold. Pressed gently, barely touching the base of your throat. Every inch of your body went rigid as your breath caught in your chest.

Heeseung’s expression changed. Gone was the soft smile, replaced by something colder. Disappointed. Almost… tired. “Seems like all the progress we made’s gone,” he muttered under his breath, shaking his head slightly. “Years away, and you’ve forgotten everything.” His eyes flicked up to yours, unreadable. “But that’s okay, baby,” he added, voice lighter. “Breaking you down again? That’ll be easy.”

You stared at him, barely blinking, barely breathing. Before you could say anything—before you could even flinch—he leaned forward again. His hands were firm, his presence overwhelming as his lips pressed against yours in a way that was too familiar. You froze, body stiff, mind racing. You didn’t kiss him back—but you didn’t fight him, either. Because of the cold press of metal still hovered at your throat. And in that moment, any resistance felt like a risk you couldn’t afford.

Your eyes squeezed shut as tears slipped down your cheeks—silent, hot. Your fingers trembled at your sides. But it wasn’t just fear rushing through you. It was everything.

The memories. The manipulation. The twisted safety he’d once wrapped you in like a blanket. And underneath it all, something you hated—something deep, buried, long ignored—whispered.

He’s back. He came back for you. He always meant it when he said you were his.

You swallowed down the sob rising in your throat.

He pulled back just enough to look at you. His hand remained hovering near your face, steady, like he still had control—like he always would. “Always so beautiful…” he whispered. “Baby, you are everything to me. And I’ll ruin everyone else who tries to take you away.”

The words twisted something deep inside you. Not just fear. Not just revulsion. But heartbreak. Because no matter how far you’d run, your past had caught up to you. All the trauma you’d buried, the emotions you bottled up, the twisted sense of comfort you once felt in his presence.

It all returned.

You didn’t even realize you were gripping his hoodie until your knuckles turned white. Holding onto him—not because you wanted to, but because you didn’t know what else to do. You were frozen. Trapped in the gravity of something that once felt like safety. “You’re f—fucking insane, Heeseung,” you choked out, your voice shaking.

But he just smiled, like you’d said something sweet. “Ah, ah,” he tutted gently, pressing a finger under your chin. “I’m insane for you, baby. Always have been.”

And then he kissed you again.

Quick. Possessive. Like he believed that if he reminded you of the past, it would pull you back into his orbit.

You didn’t kiss him back.

But for a second, he believed you might.

a/n: yeah no, i hate it. This sucks ass

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