#and then i front again and delete Everything

[hearts4hughes]

DUE DILIGENCE ~ CHAPTER 9

wallstreet!rafe x assistant!reader | a/n: chapter 10 is the final chapter of the series 😭 | warnings: emotional manipulation, obsessive behavior, trauma aftermath, FBI investigation, implied off-screen murder, controlling romance, legal coercion, blurred morality, dark psychological themes

you wake up slow, like your body’s trying to pretend it didn’t survive the night. the apartment smells like rain and sleep and whatever cleaning supplies rafe used to clean the blood off the floor. your limbs ache in a way that isn’t physical, and your head pounds the way it does after you’ve cried too hard, too long. it’s all aftermath.

slowly, you lift yourself up. you lean on your hands as your vision come aback. rafe’s warm body isn’t beside you anymore, and when you look to the left, there’s a note on the nightstand, folded clean.

sorry i couldn’t be with you. stay home today. i’ll see you later, baby.

– r.

you read it like a prayer. it’s scripture in your restless mind. you run your fingers over the ink enough times to finally stop the room from spinning. he called you baby. he’s done it before, sure—but this time he wrote it. it’s on the paper, permanent and deliberate. not heat-of-the-moment or whispered while drunk on lust. this time it was real. you clutch the note so tightly it crumples at the corners. your heart pounds, but not with fear. it’s something else. something deeper—hungrier. you smile, and then you hate yourself for smiling, and then you smile again.

he’s already gone. probably left hours ago, careful not to wake you. you picture how he must’ve moved through the apartment—turning lights off, wiping down surfaces, locking the door behind him like nothing ever happened. your hands shake just thinking about it. not from anxiety, but from awe.

he cleaned up for you.

the kitchen still smells like bleach and something worse. he scrubbed it until the memory disappeared. but not all the way—not for you. your body remembers it. the wet sounds. the way the blood seeped under the fridge before either of you noticed. but you barely flinch now. your brain is too full of him. of his hands, his mouth, the way he held you while you cried, like your grief belonged to him too.

you told him everything last night. you let him in. you kissed him like he was the sun and you were sick of the cold winter. now the weight of that decision is crawling back. you check your phone. three missed calls and one voicemail. all from an unfamiliar number—DC area code. no name on the screen, but you already know.

the FBI.

you don’t listen to the message. you delete it before it finishes buffering. your fingers tremble when you try to make coffee. you don’t bother drinking it. instead, you walk barefoot to the window and press your forehead to the glass. the sky is that sterile winter gray. your reflection stares back like she doesn’t recognize you.

when they called last night, you answered. you told them you weren’t sure what they meant. that you didn’t know anything about connor’s whereabouts the night he disappeared. that you’d just emailed him a numbers correction. nothing more.

you lied.

and then, when they asked if you’d be willing to come in voluntarily—to help fill in the timeline—you said you’d think about it.

another lie.

your heart thuds with each one. not guilt exactly. more like dread. it feels like there’s a timer in your chest, ticking down to an explosion you can’t name yet. you grab rafe’s note again and reread it until the world quiets around you.

stay home today.

you will. you place the note down and put your headphones in. you clasp your hands together in your lap as music fills your ears like medicine. yet, your body still shakes.

~

rafe hasn’t checked his phone since the elevator. which, for him, is unusual and dangerous. he walks into the office like a man on trial. the automatic doors hiss open. the marble floor gleams. his shoes echo like a threat. everything is in its place—the front desk girl in her stiff blazer, the soft hum of the espresso machine in the kitchen, the conference room already full of analysts with their heads down.

but he doesn’t see any of it. all he sees is your face from last night. the way you cried into his hoodie. the way you kissed him slow, like forgiveness wasn’t a word you needed to say. he sees the blood on your kitchen floor and the way you stepped around it.

“morning, mr. cameron,” someone says. he doesn’t respond, doesn’t look up. just keeps walking. the boardroom is a war zone. three calls in and already his grip is slipping. market volatility. private investors threatening to pull. too many voices. too many eyes. that’s when one of them says it. that name. “connor.”

it’s a simple mention, a nothing comment, but rafe goes still.“—situation with connor’s numbers last quarter might come back into the spotlight if they dig deep enough,” the man continues, oblivious.

rafe’s knuckles whiten on the table. he doesn’t look at anyone, just exhales once, long and low. “connor is dead,” he says. quiet. razor-sharp. “he’s not a fucking variable anymore.”

the room falls silent. harold sputters. “i—i didn’t mean to imply—”

“good,” rafe cuts in, smooth and final. “because if i hear his name in this room again, i’ll do a lot more than just yell. understood?” someone gulps. someone else nods. rafe adjusts his cufflink and rises to his feet. “i’ll take my next call from my office.”

the boardroom stares up at him. some avoid his eye contact. some clear their throats and look at their hands. he exhales, heart still beating fast from the mention of that name.

~

he doesn’t remember walking back to his floor, but he’s suddenly there. glass doors swinging shut behind him. his private space, sterile and suffocating. he slumps into his chair, pinching the bridge of his nose and glancing up towards the window where he can see your desk. there’s still no text from you. no missed call—nothing. it crawls under his skin.

he wrote the note. he left you sleeping. you looked so fragile tucked into the sheets. before he left, he wiped the blood off your tile like it was toothpaste. he cleaned your fucking apartment so you wouldn’t wake up and see that man’s teeth on the floor. and you haven’t called. he tells himself it’s fine. that you’re resting. that you’re doing what he asked for once and staying home.

but his hands itch. his lungs burn. he doesn’t trust anyone else with your safety—not now. not when he knows there are still cracks in the system. what if that psycho from last night was working with someone else? and that someone could still be out there.

rafe makes it till noon before he breaks. he cancels the rest of his meetings with a clipped text to his assistant and walks out the door without saying a word. he leaves three people mid-sentence. one man tries to follow him, he doesn’t get far.

rafe’s already in the elevator, pulling out his phone. he dials before he hits the lobby. you don’t answer. blood drains from his face. he tries again, but there’s no answer. goosebumps rise on his arms and his heart freezes over.

he’s at your door six minutes later. didn’t even lock the car. he’s breathing hard, knuckles flushed from how tight he gripped the steering wheel the whole way. his coat’s still hanging half off one shoulder as he bangs once then jabs at the handle like he’ll rip the door open if you don’t.

when you answer, you’re barefoot, eyes wide and rimmed in red. he doesn’t mean to snap, but that’s his nature. “why the fuck weren’t you answering your phone?” your face crumples. your hand flinches back like you touched fire. just like that, all the fury drains out of him. he exhales through his teeth, steps forward, palms already up. “shit. no. i didn’t-” he softens immediately. “i didn’t mean it like that.”

he closes the space between you within seconds. his large arms wrap around you. he lifts you straight off the floor like he needs to feel your heartbeat against his chest before he can breathe right again.

you don’t fight it. don’t say anything. you just melt. your arms wrap around his neck, and your face tucks into his shoulder like that’s where it’s always belonged.

“you scared me,” he murmurs into your hair. “i thought-” he swallows. doesn’t finish. his hands run slow down your back, grounding himself with the shape of you. “come sit.” he guides you to the couch like you’re glass. “please.”

you nod. he sits first, then pulls you into his lap like you weigh nothing. like this is home. you curl there instinctively, knees tucked beside him, cheek pressed to his collarbone. his hand moves through your hair, and for a while, he just holds you.

then, he mumbles it so quietly, you miss it. blood rushes to your ears. “what?” you ask, breathing shallowing.

“come away with me.” he says it louder this time, gaze locked on yours so you know he’s serious. you stop breathing. “just a few days. somewhere warm. no phones. no press. no agents breathing down your neck.”

you pull back, not enough to leave him, just enough to look up. “rafe…”

“i’ve already booked it.” his voice is gentle, coaxing. “private villa with a waterfront view. just us.”

you shake your head. your eyes water again. “i can’t. not now.”

he nods once, swallowing like it hurts. his gaze flickers away for a second, then back. his breath catches like you struck something soft in him. not anger and not disappointment. just…ache. the kind that doesn’t have a sound, only silence. his hands still on your back. his grip loosens just slightly.

he doesn’t speak for a second. just stares at you like he’s trying to memorize your face all over again. like he’s wondering if you’re already slipping away from him and he’s too scared to reach for you harder. his jaw twitches. he swallows again and the corner of his mouth tugs downward like he’s trying not to show how much it stings.

because you said no. and that was his plan—his way out. his way to fix it all before it spirals. but more than that—he wanted you to say yes. not for strategy or for legal shielding, but for him; for you. because he thought maybe, maybe you wanted to disappear into him as badly as he wants to disappear into you. his thumb brushes your spine like he can soothe the rejection out of his bloodstream. like touch will rewrite the word you just said.

he nods once, too slow. “okay,” he says softly. “okay.” but the tension in his chest doesn’t ease. it just settles there— thick and heavy. it’s a weight he’s carried too long. he looks down at you, then away, then back. you can see it—the ache in his jaw, the pressure behind his eyes—but he doesn’t argue. he just lowers his hand to the inside of his coat pocket. when he removes his hand, he pulls out a ring box.

it’s velvet and black. understated in the way only the wealthiest things are. your breath catches. “rafe—”

he sinks down to one knee. it’s not smooth, not dramatic. he sinks down to his knee like he’s being pulled there. “marry me,” he says again, softer now. not a command, but a plea. “i know this isn’t normal. i know it’s not sane. but you make me want to be better. or worse. whatever you need.”

he opens the box. the diamond is fucking massive. cruelly gorgeous. it glints like a threat under your overhead lights. oval-cut, set in a platinum band so clean it looks liquid. your lips part. no sound comes out. he keeps going, his hand still steady even if the rest of him isn’t.

“i’ve had it for weeks,” he admits. “was gonna do it on vacation. with champagne, a sunset, the whole thing. but that’s not us, is it?” a bitter little smile. “this is. this mess; this madness; this…bloodstained kind of love.” you stare at him, eyes wide and wet. “they’re going to try to use you against me,” he says. “they’re going to twist every word out of your mouth. unless we make it so they can’t.” you know what he means before he says it. “spousal privilege,” he murmurs. “if we’re married, you can’t testify.”

your pulse stutters. the air goes still. but that isn’t all. he reaches into his coat again, pulls out a thick envelope, unfolds it, and lays it gently across your lap. your name and his. it’s a marriage license, already signed—already real.

“just say yes,” he says. voice low, wrecked. “say yes and i’ll handle the rest.”

you don’t move. you can’t. rafe just watches you like you’re the only thing in the room. your answer might save him or destroy him. he doesn’t care which. because he’s already ruined; he’s already yours.

your eyes flicker between the ring, the license, and his face. your gaze scans his features. he’s got a slight stubble because he didn’t bring a razor over yesterday. his eyes are red with dark circles. he looks nothing like that man who hired you five months ago. in a way, he isn’t.

for a moment, all you can do is blink. your heartbeat trips over itself. a laugh stumbles out from you lips. it’s not happy, not cruel. it’s the sound a window makes when it cracks down the middle. “you’re insane,” you whisper, barely a breath. rafe doesn’t move. “you’re fucking insane,” you repeat, stronger now. your hands start to shake. “you planned this? for weeks? and now—now you just show up with a goddamn ring and a marriage license like it’s some sort of solution?”

his expression doesn’t flinch. “it is a solution.”

“you want to marry me to protect yourself-”

“i want to marry you because i’m in love with you.” there’s no hesitation—not even a blink. just the full-force weight of his devotion dropped on your chest like a brick. you stare at him, hands coming up to rub your eyes. this has to be a dream. “i don’t expect you to say yes right now,” he adds, softer now, still on his knees. “i just needed you to know. needed you to see how far i’d go.”

he closes the ring box, but doesn’t put it away. he just holds it there, like the truth of it is enough. you don’t say yes, but you don’t say no. you just let him pull you back into his arms and hold you until the air feels solid again.

~

the knock comes the next morning. it’s not loud, but it’s heavy. you’re in one of rafe’s sweaters, curled up on the couch, still wearing the dazed silence from last night. he’s in the kitchen, stirring coffee like it’s a weapon he can’t decide how to use.

he goes still when the knock lands again. you sit up. he glances at you once, then crosses the room, and opens the door. two men in suits stand in the hallway of your apartment complex. they aren’t cops. there’s no blue uniform. your heart punches your ribs. “mr. cameron?” one of them asks, already holding up credentials.

rafe presses his lips into a line. “depends who’s asking.”

“agent vale. federal bureau of investigation.” you feel the room tilt. “this isn’t an arrest,” the agent says, calm and clinical. “you’re being subpoenaed for federal court. there’s a preliminary hearing two days from now.” he holds out the envelope. it’s marked in red. rafe takes it without a word. “we’ll be in touch with your legal team,” the second agent says. “we’d prefer your cooperation, but it’s not optional.”

rafe smiles. the same smile you see him use in the office. this time, there’s a hint of insanity behind the twitch of his lip. “nothing about this ever is.”

they leave without stepping inside. rafe shuts the door like it might come off the hinges. you’re already on your feet. “what does that mean? court?”

he doesn’t answer right away. just stares at the unopened envelope in his hands. “they’re building a case,” he mutters. “they think they have something.”

you swallow hard. “do they?”

his gaze lifts to yours. “depends if you say yes.”

he doesn’t mean it as a threat, but it still feels like one.

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[lisssyyu]

The Place Where Waiting Ends

PAIRINGS: military!Vi x military wife!f!reader

AUTHOR'S NOTE: in fact, the idea came when I AGAIN TALKED TO THE BOT ON JANITORAI. I was drinking beer and thought: "Why don't I write something similar?" and by the way I plan to write soldier!Vi x goddess of war!Reader.

WARNING(S): yearning ;; family reunion (lol) ;; modern Au ;; Vi serves in the army

wc: 4.3k

Vi's departure was not sudden.

It happened a few weeks before the actual departure. It was noticeable in her short sentences, downcast eyes, and subdued voice.

She said it would be quick. Two months at the base. Nothing serious. But even then, there was a tension in her eyes that made your skin tighten into a knot.

She never said she was afraid. But for some reason, she hugged you tighter at night when she thought you were asleep, and lingered longer in the doorway before leaving, as if memorizing your silhouette in your robe. She tried to keep her face calm, but her fingers trembled more and more often when she picked up a cup, and her gaze lingered for a long time on the empty space behind your shoulder, as if the roads, the shapes of the parade ground, the roar of airplanes, the clang of metal, and the commands of strangers were already beginning in her head.

She didn't say out loud that she was afraid, but the fear seeped through the silence, through the way she hid her face in your chest, holding her breath as if for the last time.

On the day of departure, neither of you said a word. You just held her fingers until they disappeared into the sleeve of your jacket and remained silent, because if you had said a word, it would have torn you both apart. She turned around at the door, as if she had forgotten something, but didn't say what, smiled, and left.

You didn't close the door behind her right away. You stood there for a long time, staring at the empty doorway, which still smelled of her skin, tobacco, and something inevitable. Then you sat down on the floor and listened to how the world had become quieter without her. Even the refrigerator hummed differently.

The first few days, you just waited. You drank her coffee, wore her sweatshirt, wrote her messages, deleted them, wrote them again. You stayed on her side of the bed as if you could keep the warmth if you didn't move the sheet. Sometimes it seemed to you that she was nearby, in the mirror, in the reflection in the window, in the creak of the closet door. But every time you turned around, there was no one there.

Weeks passed like this. But they were no longer filled with such intense pain, only a lingering, exhausting emptiness, like a splinter under the skin that cannot be removed. You learned not to expect an immediate response. You got used to the silence of the phone, to notifications that weren't from her, to the fact that letters came less often than you hoped. She wrote briefly, as if in passing: "Everything's fine," "I love you," "I miss you."

You reread that "I miss you" twenty times in a row, peering between the lines and trying to extract at least a shadow of emotion from the dry screen. But the screen remained cold.

You tried to hold on. You filled your days with little things — cleaning, old movies, trips to the store, meetings that brought no relief. But in the evenings, you stayed alone in the apartment, listening to the clock counting down her absence, and you couldn't breathe. It was as if there wasn't enough air without her. Sometimes you talked to her out loud, very quietly, sitting by the window, as if she could hear you through all those miles and concrete walls.

Once you woke up at four in the morning and didn't understand where you were. The sheet was cold, and the silence was so thick that you wanted to scream. But you just got up, made yourself some tea, and sat down by the front door, looking at the crack under it, as if you could feel footsteps. As if you could tell by the sound that it was her coming.

You missed her not as one misses a person, but as one misses a home. You missed being next to her. And the fear was no longer a storm, but a steady pain, like a tooth you refuse to have treated. You were afraid that when she returned, she would not be the way you remembered her. Or, worse, that she would change, become a complete stranger, and learn to live without you.

You were afraid that her eyes would no longer have that look that made your hands tremble. You were afraid that she would return not as the Vi you kissed on the neck in the kitchen while the kettle boiled, but as someone else, closed off, trained, someone with no room for domestic carelessness and accidental laughter. But still you waited, falling asleep with her name on your lips, like a prayer.

The door opened not with the jingle of keys, not with a light push, as it used to be, but slowly, almost cautiously, as if the person on the other side was not sure if they had the right to enter.

At first, you didn't understand. Maybe it was the wind. Maybe someone had gotten the wrong floor. But the sound of footsteps, so uncertain, heavy, with a pause after every second one, cut through the air like a gunshot. You went down the stairs barefoot, in a T-shirt that had faded from washing, and there, in the dim light of the hallway, stood Vi. She was like an unexpected guest. Her shoulders slumped, her face seemed to be in shadow, but her eyes… God, her eyes. They still had the same blue depth, only now beneath the surface floated fatigue, pain, and unspent warmth.

You felt your own eyes fill with tears and you rushed into her arms, almost knocking her off her feet. Your heart was pounding as if trying to make up for all the lost time, all the unspoken words, all the nights when you slept with your face buried in her pillow instead of her. She staggered from your speed, but did not pull away. On the contrary, she wrapped her arms around you, held you tight, almost desperately closer, and buried her nose in your hair.

"You're home," you whispered, more to yourself than to her.

In response, she stroked the back of your head, pressed her lips to your temple, and whispered barely audibly:

"I missed you so much."

[applepiiex]

Hey, would you write about a "heavier" topic? How would Nanami or/and Toji react to a boyfriend with an obsessive ex? Reader not wanting to tell them but eventually they end up finding out through an surprise of the ex

I've been listening to "She" by Tyler, The Creator's too much, lol

THROUGH THE WINDOW ! ! ! ⌖

Nanami Kento & Toji Fushiguro x Male!Reader

It started with messages. You thought they were harmless at first, just the bitter cling of a past relationship that hadn’t ended the way either of you pretended it did. A few texts. A photo or two. You could handle it. But then the messages got darker. From gross to graphic. You didn’t want to tell Nanami and Toji. Didn’t want to ruin the calm you’d built between them. But you forgot who you were dating. Because Nanami reads death threats like case files. And Toji? Toji doesn’t believe in second warnings. You’re not alone anymore. You never have to be again.

⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘

You tell yourself you don’t need to tell him. Nanami’s already got too much on his shoulders; the long hours at the office, the missions, the headaches that crack behind his temples when he comes home late and peels off his tie at your door. Besides, it’s nothing, you think. Just annoying messages. Weird, clingy apologies at first, then the sudden switches to anger when you don’t answer. The calls you block, the fake accounts you mute. You’ve handled worse. It’ll fade if you keep ignoring it.

And yet you flinch every time your phone buzzes when Nanami’s in the room. You smile too quick when he asks, everything alright? You lie too easily: Just a classmate, just a spam text, just work.

Nanami doesn’t press. He trusts you. It’s the kind of trust that makes your throat ache because you know what it costs him to let people close.

So you think you’re safe. Right up until you’re not.

You feel it before you read it.

That telltale buzz in your back pocket. Your phone lighting up just once, screen turned conveniently down. You ignore it for a few seconds. Long enough to finish rinsing your mug. Long enough to convince yourself it’s Nanami with a grocery list or Toji reminding you to eat.

But you know better.

It’s always at the worst times. Like this morning, when Nanami pressed a kiss to your temple and murmured “Text me when you get home, alright?”—voice low, warm, careful like always—and your phone had gone off before the front door even closed behind him.

Or last night, when you’d fallen asleep on Toji’s chest, safe and full and warm, and woke to find a single notification glowing in the dark.

You still think they’re better for you?

You hadn’t told them.

Not yet.

Because what would you even say?

Hey, remember that guy I dated before I met you? The one I said ended things clean? He didn’t. He didn’t end it at all.

You delete the new message without reading it. Not because you don’t care. Because you do. And caring feels like giving it weight, and you don’t want it to matter.

You don’t want this ugly, sharp-edged part of your past to bleed into the home you built with them. Not these quiet mornings, the soft sound of Nanami’s keys in the dish, Toji’s god-awful slippers, the coffee they make just the way you like it. The life they gave you.

So you tell yourself it’s fine.

Just another message. Just another weird sentence from someone who doesn’t matter anymore.

You go to your texts with Nanami and send a little heart.

You check your location settings twice, make sure they can see you.

You hadn’t meant to keep it a secret—not really. But between Nanami’s long hours and Toji’s sharp instincts, you’d started keeping things closer to your chest. What were a few strange texts? A shadow outside your building? The growing knot of unease in your gut?

You could handle it. You had to.

Until today.

Until the knock on the door—too slow, too familiar.

Until Toji answered it before you could lie your way to the handle.

Until Nanami’s voice behind you, calm and clear: “Who is that, darling?”

And then—

Then it all unraveled.

Your ex. The obsession. The way your hands wouldn’t stop shaking.

But what scared you more was the way Toji went silent. Not loud. Quiet. Like a man calculating how many bones were in a body and how many he could break before someone stopped him.

And Nanami, stepping between you and the door like instinct, like religion.

You weren’t alone anymore.

You never had to be again.

You step into the living room, smile like everything’s fine—and freeze.

Toji’s already looking at you from the couch. Eyes narrow. Mouth tight. One look and you know:

He heard your phone buzz. And he saw your face fall.

Nanami doesn’t ask right away.

He’s always been the quieter kind of observant—unlike Toji, who will ask “What the hell’s wrong with you?” at the first twitch of an eyebrow, Nanami will wait. Will watch.

And you think you’re doing a good job hiding it.

But Nanami notices when you start showering with the door locked. He notices when you jump at the microwave beeping. When you stop putting your phone screen-up on the table.

It’s small things.

He never says a word when he catches you rereading the same page for five minutes. But he shifts closer on the couch. Puts a hand on your knee. Anchors you to now.

He doesn’t push.

But he watches.

And when your voice starts trembling over simple things—When’s dinner? Can I borrow your charger?—he starts reading between lines you don’t even realize you’re drawing.

The real break comes two days later.

You’re home alone, just barely. Toji’s out with groceries, Nanami’s walking back from the train. You’d just finished putting away laundry, your body warm from movement, hair damp from the shower.

You check your phone.

One message. Unknown number.

No words. Just a photo.

You stare at it.

It’s you.

In your bedroom.

Alone. Unaware. Half-naked, head tilted back, mouth parted. A still from a moment no one else should have seen.

Your heart drops through the floor. The air thins.

Your mouth moves like you’re about to scream—but you don’t.

You can’t.

The floor creaks behind you.

And before you can hide it, before you can delete anything or swallow the panic down—

“Love?”

Nanami’s voice. Calm. Steady.

But when he sees your face, when he sees your hand shaking around the phone— His briefcase hits the floor. He crosses the room in two strides and doesn’t ask what’s wrong. He just takes your phone.

You try to stop him. Your voice cracks. You say “Don’t—please, it’s nothing—”

But Nanami’s face goes still.

Blank.

Not like he’s unreadable, like he’s unforgiving.

Like something in him has gone very, very cold.

Toji’s keys jingle in the door.

And you suddenly realize, It’s not just your ex that’s going to regret this.

Toji walks in holding a paper bag in one hand and a soda tucked under his arm. His keys hit the little dish by the door with a lazy clink, and he’s already saying something—

“Hey, you’d better still be hungry, I grabbed those—” He stops.

Nanami’s standing stock still in the middle of the room, back to the door. You’re on the couch, half-curled into yourself like you’re trying to take up less space. Your phone is in Nanami’s hand. He hasn’t moved since he picked it up. He hasn’t blinked.

Toji’s eyes shift to you. He sees it instantly, your red-rimmed eyes, your trembling hands, the way your shoulders rise too high, like you’re bracing for something.

He drops the soda.

The bottle bounces. The fizz spills out into the carpet. He doesn’t look down.

“Ken,” he says, quiet. Sharp. “What happened.”

Nanami doesn’t answer right away.

Just lifts the phone and turns it. Shows him the screen.

Toji steps closer. Looks.

And stops breathing for a second.

He’s seen worse. He’s done worse. But this—this is personal. This is violating. This is someone thinking they could get away with hurting something that belongs to him. To both of them.

He doesn’t raise his voice. Doesn’t storm.

He hands the phone back to Nanami with surgical precision.

Then he kneels in front of you. Slowly.

And says, soft as a whisper, “Baby. When did they start doing this?”

You want to lie. You almost do.

But the look in his eyes—steady, unreadable, terrifying only in how unshaken it is—undoes you.

You whisper, “A few weeks ago.”

Toji closes his eyes for a moment. Breathing in through his nose like he’s tasting the words.

Then—

“Okay,” he says. And stands.

Nanami is already checking the locks. Calm. Clinical. His jaw is tight but his hands are steady.

Toji? Toji just rolls his shoulders back. Cracks his neck.

And smiles.

Not the kind of smile that ever touches his eyes.

The kind that says, “Let me show you what happens when you scare someone I love.”

You’ve been in the shower for fifteen minutes.

The water’s long gone warm. You’re sitting on the floor, forehead pressed to your knees, steam curling around your ears like it might muffle everything.

You can still feel it. That photo—that invasion—burning under your skin like acid.

You don’t hear Toji’s boots stop just outside the door. Or the way Nanami lowers his voice to meet him.

In the kitchen, Toji’s leaning against the counter, arms crossed tight. Nanami sets the phone down between them.

It's still open.

Neither of them flinch at the image now.

“He must’ve hacked the camera,” Nanami says, calmly. “Or snuck in. Possibly both.”

Toji’s jaw ticks.

“You think he was in the apartment?”

Nanami nods once.

“There's no other way. This photo—look at the angle. It's from the corner shelf. Right where that old diffuser is.”

Toji’s voice is low, feral.

“That shelf's barely six feet from the bed.”

Nanami exhales through his nose, slowly. Controlled.

“I’ll check the locks again. Hidden cameras, too. You talk to your guy?”

“Not yet,” Toji says, already pulling out his burner phone. “He’ll know how to scrub the photo. Trace the IP. Get me a name.”

“You think you don’t already know who it is?”

Toji lifts his head.

The look they exchange is brief.

It says everything.

Nanami smooths down the sleeve of his shirt, then begins opening drawers with clinical care—pulling out the backup phone, the flash drive, the old tucked-away folder of documents they never wanted to need again.

Toji watches the hallway.

“Don’t think he’s just watching him,” he mutters. “This ain’t about obsession anymore.”

Nanami meets his eyes.

“I know.”

“I’m gonna kill this guy,” Toji says flatly.

“No,” Nanami replies, eyes cool. “We’re going to stop him. And then we’re going to make sure Y/N  never has to feel unsafe in his own fucking bed again.”

They fall silent for a beat.

The shower is still running.

Toji looks toward the door, and his voice softens.

“He’s scared out of his goddamn mind, Kento.”

“I know,” Nanami says. “That’s why we get this done quietly. Clean. For him.”

Toji’s shoulders drop a little.

“I’ll call in a favor. See if someone can keep eyes on the building.”

Nanami nods.

“Then tomorrow, we start tracking this man down.”

They move like a unit—silent, practiced. Not angry. Not panicking. Deadly calm. Because the one thing more dangerous than either of them… Is both of them. Protecting you.

You towel your hair slowly. Mechanically.

Your skin’s gone cold despite the hot water. Everything feels like it’s happening to you, not with you. Like your body’s just going through the motions while your brain hides somewhere in the walls.

But the water’s off. The towel’s wrapped. And you can’t stay in there forever.

So you open the bathroom door. Steam rolls out behind you. The apartment is too quiet. The kind of quiet that makes your skin crawl.

Nanami is standing by the window. His arms are folded across his chest, sleeves pushed up, gold watch catching the lamplight. He’s staring out into the street below, but you can feel he’s not really looking.

Toji’s at the kitchen island, phone face-down, hands flat on the counter like he’s holding himself in place.

Both of them turn when you walk in. And everything about the way they look at you makes your breath catch. Not angry. Not judgmental. Just—

Worried.

Focused.

Like you’re the only thing in the world they’re trying to protect.

Toji’s the first to move. He walks toward you slow, deliberate. His eyes flick down your body, and for once it’s not a heated look—he’s scanning. Checking. Making sure you’re unharmed.

You open your mouth to say something—anything—but it sticks in your throat. Then Toji reaches out. One hand on your cheek, warm and grounding. The other rests at your hip, gentle.

“You alright, baby?” he asks.

Your mouth trembles. You nod. But Nanami sees the lie.

“Come here,” he says softly, from across the room.

You go. You can’t not. Nanami’s arms pull you in, towel and all. He wraps you up like something fragile, his chin resting gently on your shoulder, hand smoothing up and down your back.

“We’re handling it,” he murmurs into your ear. “He won’t get near you again.” You exhale shakily.

Toji steps in behind, wrapping himself around both of you. His hand settles on your waist, anchoring. Protective. You’re surrounded. Sandwiched between warmth and muscle and quiet fury.

And for the first time all day—

You feel safe. But still, something breaks in you. Just a little.

The apartment is still too quiet. Toji’s sitting beside you, his arm draped across your shoulders like a shield. Nanami’s across from you at the table, a mug of tea untouched in front of him, jaw set tight.

You’re holding your phone like it’s a live wire. Your thumb hovers over the app. You’ve deleted some of the messages before—shaky hands, shame, panic. But not all of them. You couldn’t. Some were too vile, too specific. You needed proof. You just didn’t want to read them again.

But now...

Toji nudges you gently with his knee.

“You don’t have to explain,” he says. “Just show us.”

You nod. Your hand shakes as you unlock it.

The first message is dated weeks back.

You looked good today. They don’t deserve you. I saw your new shirt. Tight. You knew I’d like that. You know this isn’t over, right?

Toji reads with clenched fists. Silent. Nanami leans in, scrolling. His brow furrows deeper with every line.

Then comes the message from yesterday.

The one you couldn’t delete.

It’s not just a message.

It’s a poem. Or a manifesto.

Or a threat.

Nanami reads aloud, voice low, steady, terrifyingly neutral.

“One, two, you're the guy that I want Three, four, five, six, seven, shit Eight is the bullets if you say no after all this…”

His voice falters. Your throat closes. You swallow down nausea. Toji is dead silent beside you.

“And I just couldn't take it, you're so motherfuckin' gorgeous Gorgeous, baby, you're gorgeous I just wanna drag your lifeless body to the forest And fornicate with it…”

Nanami stops reading. The silence that follows is suffocating.

Then Toji stands. Slowly. Deliberately.

“Give me the name,” he says, voice low and steady. “Now.”

You look up at him. Your mouth opens, but no words come. You feel exposed. Raw. Like you’ve just ripped the bandage off and they’re both staring at the wound underneath. The part of you that you never wanted them to see.

Nanami stands too. He’s moved behind Toji now, hand on his back like an anchor. “You did the right thing,” Nanami says, softly. “Showing us.”

“I didn’t want you to think—” Your voice breaks. “I just—he always talked like that. I didn’t think he’d ever do anything. It was just words. Just—”

Toji turns to you, his eyes burning. “They’re not just words.”

He crouches in front of you again, and this time he takes your hand, presses your palm flat to his chest.

“Feel that?” he murmurs. “That’s what you mean to me. Right here. You think I’m gonna let some little freak who jerks off to your old Instagram stories put you in danger?”

His voice is steel, but his thumb rubs gently against your knuckles. Nanami’s next to you now too. Calm. Quiet. Controlled rage simmering just beneath his gaze.

“I want you to forward everything to my email,” he says. “All the texts. All the photos. I’ll begin the documentation tonight. This kind of language qualifies as criminal threat.”

You blink at him.

“You’re—You’re going legal with this?”

“I’m going through with this.” Nanami leans down, kisses your cheek.

“Because this isn’t just harassment anymore. This is violence.”

Toji’s already on his phone, dialing. You hear him mutter, “Yeah. Need you to trace something. It’s urgent. Nah, not for work—personal.”

You sit between them, eyes wide, breath uneven.

And for the first time in weeks... It’s not your weight to carry anymore. It’s theirs now.

“I didn’t want to ruin things,” you whisper, voice cracking. “I didn’t want to bring him into this. Into us.”

Toji’s arms tighten.

Nanami presses his mouth to your temple.

“Nothing you could do,” Nanami says, “nothing—could ruin this.”

“Except not telling us,” Toji adds, but it’s not angry—it’s wounded. He turns your face gently with two fingers. “Don’t shut us out. We’re not going anywhere.”

You nod. But your eyes brim anyway. Nanami pulls you to the couch. Toji grabs your favorite blanket. The one you always hog. And between the two of them, you let yourself fall apart a little. And they catch you.

[yuta-nakamots]

Talk About - L.Mark (Teaser)

Pairing - Boyfriend!Mark x University!Female Reader

Genre(s) - Fluff, Angst, University!AU, Band!AU

Warning(s) - takes place in a club (alcohol consumption, lots of yearning from the reader and Mark included in the full fic)

Summary - During winter break, you return home and watch Mark perform a new track revealing cracks in your relationship with him. On this Saturday night, you finally confront everything that’s been left unsaid, realizing Mark’s lyrics were always about you.

Teaser Word Count - 0.8k

Estimated Release Date - July 3, 2025

Author’s Note - This is a deleted scene from my fic Everybody Talks but can be read as a standalone. Lyrics from the song will be formatted like this.

Taglist - @k-vanity @cosyhomenet @neocity-net @k-films @dinonuguaegi @tinyzen @fancypeacepersona (send an ask or leave a comment to be added!)

Written for the Band AU Collab originally hosted by @gohyuck. Part of my NCT Dream: Seven Days Collection.

Now playing: Talk About - Mark Lee, Child - Mark Lee

December, 2017. Now playing: Talk About by Mark Lee, 2020.

The car radio buzzes faintly with static before you shut it off. It’s not worth fighting the reception. Outside, the wind bites at the edge of the windshield, gusting hard enough to push your car while coasting on the freeway. You tap the steering wheel in rhythm to nothing, just muscle memory and nerves.

It’s been a few days since you got home for winter break, long enough for the silence in your childhood bedroom to feel familiar again, long enough to notice that Mark’s name doesn’t light up your phone as often as it used to. 

Not that you weren’t trying to keep in contact with him. You always tried. 

Texts. Voice notes. Late-night calls filled with muffled laughter and half-drowsy ‘I miss you’s. You kept the chat alive, even when it started to fray. But time stretches things. And so does ambition. 

You haven’t seen Mark in person since the end of August, when his hands still smelled like your shampoo and you promised not to lose track of each other. Now it’s December. And he’s no longer yours in the same way he used to be. He’s busy now. Riding the high of his band’s first few shows. New songs, new crowds, new photos where his arm wraps around the shoulders of someone who isn’t you. 

You told yourself you were okay with it, that this is what you both wanted, which is why you came tonight. A Saturday night gig at a downtown venue you’ve only ever heard of in passing. Somewhere between underground and legendary, the kind of place where people say they saw something before it blew up. 

You weren’t invited. You just came after seeing the announcement. 

You took the next exit, passing dim street lights that blur into long streaks of amber. Your phone buzzes in the passenger seat, a text from a friend, not him, still nothing from Mark. Your eyes flicker to the folder flyer next to your phone, black and white, blurry ink. 

MIDAS TOUCH. Live @ The Dream Room. 

You trace his band’s name with your finger. You’re not sure why you were going to see them, just that you had to. 

My room looking like a town.

Inside, the club breathes heat. You step in and it hits you like a wall of humid, smoky air thick with sweat and perfume. The bass isn’t just sound, it’s sensation, crawling up your legs and settling behind your ribs like a second heartbeat. Your shoes stick slightly to the floor, soles catching on dried beer and god knows what else. The lights smear like wet paint. Red, then purple, then blue. Your eyes don’t have time to adjust before everything shifts again. Bodies move in slow, synched chaos. Everyone seems to know the beat, the rhythm, the way to sway their hips just enough. 

You don’t. You’re just trying not to flinch when someone brushes your arm. 

You make your way toward the back of the venue, where the lights don’t reach as far. You pass strangers who smell like smoke and know all the lyrics, placing one foot in front of the other until you can press your back against the wall. Exhale and watch. 

Mark’s bandmates are visible just beyond the curtain that separates the stage from the floor. You catch a glimpse of Jisung laughing with Chenle, both of them vibrating with the kind of energy you haven’t felt in months. Wild, directionless, young. 

One of the other members spots you, Jaemin, probably. He lifts his chin in a nod that says ‘hey’ and ‘you’re still here’ and ‘you’re not part of this anymore’ all at once. You nod back. 

You don’t belong here. But he does. 

Then, the shift. You feel it before you see it, the way the crowd pushes slightly forward, how the air tightens. The lights go low right before the first notes cut through the room. The strobe lights kick on slow, then fast, dizzying. 

And there he is. 

Mark walks onstage like he never left it. Yellow-tinted sunglasses. A half-zipped bomber jacket. His chin catches the light just so. His mouth curls into something between a smirk and a snarl. He pulls the mic to his lips. 

The bass rattles the walls, then the beat drops. 

“말하지 않아도 느껴, distance (I feel the distance, even if you don’t say a word). 풍기는 내 vibe에 다들 미쳐, addiction (Everyone’s addicted, going crazy over my vibe).”

His voice is sharp, razor wire wrapped in velvet. He moves like he’s chasing something. 

You recognize the track. You were there in the studio with him when it was just an idea. When it was about ambition, restlessness, the hunger to make it, but it’s changed. Now it sounds like missed calls and emotional whiplash. It sounds like you.

[alarwynnwhispers]

🧡 ᴜɴᴘʟᴀɴɴᴇᴅ — ᴄʜᴀᴘᴛᴇʀ 38: ᴀ ᴛʜʀᴇᴀᴅ ʙᴇᴛᴡᴇᴇɴ ᴄɪᴛɪᴇꜱ 🧡

ꜰ1 x ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ | ʟᴀɴᴅᴏ ɴᴏʀʀɪꜱ ᴀᴜ | ᴀɴɢꜱᴛ + ᴅʀᴀᴍᴀ

⚠️ ᴄᴏɴᴛᴇɴᴛ ᴡᴀʀɴɪɴɢꜱ:

ᴇᴍᴏᴛɪᴏɴᴀʟ ᴀꜰᴛᴇʀᴍᴀᴛʜ ᴏꜰ ɪɴꜰɪᴅᴇʟɪᴛʏ ᴀɴᴅ ᴍᴇᴅɪᴀ ꜱᴄᴀɴᴅᴀʟ

ᴘʀᴇɢɴᴀɴᴄʏ-ʀᴇʟᴀᴛᴇᴅ ᴘʜʏꜱɪᴄᴀʟ ᴅɪꜱᴄᴏᴍꜰᴏʀᴛ ᴀɴᴅ ᴇᴍᴏᴛɪᴏɴᴀʟ ꜱᴛʀᴀɪɴ

ᴛʜᴇᴍᴇꜱ ᴏꜰ ʟᴏɴᴇʟɪɴᴇꜱꜱ, ɪɴꜱᴏᴍɴɪᴀ, ᴀɴᴅ ᴇᴍᴏᴛɪᴏɴᴀʟ ᴡɪᴛʜᴅʀᴀᴡᴀʟ

ᴠᴏɪᴄᴇᴍᴀɪʟ ʀᴇᴄᴏʟʟᴇᴄᴛɪᴏɴ ᴀꜱ ᴀ ᴄᴏᴘɪɴɢ ᴍᴇᴄʜᴀɴɪꜱᴍ

ꜱʏᴍʙᴏʟɪᴄ ɢᴇꜱᴛᴜʀᴇꜱ ᴏꜰ ʟᴏᴠᴇ (ɴᴏᴛᴇʙᴏᴏᴋ/ᴊᴏᴜʀɴᴀʟ ᴇɴᴛʀɪᴇꜱ)

ʀᴇʙᴜɪʟᴅɪɴɢ ᴏꜰ ᴛʀᴜꜱᴛ ᴛʜʀᴏᴜɢʜ ɴᴏɴ-ᴠᴇʀʙᴀʟ ᴄᴏᴍᴍᴜɴɪᴄᴀᴛɪᴏɴ

ʜɪɴᴛꜱ ᴏꜰ ᴅᴇᴘʀᴇꜱꜱɪᴏɴ, ɢʀɪᴇꜰ, ᴀɴᴅ ᴇᴍᴏᴛɪᴏɴᴀʟ ᴠᴜʟɴᴇʀᴀʙɪʟɪᴛʏ

ꜱᴜᴘᴘᴏʀᴛ ꜰʀᴏᴍ ꜰᴀᴍɪʟʏ ᴀɴᴅ ꜰʀɪᴇɴᴅꜱ ɪɴ ᴅɪꜰꜰᴇʀᴇɴᴛ ɢʟᴏʙᴀʟ ꜱᴇᴛᴛɪɴɢꜱ

ꜱᴍᴀʟʟ ɢᴇꜱᴛᴜʀᴇꜱ ᴏꜰ ᴇᴍᴏᴛɪᴏɴᴀʟ ʀᴇᴘᴀɪʀ ᴀɴᴅ ᴛᴇɴᴛᴀᴛɪᴠᴇ ʜᴏᴘᴇ

ʀᴇɪɢɴɪᴛɪᴏɴ ᴏꜰ ᴄᴏᴍᴍᴜɴɪᴄᴀᴛɪᴏɴ ʙᴇᴛᴡᴇᴇɴ ᴇꜱᴛʀᴀɴɢᴇᴅ ᴄᴏᴜᴘʟᴇ

The days that followed blurred into one another.

Singapore buzzed as always, noisy trains, the smell of hawker stalls, and the rhythmic clang of ceiling fans spinning overhead, but for (Y/n), it all moved just a little slower. Like she was underwater. Floating.

She had barely left the house except for prenatal checkups and short walks with her brother, Alaric. The humidity wasn’t kind to her ankles, and the twins had taken to kicking more in the evenings. Alaric kept a pillow on standby, joking that his nieces or nephews were secretly training to be footballers.

But even as her family tried to fill the silence, the ache in her chest lingered.

Lando’s voicemail lived rent-free in her mind. Some nights, she replayed it just to hear his voice. Other nights, she deleted it, only to restore it again at 3 a.m., when the emptiness became too loud.

She wasn’t angry anymore. Not really. She was tired. Tired of being the one who had to carry the emotional weight, tired of wondering if peace ever truly followed love.

Then came the package.

Her mother brought it in from the front porch, wrapped in matte orange paper with no return address, only her name written in careful block letters.

Inside was a small notebook. No branding. No ribbons.

On the first page, in Lando’s familiar handwriting, it said:

“If I can’t talk to you, I’ll write instead. One page a day. Until you tell me to stop.”

Her hands trembled as she flipped through.

Each entry was short, but personal. Vulnerable.

June 30 – Didn’t sleep much. I missed hearing you breathe beside me. I wonder if the babies kick more when you’re angry, or when you’re sad. I wish I could be there to help. July 1 – Zak made me run media rounds again today. I hated it. But I did it anyway. I wanted the world to know I’m not hiding. July 2 – I went karting with some of the young drivers. Antonelli beat me. He called me “grandpa.” I let him. It made me think about what it’d be like to take our kids karting someday.

She covered her mouth, pressing the book to her chest, tears sliding down once more.

He wasn’t perfect. He had messed up in ways he couldn’t undo. But he wasn’t giving up on her. Or their children.

And maybe, maybe that meant something.

Meanwhile in Monaco, Lando stood at the harbor, phone in one hand, looking out over the water.

He had returned not to escape, but to face it all. His press team, the stares, the rumors. Zak had held him to it.

Carlos had invited him out for lunch, well, more accurately, Carlos’ mother had insisted he show up after scolding her son again. Over tapas, she called Lando “mi niño” and made him promise to eat more vegetables for the babies' sake.

Max had texted that morning, too.

Penelope misses her sticker buddy. Come over for dinner.

He smiled weakly.

Even Daniel had shown up unexpectedly at the track the week before, clapping Lando on the back and joking, “If you screw it up again, I’ll shave your eyebrows in your sleep.”

Despite everything, the world hadn’t given up on him. Not entirely.

He just wished (Y/n) would speak to him.

But then… his phone buzzed.

 (Y/n): Is the notebook daily, or just when you remember?

He stared at it, rereading it over and over again, chest aching.

Then his fingers moved quickly.

Lando: Daily. Like clockwork. I can send more. Or… deliver them in person. If you’ll let me.

Three blinking dots. Then:

(Y/n): Maybe. I’ll think about it.

It wasn’t forgiveness.

But it was something.

It was hope.

To be continued... 🧡

🧡 ᴜɴᴘʟᴀɴɴᴇᴅ — ᴄʜᴀᴘᴛᴇʀ 39: ʙᴇꜰᴏʀᴇ ᴛʜᴇ ᴅᴏᴏʀ ᴏᴘᴇɴꜱ 🧡

📝 Note from the Author: Fifth post for today, Alarwynnites. And this one… this one feels like exhale after a week of holding your breath.

There’s no drama in this chapter, just two people tiptoeing around the edges of pain, trying to find each other again. A voicemail saved and deleted. A notebook full of letters. A text message that feels heavier than a monologue. Sometimes, love isn’t loud. Sometimes, it’s one page at a time. 📓

If this chapter reminded you of soft reconciliation or silent forgiveness, leave a 🧡 or ✉️ in the replies. Let’s grieve gently together.

And thank you for still being here, for feeling every line with me.

With love, me 🧡

[scramjettracy]

Maaaybe had a li’l whisky. Is not often I don’t have to be ready to fly for 24 hours and I was trying not to think.

I still don’t know what your obsession with the word smug is… but I don’t like it and it doesn’t fit you at all. You’re not any of those other things either - please don’t write yourself off like that. You’re amazing and a better man than I can ever hope to be. It kills me that you can’t see that.

Everything you ever cared about implodes, huh? I guess I can see how it feels that way. But we’re still all here for you Fish, despite all the nonsense the world has thrown at us. And we always will be.

You aren’t alone. Ever. Not if you don’t want to be. Obviously things with you and Penny should be private - it’s not like we need or should have details or be in your face about it all the time because that would be creepy and weird. But also? If you’re worried, or confused or anything we’re here. I can tell all this stuff has been tying your brain in knots for ages and I wish you hadn’t felt you had to hide it and manage it on your own.

I totally understand that you might not want to talk to me about things (although I’m truly honoured you’ve confided in me here, thank you huge glass of wine perhaps). I get it - I’m patronising, smothering, frustrating, infuriating. As much as I wish I was still the big brother you used to run to when the world was unfair when Dad was unfair I understand that circumstances changed. Maybe I changed too. But what has never changed is I adore you, I respect you and I want you to be happy, whatever that looks like. Whatever alternative impression I’ve given in my idiot moments, whatever bad-tempered ill-thought-out words have bothered you - please please ignore them.

But you have Virgil and John who will listen and who are both so wise. Let them in. At least talk it through. Don’t feel like you’re supposed to have it all figured out by yourself, y’know?

Re Dad… look I don’t think we’re ever going to agree on which of us is the bigger disappointment to him 🥴. I didn’t mean to imply he was a perfect father and I highly doubt he was a perfect husband either - I just meant he was one. The fact he fell apart completely when he lost her doesn’t mean he might not have anything helpful to say about what went before. I feel kinda useless to you on that front.

But - you don’t have to tell him any of this. Unless you want to. Unless you think he can help. You don’t have to suddenly go in full throttle and bare your soul to a man you hardly know. Just give it time, get to know him with the easier stuff.

I mean yeah he should probably hear that you guys are serious from you personally rather than second-hand but the rest? That’s for you and anyone you choose to confide in. As long as you confide in someone and don’t get eaten up with anxiety.

I know everything I say just sounds patronising and stupid (and yeah that isn’t limited to matters of the heart, huh?). So I don’t really have the right to an opinion here, but… whisky… and just in case it helps at all… If it doesn’t - ignore, delete this from your inbox and pretend I never said it.

You’ve found happiness and a true partnership with Penny and that’s worth fighting for. Even if it’s terrifying. Even if it might implode one day. Even if it’s inevitable one day one of you will have to grieve. It’s worth it. And nothing Dad says or thinks about you should change any of that. Nothing changes the fact you deserve every happiness under the sun for as long as you have the chance.

FYI no Situations. Nearly made stupid decision once or twice but narrowly avoided so all was fine. No diplomacy needed tomorrow John will be pleased to know. . We walked past the bar with the whale… it’s still there.

Somehow it is now 3am here and I’ve rewritten this so many times it probably makes zero sense anymore. If I’m talking BS again just uh, delete it ok?

Love ya Gordy

S x

I’m sorry! I’m sorry ok? Didn’t mean to make it about me… I didn’t know I had.

Didn’t mean to make light of your worries. God knows we’re all terrified of losing him again right? ‘M just scared if we don’t let him live a li’l we might lose him again. Despite appearances I don’t actually want to trap everyone on the island with me if they don’t wanna be there.

But you and Dad should talk - properly - not just about Penny. He really wants to make up for everything and you should take advantage of that. I know I’ve sucked at all this but he’ll do better. It’s gonna be ok now you’ve got a proper father again.

Again, sorry for everything. I do love you Fishy, I wish I was better at proving it instead of just pissing you off all the time.

S x

This is such a load of BS Scott, what does a “proper father” have to do with anything?!

I know Dad and I need to talk. So aware of it that it’s dragging me out for middle of the night swims. I can’t even face him right now though, and I just… thought maybe the king of ‘easier said than done’ would get that? Guess I was wrong.

I love you too Scotty, and I hate fighting. I absolutely hate it, and I hate that we keep ending up on opposite sides like this. It feels wrong. Like I’m letting both of us down.

I think I feel that about everything at the moment, if I’m honest, but… anyway.

Enjoy NYC.

( @scramjettracy )

[msuic-lovr]

fuck im the reason for all of the plural denial arent i

[smal5504]

IT HAS COME TO MY ATTENTION THAT I 💥 HAVE 💥 BEEN 💥 💥 RESCUED 💥SAVEDB💥 SALVATIONED 💥 THANK YOU THANK YOU THANK YOU legal guardians for leaving for aroun ten minutes so i could reach out and BE SAVED!!! SMALPIN IS!!! NOT GOING TO DIE TODAY!!! /GEN!!! RHAHAHSHSHHSHDGSGXZGZGZ /VPOS

[matteoberrettini]

okay like... maybe i should've said so earlier but i'd rather people don't repost my photos without asking me first 😭 you can use them as lockscreen or wallpaper or anything like that if you want and show them to people and save them that's all fine. but if you're making a whole new post with a photo i took without asking me i feel a little iffy about it tbh

[charleemoon]

im so glad u were listened to and loved by a friend :) those are so so important !! ur loved always always

[milimeters-morales]

im finally getting ads completely in spanish now including the close/exit/proceed/shop now buttons that are on them ^_^ gonna start a journal soon for it as well!

[cowvboyenema]

// Went through a highly depressive swing so switched fronts and baby im so back 👍👍

[heeluvv]

HEATWAVE.ᐟ

pairingᝰ.ᐟ ot7 x 8th member reader

warningsᝰ.ᐟ (more porn than plot) overstimulation, oral (f & m), cumplay/creampie, double penetration, praise kink, slight dacryphilia, soft dom enha, etc. (wc 12.401k)

natty's notesᝰ.ᐟ mdni, hate comments will be deleted.

the air hangs heavy.

not just hot—but thick, suffocating, like breathing through syrup. it clings to your skin, coats your lungs, turns each exhale into something shallow and slow. outside, the city glows white with heat. the windows are shut, but the sun still bleeds through the curtains, stretching long and golden across the floor of the dorm like it’s trying to burn its way in.

inside, it’s unbearable.

the a/c had sputtered out three nights ago with a pitiful mechanical cough and never came back to life. the repair guys were booked out for a week, maybe more, and the seven boys you live with have tried everything—ice packs, wet towels, rigging fans to face every direction, but nothing works for long. the heat always creeps back in, curling into the corners of every room, wrapping itself around your shoulders like a weight you can’t shake off.

you're sprawled across the living room floor now, limbs heavy, skin sticky with sweat, wearing the thinnest clothes you own. a tank top—paper-thin, already damp—and a pair of boyshorts that cling between your thighs. your body feels too much—every inch oversensitive, too warm, flushed from the inside out. breathing is difficult. moving is worse. so you lie there, staring at the ceiling fan that spins uselessly above you, blades barely shifting the air.

around you, the boys are in various states of sweaty disarray.

jake’s shirtless, lying on his back with a pillow shoved under his neck and one arm slung over his eyes. heeseung’s face-down on the couch, tank top rucked up to expose the toned strip of skin above his waistband, a bottle of lukewarm water dangling from his fingertips. ni-ki is sprawled near your feet, wearing nothing but gray sweats that sit low on his hips, his hair damp and curling at the nape of his neck.

“i think i’m dying,” sunoo groans, somewhere behind you.

“no,” jay replies flatly from the kitchen, “you’re just dramatic.”

“i’m melting,” sunoo insists.

“we all are,” sunghoon mutters, tossing a crumpled t-shirt across the room. it hits the floor with a quiet thump, joining the growing pile of abandoned clothes no one has the energy to clean.

jungwon walks in shirtless, a towel around his neck, chest shining with sweat. he carries a bowl of ice cubes, already halfway melted. the sight of his skin—golden and flushed, muscles defined in the summer glow—shouldn’t affect you. it shouldn’t, but it does.

he pauses beside you, crouching low.

“ice?” he asks.

you nod, lips parted, already leaning into the cool promise of relief.

jungwon picks up a cube, wet and slick between his fingers. you brace yourself for the contact, and when it comes—trailing slow down the back of your neck, across the dip between your shoulder blades—you actually moan. softly, involuntarily. just a little noise. but it feels that good.

you don’t realize your eyes had fallen shut until you open them again—and catch them staring.

jake, now peeking out from under his arm. sunghoon, lips slightly parted. ni-ki, gaze stuck to where the cube trails down your spine. jungwon doesn’t say anything, doesn’t look away. he just lets the ice melt against your skin, eyes trained on the shiver that rolls through you in response.

“feels good, huh?” he says softly, voice low, almost amused.

you swallow hard.

“mhm,” you manage.

heeseung sits up slowly, squinting at you through the haze of heat. “you should sit in front of the fan. you look like you’re about to pass out.”

but when you try to move, your body protests. your skin sticks to the floor, to your clothes, to the heat in the air. you groan and collapse again, pressing your cheek to the cool hardwood.

“don’t wanna,” you murmur. “too hot.”

“then stay there,” ni-ki says from beside you, propping himself up on his elbow. “you look good like that.”

your eyes flick toward him. his tone is teasing, casual, but his gaze lingers—on your thighs, your tank top, the way the fabric sticks to your chest. you’re not imagining it. you’re sure you’re not.

you shift slightly, pressing your thighs together. not from discomfort—from something else. something that’s been creeping in alongside the heat.

because it’s not just the weather that’s making your skin feel too tight.

it’s them.

it’s the way they’ve been looking at you these past few days. the way they move around you—closer than before, slower. the way their fingers brush against your arms when they pass by. the way jake murmured “you’re so warm” last night when you accidentally leaned on him during a movie. the way jungwon didn’t move away when you pressed your bare thigh against his under the blanket.

it’s building.

you can feel it.

the heat. the want. the silence that's not really silence at all.

and no one’s saying it—not yet—but it’s there. in every drop of sweat. in every sideways glance. in every breathless pause when your shirt clings a little too tight, when your moan is just a little too soft, when you catch one of them watching you with something more behind their eyes.

you’re all stuck in the same heat. the same space. the same slow-burn pressure that’s starting to boil.

and it’s only a matter of time before something gives.

jay walks into the living room, collapsing beside you with a dramatic huff, his skin glistening under the low golden hue of the lamps. sweat trickles down his temple, catching at the edge of his jaw before dripping to his collarbone. he groans, tossing an arm over his eyes.

“i feel like i’m being cooked alive...” he mutters, his voice slightly breathless, laced with exhaustion and heat.

the room echoes with soft laughter, a ripple of amusement that quickly fades into something heavier—quieter. you rise from the couch without a word, skin sticking slightly to the cushions as you stand. your fingers weave through your damp hair, lifting it away from your neck, twisting it up into a loose, messy bun. your thin tank top clings to your curves, nearly transparent with how soaked it is, nipples pressing unapologetically through the fabric. your shorts have ridden high up your thighs, exposing even more of your flushed skin, but you don’t bother adjusting them.

you can feel the weight of their stares before you even glance up—curious, lingering, hungry. the laughter dies out completely now, swallowed by thick silence and shared tension.

you move toward the kitchen, grabbing a napkin with trembling fingers, and dab at the sweat lining your forehead. when you return, you sink down beside niki, who’s sprawled out across the floor, back pressed against the base of the couch, legs stretched wide and bare.

he looks at you, his lips parting slightly as his eyes scan your face. then, without asking, he reaches out.

“let me help you...” he murmurs, taking the napkin from your hand.

his touch is gentle, slow, almost too intimate. he dabs at your forehead first, then drags the cloth down the curve of your cheek, along your jawline. you hold your breath when he moves lower, wiping away the beads of sweat gathered at your neck, his knuckles grazing your collarbones. his fingers dip lower still, lingering at the top of your chest—just above the valley between your breasts.

you feel everyone watching, feel the air thicken with every soft swipe. and still, you don’t stop him.

niki’s hand stills at the top of your chest, the napkin long forgotten against your thigh. his fingers rest there like he’s holding back, like the tiniest nudge from you would send him spiraling—and truthfully, it would. he’s not even looking at what he’s doing anymore. he’s looking at you, eyes searching your expression for a flicker of permission, a whisper of need. and he finds it—of course he does. you can feel it all over your skin, the way your breath catches in your throat, the way your eyes don’t move away from his, not even for a second. your entire body feels like it’s buzzing, trembling under his touch that still manages to be so gentle, so teasingly patient. it’s maddening. like he’s trying to learn you inch by inch, like every bead of sweat he wipes away is a part of some secret map only he’s allowed to read.

the room behind you feels quieter now, heavier. no one speaks, no one laughs—not like before. the shift is palpable, undeniable, like someone flipped the switch from playful to dangerous without warning. the air is thick, sticky with heat and something heavier than humidity. you don’t even have to look to know the others are watching—watching everything. you can feel it in the way your skin prickles, in the way your body suddenly feels exposed despite your clothes still technically being on. 

you feel his fingers trace along the delicate line of your collarbone, slow and featherlight, like he’s memorizing the shape of you. his touch lingers at the strap of your tank top, toying with it absentmindedly, though there’s nothing casual about the way his eyes stay locked on yours. they’re intense—burning, almost—and they don’t waver, not even for a second. the air between you crackles with something electric, something unspoken yet painfully understood. your breath comes out shallow, your lips slightly parted, and you know he sees it. he feels it, too.

the tension in the room grows thicker with every passing second, every shared breath. it coils in your stomach, tight and low, pushing against the walls of your sanity until it blurs the line between fantasy and reality. somewhere, in the fog of your mind, you acknowledge what’s happening—that this pull you’ve been feeling, this dark, magnetic need clawing at your chest… it’s not one-sided. the constant battle you’ve fought with yourself, trying to separate friendship from desire, comfort from craving—it’s unraveling right in front of you. and the truth hits you hard: you were never the only one who felt it.

niki doesn’t speak. he doesn’t have to. the way your body reacts to him—how your breath catches when his fingers graze your skin, how your thighs subconsciously squeeze together, how your eyes grow heavier with lust every time he leans in—tells him everything he needs to know. and when he does move closer, when his breath warms your cheek and his lips press teasing, featherlight kisses there, you don’t pull away. you tilt your head slightly, allowing him more access, and it’s all the confirmation he needs.

his lips trail down the curve of your jaw, lower and lower, until he reaches the damp skin of your neck. he doesn’t hesitate, doesn’t hold back—his mouth finds purchase just above your collarbone, where he nips gently at first, then sucks harder, tongue flicking over the skin he’s claiming. the sensation sends shivers down your spine, and you can’t help the breathy whine that escapes your lips, high and helpless.

then—another presence.

you feel it before you see it. a new warmth pressing against your back, a body close and commanding. strong hands reach around you, fingers urgent as they tug your damp tank top down in one smooth, deliberate motion. the fabric sticks to your skin, clinging with heat and sweat, but it finally gives—and suddenly, you’re bare. your breasts spill out, nipples hard and flushed, fully exposed to the open air… and to their eyes.

the response is immediate.

groans sound out around you—low, guttural, strained. a few soft curses, a sharp inhale. it’s too much and still not enough. you feel like you’re on display, and somehow, that makes the ache between your legs even worse.

“looks like you’ve been wanting this…” jay’s voice comes from right beside your ear, deep and low, sending a fresh wave of heat flooding through your body. his breath is hot on your skin, his words curling around your spine like smoke. but you can’t form a reply, not when niki’s mouth is back on your neck, sucking harder now, his teeth grazing your sensitive skin. he’s not teasing anymore. he’s marking. claiming.

you whimper—soft, breathless—your head falling back slightly against jay’s shoulder. and then his hands are on you, curving around your waist and up to your chest, palms broad and warm as they cup your breasts fully, fingers splaying out like he wants to memorize their weight. he groans under his breath, fingertips rolling your nipples between them, slow and careful, like he’s trying to feel how sensitive they’ve gotten just for him.

your hips buck involuntarily, body trembling under their touch, under their eyes, under the growing tension that’s so thick it feels like it could swallow you whole.

and still, you want more.

your pleading eyes scan over each of them, one by one, heart hammering against your ribcage as the room feels heavier with anticipation. they’ve all moved now—no longer scattered or distant, but gathered directly in front of you. another couch sits across the room, and all of them are seated there, watching you with eyes clouded by lust and hunger.

jake sits at the center, and his gaze is the most desperate of all—dark, intense, lips slightly parted as if he wants to say something but can’t form the words. your eyes trail lower, catching the way his shorts are tented obscenely, his bulge straining hard and obvious, pulsing with every breath you take.

beside him, heeseung’s jaw is tight, his eyes narrowed slightly, focused completely on you. his hand is already between his legs, gripping his cock through his sweats, and you notice the way he slowly strokes himself, almost unconsciously, as if he's hypnotized by the small whimper that escaped your lips just moments ago. he doesn’t even seem aware of what he’s doing—like the sound alone was enough to send a rush straight through him.

sunoo is next, and he looks like he’s barely hanging on. his lips are parted, chest rising and falling in rapid waves, each of your soft sounds pulling a helpless whine or breathy moan from him. his thighs are pressed together, tense, like he’s trying so hard not to touch himself, but you can tell it’s getting harder with every second.

sunghoon sits beside him, posture stiff and serious, but the thick bulge in his jeans betrays him completely. he hasn’t said a word, hasn’t made a sound, but the way his eyes devour you says everything. it’s like he’s trying to keep control—to be the composed one—but your bare body is testing the very limits of his restraint.

you notice one of them is missing, a small flicker of confusion settling in for just a moment—until you feel it.

a pair of lips suddenly press against your inner thigh, soft and warm, and your breath catches in your throat. jungwon. of course it’s him. you gasp as his hands slide up your thighs, strong and steady, gently but firmly spreading them apart to make space for himself. his presence is calm but commanding, and it sends a shiver down your spine.

niki shifts beside you, only slightly, adjusting to give jungwon more room. his head turns, eyes locked on you as his lips press right back against your neck, sucking and biting at the sensitive skin there, teeth grazing just enough to make you whimper again. you feel him smirk against your skin.

"you look so beautiful..." jungwon breathes, the words almost to himself, like he’s not even aware he said them aloud. his eyes stay locked on yours for a beat longer before his hands slide up, cupping your cheeks so gently it almost makes you dizzy. and then he kisses you.

his lips are soft, slow at first, like he’s savoring the taste of you. but the heat flaring across your skin only intensifies—the room already hot, stifling, the broken a/c leaving a heavy, sticky warmth clinging to every surface. your skin is damp, flushed, and burning—not from embarrassment, but from the oppressive summer heat mixing with the feverish touch of each boy around you.

jay’s hands move with purpose now, rougher, needier. he’s behind you, arms wrapped around your body as his palms knead at your breasts, thumbs brushing over your nipples until they’re stiff and aching. his breath fans against the back of your neck, his chest pressed to your spine, and each squeeze sends another pulse of heat straight through your core.

you’re surrounded, consumed by them, the heat of the room and their hands melting together into something unbearable—something addictive. every touch is fire, every kiss gasoline, and you're burning for them all.

before you can even think, even breathe, everything shifts in a flash of movement and heat. one second, you're standing on trembling legs, and the next—your world is flipping upside down.

strong arms wrap around your waist, and you're effortlessly lifted off the floor. the room spins for a dizzy second before your back hits the couch with a soft thud, the cushions dipping beneath your weight, catching you like a trap. the warmth of the fabric kisses your bare skin, but you don’t even get a moment to settle before your clothes are being stripped away—ripped, torn, tugged down in one swift, desperate motion.

your boyshorts give first, threads snapping as fingers yank at the waistband with no care for gentleness. your panties follow, the delicate lace shredded away like paper, the soft sound of tearing fabric drowned out by the pounding of your heart in your ears. a gasp escapes your lips—sharp and unfiltered—as the cool air of the room rushes against your now exposed skin.

you’re bare. completely, utterly bare. open in front of all of them. your thighs are spread, your pussy glistening under the low light, wetness clinging to the insides of your legs—dripping, aching, ready.

your eyes lift instinctively, already searching for someone—anyone—to ground you in the chaos. and that’s when you see him.

heeseung.

he’s not on the couch anymore. not lazily jerking himself off like he was moments ago. he’s right there now—kneeling between your legs, already settled into place like he was meant to be there, like this is the only thing he’s ever wanted. his eyes meet yours, and the intensity in his gaze nearly knocks the breath out of you. it’s dark. wild. hungry.

"already so wet, baby?" he says, voice low and dripping with amusement, but there’s something reverent behind it. like he’s in awe of the state you're in—of the way your slick shines in the heat-heavy room, glistening like something sacred. like he can’t believe this is real.

his fingers come next. they trail down slowly, teasing the sensitive skin of your inner thigh before finally pressing against your folds. the contact is light, almost maddeningly so, but it still sends a jolt through your entire body. he spreads you open with his fingers, gently at first, slick coating his fingertips as he traces your pussy, spreading the arousal that’s already leaking out of you.

you whimper when he presses closer, his touch deliberate now, spreading your lips apart to expose your soaked entrance. the air hits you harder here, your core pulsing with heat and need, and you watch as heeseung stares—stares—like he’s looking at the most beautiful thing he’s ever seen.

and then, without warning, he dives in.

his mouth crashes onto your pussy with no hesitation, tongue dragging through your folds like he’s starving for it. a choked moan rips out of your throat as your back arches, every muscle in your body clenching from the sudden, overwhelming sensation. his tongue is hot, wet, relentless—moving with long, deep strokes that make your legs shake around his head.

he grips your thighs tighter, spreading them wider, anchoring you to the couch as he buries his face between your legs. the heat of his mouth is unbearable, and with the room already sweltering, already boiling, you feel like you’re melting beneath him—sweat slicking your skin, your chest rising and falling with every shallow breath.

heeseung moans into your pussy like he means it. like the taste of you is something divine. his tongue curls just right, licking into your entrance before dragging up to your clit, sucking it into his mouth with obscene slurping sounds that echo in your ears and bounce off the walls. you can barely hold still—your hips twitching, instinctively grinding up into his face—but he holds you in place, fingers digging into the soft flesh of your thighs to keep you right where he wants you.

he feasts on you like a man possessed, groaning lowly against your pussy with each flick of his tongue, each swallow of your slick. the vibrations of his voice send jolts through your core, and it only makes you wetter, the pressure building with every second that passes. he’s so into it—so deep, so focused, so completely drunk off your taste that it’s like nothing else exists.

his lips move to your clit again, tongue flattening against it and dragging back and forth in slow, torturous strokes. his nose presses into your mound, breath hot and ragged, and you can hear the way he’s panting against you—moaning against you—like just being here, just tasting you, is enough to make him cum untouched.

you glance down, and the sight alone nearly makes you fall apart—his face buried in your pussy, eyes fluttered shut in bliss, hips grinding subtly against the couch as if he’s desperately trying to relieve the pressure in his pants. he’s getting off on it. every moan you let out, every twitch of your body, every droplet of slick he licks up—he’s devouring it like a man in heat.

you throw your head back, a loud, broken sob tearing out of your chest as his tongue circles your clit again, faster this time. the pleasure is unbearable. too much. not enough. your thighs tremble violently, muscles tensing and relaxing all at once, your hands flying down to grip his hair—fingers tangling in the strands, pulling without meaning to, holding him there.

heeseung groans in response, like your reaction only fuels him, like it drives him even deeper into his obsession. he shakes his head slightly, the motion sending his tongue in unpredictable directions, and you cry out again, thighs squeezing around him.

“fuck, heeseung—” you gasp, voice cracked, strained, barely even there.

but he doesn’t stop.

he just keeps licking.

before you can let out another moan—another broken, needy sound—your mouth is suddenly full. your lips stretch wide, a heavy weight pressing onto your tongue before sliding deeper, and your eyes flutter open in shock, the gasp you meant to release now muffled completely.

a low, breathy moan fills the room—but it’s not yours. it’s his.

“fuck…”

you know that voice. the soft, desperate whimper that slips out again, paired with a shaky exhale that makes your throat tighten instinctively. it’s jake. you don’t even need to look to be sure—it’s in the way he sounds completely undone already, his voice dipped in honey and lust, trembling as he slowly begins to thrust into your mouth.

his cock drags across your tongue, thick and hard, the weight of it heavy as it sinks deeper with each roll of his hips. he moves slowly at first, testing, savoring, his pace unsteady like he’s holding back from completely losing control. your lips wrap around him automatically, cheeks hollowing just enough to make his knees buckle slightly, and the noise that slips from him is pure heaven.

“oh fuck, y/n…”

his voice cracks as he tilts his head back, mouth falling open in a silent gasp. you glance up at him through heavy lashes, just in time to see the way his brows draw together, his expression one of blissful torment as he watches himself disappear past your lips.

his hands are on you in the next second—reaching down, greedy and firm, squeezing your breasts in both palms. his thumbs brush over your nipples, circling them roughly before pressing in harder, and the contrast between his soft moans and rough touch makes your body jolt with need. he groans again as his hips rock forward, pushing deeper, your throat tightening around the head of his cock.

you gag slightly, tears instantly welling in your eyes, but you don’t stop. your mouth stretches, your jaw aches, and your tongue presses flat beneath him as he begins to fuck into your throat with shallow thrusts. spit pools at the corners of your mouth, dripping down your chin as he fucks into you more desperately, the wet sound of it obscene and addictive.

“shit, you feel so fucking good—so warm, so tight…” he rasps, voice nearly broken as he watches his cock vanish between your lips again and again. “fuck, you were made for this.”

you can’t respond, not with your mouth stuffed full of him, but your body gives every answer it needs to. your throat constricts, your tongue curves, and your lips press snug around the base every time he sinks in deep. you moan around him, and the way his body shudders in response makes your core clench hard.

as if he can feel that too, heeseung doubles down between your thighs.

his tongue plunges inside you again, thick and slick and sinful, dragging against your walls in deep, swirling strokes. he groans into your pussy, the vibrations shooting straight up your spine as your hips jerk in response. your walls flutter around him, sucking him in with every movement, squeezing around his tongue so tightly it makes him whine into your cunt.

“fuck, you taste so fucking good…” heeseung pants, his voice muffled against your dripping pussy, and the way he says it—raw, reverent, like he’s never tasted anything sweeter—makes you feel like you’re going to explode.

your body is trembling now, caught between two different kinds of pleasure—your mouth stretched and used by jake’s throbbing cock, your cunt dripping and devoured by heeseung’s skilled tongue. their moans mix with yours, lost in the thick, humid air, the heat of the room making everything feel stickier, hotter, needier. 

sunoo is the first to lose control.

his breaths come out shallow, chest visibly rising and falling as he stands frozen for a moment, eyes locked on you like he’s in a trance. there’s a look on his face—wide-eyed, mouth parted, almost like he’s staring at something holy. he can’t look away. he doesn’t even try. the sounds, the sight, the heat of the room all pull at him like a magnet, dragging him under until his self-restraint shatters completely.

his hands move to his waistband, quick and impatient. fingers fumbling with the button and zipper of his jeans, so rushed that he nearly stumbles as he kicks them down his legs. his underwear follows in a frantic tug, fabric caught around one knee for a second before he shakes it off entirely. and then he’s bare—exposed and trembling, his cock already flushed and leaking, twitching against his stomach.

precum glistens at the tip, thick and shiny, dribbling down the shaft until it pools faintly at the base. he doesn’t hesitate. one hand wraps around himself immediately, fingers curling tight as he gives his cock a slow, needy stroke. the slickness makes it easy—his hand gliding with little resistance, wrist twisting just slightly at the top in a rhythm that’s far too practiced.

but his eyes. his eyes never leave you.

you’re sprawled out, thighs shaking from the way heeseung is eating you out like a man starved. your fingers tangle in his hair, your hips rolling helplessly against his face, and the filthy sounds he makes—wet and relentless—only echo louder in the hot, stifling air. every time his tongue dips into you, your legs twitch, and sunoo swears he can feel the aftershocks through his own body.

his hand moves faster, slick noises joining the chorus of moans and groans already filling the room. he strokes himself steadily, breath hitching with every wet slurp he hears, every moan that falls from your stuffed mouth. he watches your throat flex as you try to take more of jake’s cock, eyes glassy as you struggle to breathe around the thickness of him.

and jake—he's a mess above you.

his hands are buried in your hair, knuckles white from how tightly he grips. his hips jerk forward in short, shallow thrusts, barely able to hold back as your lips wrap around him. your mouth stretches wide, tongue flattened underneath his shaft, your eyes fluttering as tears gather at the corners. and when you gag softly around him, the tight clench of your throat makes him snap.

his whole body trembles. a loud, broken moan tears from his chest as his hips stutter forward, cock throbbing against your tongue. you feel the first hot spurt of cum hit the back of your throat, then another, and another—each pulse of his cock sending more of him spilling down your throat. he’s panting through it, voice high and breathless, like he can’t believe how good it feels to cum inside you.

“fuck, fuck, fuck—oh my god, y/n…” jake chokes out, head thrown back as his entire body locks up, abs tightening, thighs shaking where they frame your face. his cock stays in your mouth as he rides it out, groaning shamelessly as more cum pours from his slit. thick, salty, warm. you swallow what you can, the rest slipping past your lips and dribbling down your chin in slow, messy rivulets.

and that’s all it takes for sunoo.

his mouth falls open, a soft, broken sound leaving him as his body jerks forward. his hand keeps moving, faster now, desperate, chasing the edge he’s been teetering on for the last several minutes. his eyes stay fixed on the way your spit-slick lips still suck around jake’s softening cock, the way your pussy clenches around heeseung’s tongue, dripping and pulsing like it’s begging for more.

then he cums—hard.

his back arches as a strained, almost whiny moan spills from his lips. “fuck—fuck, i’m cumming—” he gasps, eyes squeezing shut as thick ropes of white shoot from the tip of his cock. it hits his stomach first, warm and wet, then drips down his hand as he strokes himself through it, chasing every last wave of pleasure until his thighs are trembling. his breath stutters in his chest, sweat beading at his temples, and he keeps going even after he’s spent—milking himself for every drop as his head lolls back, completely wrecked.

cum paints his hand, his skin, his chest. sticky and hot, pooling just below his navel as he stands there, cock twitching in his grasp, body slowly coming down from the high.

but even then, even while he pants and shakes and tries to steady himself—he doesn’t stop watching you.

the coil in your stomach tightens fast—too fast. it winds itself tighter with every flick of heeseung’s tongue, every filthy moan that vibrates against your soaked pussy. your thighs are trembling now, uncontrollably, muscles twitching with each wave of pressure that builds low in your core. your breathing is uneven, mouth hanging open, panting like you’ve just run miles, but all that fills your lungs is the thick, heavy heat of the room and the scent of sweat and sex.

your hands shoot down instinctively, fingers weaving into heeseung’s hair. your grip is desperate, nails digging into his scalp as you hold him in place, as if pulling him closer could somehow save you from falling apart. but it only encourages him—drives him deeper.

jake’s cock slips from your lips with a wet, sticky sound, strands of saliva stretching between your swollen mouth and his flushed tip. your jaw aches, your throat sore from how deeply he fucked into it, but the only sound that escapes you now is a hoarse, broken moan. it cracks in the back of your throat, raw and breathless, but it makes heeseung groan into your cunt like it’s the most perfect sound he’s ever heard.

he doesn’t stop. doesn’t pause. he takes your reaction as fuel, tongue moving faster, more frantic now as he chases your orgasm like he needs it to breathe. his mouth finds your clit again, tongue flicking up against it with practiced precision—over and over, sending jolts of white-hot pleasure straight through your body.

and then he seals his lips around it.

he sucks.

hard.

“shit—!” your cry rips through the air like lightning, loud and unrestrained, and your entire body jolts forward, hips bucking off the couch as the orgasm slams into you. it’s not gentle. it’s not slow. it hits—a tidal wave crashing down all at once, flooding your veins with molten heat.

your body shakes, spasms, back arching off the cushions as your climax tears through you. your legs clamp around heeseung’s head, not even consciously, but he doesn’t pull away. he groans into your pussy like he wants it—wants your thighs trembling against his ears, wants to be trapped between them while you fall apart on his tongue.

the coil inside you fully snaps, unravels, breaks into a thousand shattered pieces that ripple through your blood, through your chest, your spine, your fingertips. your vision blurs, your body going rigid before collapsing into trembling pieces as wave after wave of pleasure courses through you.

your moans dissolve into quiet whimpers, breath stolen, skin flushed and damp, and yet heeseung still doesn’t let up. his tongue slows, gentler now, soothing your oversensitive clit with soft, languid strokes as your body twitches beneath him, still caught in the aftershocks.

you can’t think. can’t breathe. can’t do anything except fall back into the cushions, legs sprawled and chest heaving, heart pounding like a war drum inside your ribs.

heeseung finally lifts his head, his face shining with your slick—lips swollen, chin glistening, eyes blown wide with satisfaction. he smirks at you, cocky and proud, his expression dripping with confidence as he slowly leans back on his heels. he takes his time dragging his tongue across his bottom lip, savoring the last taste of you like it’s something divine.

his hands slide off your thighs with a final, reverent squeeze, leaving behind heat and a tingling ache that lingers as he shifts away.

but you barely have a moment to recover—barely even draw in a full breath—before another shadow takes his place.

sunghoon.

he steps forward, quiet and composed, but there’s a different kind of hunger in his eyes. something deeper. darker. his hand is wrapped firmly around his cock, long fingers stroking slowly as he positions himself in front of you. his tip is flushed, leaking, and when it touches your soaked pussy, your body jolts at the sudden contact.

he doesn’t push in yet.

he teases—rubbing the head in slow, deliberate circles over your swollen folds, smearing your slick around with an agonizing lack of urgency. the contrast between his calm exterior and what he’s doing to you is maddening. you twitch, hips jerking just slightly, needing more, but he just smirks down at you, amused by how wrecked you already look.

then, without a word, his hands come down to your waist. strong. commanding.

and in one smooth motion—he flips you over.

your gasp is sharp as your body is turned and positioned like it’s nothing. your knees dig into the plush cushions of the couch, your palms bracing in front of you, back instinctively arching to balance yourself. your ass is in the air now, completely exposed, dripping and still twitching from your last orgasm.

but the shift isn’t just for sunghoon.

beneath you, there's movement—another presence.

jay.

he slips between the couch cushions, positioning himself directly underneath you. his hands slide up your sides, slow and sensual, until they’re gripping your back and pulling you down. his face is beneath yours now, his mouth just inches away, and without a second thought—he kisses you.

it’s not soft.

his lips crash against yours in a messy, consuming kiss, tongues meeting immediately, teeth clashing. there’s heat behind it���hunger, desperation. you moan into his mouth, and he swallows it greedily, one of his hands coming up to cradle the back of your head while the other stays firm on your lower back, grounding you in place.

sunghoon’s hands grip your waist like he owns it—like it’s his to mold and shape and use however he pleases. his touch is firm, possessive, thumbs pressing into your hips as he guides your body back toward him. behind you, his cock presses into your entrance, thick and pulsing, already slick from teasing you moments ago. you can feel every ridge, every vein, twitching with anticipation as he begins to push forward again, slower now, savoring every inch.

underneath you, jay keeps you anchored. his hands glide over your back, up your spine, as he stares up at your flushed face. his gaze is heavy, intense—like he’s trying to memorize you. memorize every expression, every sound. and then, his cock nudges at your entrance too, slick with precum and already hard, ready. he doesn’t hesitate. he lines himself up alongside sunghoon, and together, they push in.

the stretch is unbearable.

your body seizes, walls fluttering violently as they try to take both of them at once. it feels impossible at first—like your pussy wasn’t meant to hold this much. like your body should be breaking. but then your breath catches, and the heat from the room and the overwhelming fullness melt into each other, creating a sensation that borders on euphoric.

your nails dig into the couch cushions. your eyes screw shut, jaw slack as a strangled cry tears from your throat. jay shushes you softly, his lips brushing over your collarbone, placing light kisses across your skin to soothe you even as he presses deeper inside. sunghoon grits his teeth above you, low groans spilling from his lips as your walls stretch tightly around them both.

“fuck—” sunghoon hisses, his voice thick with arousal. “you’re so fucking tight… can feel him inside you too.”

jay can barely breathe beneath you. “she’s squeezing us both so hard… shit, baby…”

you feel everything.

the press of their cocks rubbing together inside you, the stretch of your walls trying to accommodate the impossible girth of both of them, the way your pussy grips every inch like it’s the only thing it knows how to do. they move slowly, rocking their hips in shallow thrusts, trying to ease you into it, but the stimulation is too much. your head falls forward, resting against jay’s chest, and your entire body trembles.

each thrust feels deeper than the last, their rhythm syncing perfectly—sunghoon pushing in as jay pulls back, only to slide back in together. your pussy is so wet, the obscene sounds of it echo with every movement, the slick, slapping rhythm blending with their groans and your breathless cries.

sunghoon’s grip tightens as he starts to move faster, his thrusts harder now, greedier, making your ass jiggle from the force. every time his hips slam into yours, it sends a ripple of pleasure through your entire body. jay meets the force from below, hips rolling upward, cock dragging against your inner walls as he fills the deepest parts of you.

your vision starts to blur. the pleasure is sharp, molten, setting your nerves on fire. you can feel the way their cocks rub together inside you, the pressure almost painful, but it feels so good—so complete, so consuming.

jay’s arms wrap around your waist, hugging you tight as he fucks up into you, his lips brushing your ear. “you’re taking us so well… so perfect, baby…”

you sob out a broken moan in response, your walls spasming around them as another wave of heat rushes through your bloodstream. the couch creaks beneath you from the force of it all, the room thick with sex, with sweat, with bodies moving in sync under the weight of your shared need.

sunghoon leans over you, chest pressing against your back, his breath hot against your neck as he starts pounding into you. no longer holding back. his hands grip your ass, spreading you wider to push deeper, to fit more. jay groans beneath you, fucking up into the space that sunghoon leaves behind with perfect timing, the stretch never easing, the fullness never fading.

their rhythm is brutal. your body bounces between them, trapped in the middle of their overwhelming hunger, your pussy stuffed full, stretched wide, used completely. and you love it. you feel owned, claimed, completely at their mercy—and there’s nothing else you’d rather be.

your moans dissolve into whimpers. your pussy clenches hard around them, sucking them in deeper, so much so that they both groan at the same time, voices rough and strained.

“fuck—gonna cum,” jay gasps, his voice low and shaking. “she’s gonna make me fucking cum—”

“fuck,” sunghoon growls, fucking harder, sweat dripping from his temple. “shit—feels so fucking good—”

your body quakes between them, your second orgasm already creeping up on you, fast and hard. your toes curl into the cushions, arms trembling as you grip onto whatever you can, heart thundering in your chest as you drown in the feeling of being completely, utterly full.

your body convulses where you sit, trembling as jay and sunghoon finally slide out of you. the emptiness is instant and jarring, like you’ve just lost something you weren’t ready to let go of. you twitch where you’re sprawled, thighs sticky with slick and cum, the evidence of everything they gave you now dripping slowly from your swollen pussy. the room is thick with heat and sex, a haze of sweat and heavy breathing filling the space. your body is twitching, too used and too sensitive to move, but the ache between your legs doesn’t ease—it burns. it pulses. it begs for more. your limbs are jelly, your thoughts barely stringing together into anything coherent, and yet the hunger inside you refuses to die down. it builds in your chest, in your core, that desperate desire still flaring to life again like they haven’t already ruined you—like you’re still starving for everything they want to give you.

sunghoon watches the mess between your legs with dark, hooded eyes, sweat dripping from his temple as he drags his fingers down your slit, gathering the thick mix of his and jay’s cum. you whimper, back arching instinctively as the mess is pushed back inside you, two fingers pressing into your raw, stretched pussy without warning. the sensation sends another jolt through your body—sharp and overwhelming, yet somehow, you welcome it. it’s filthy. it’s too much. and you still want more. your breath shudders out of you, your head lolling to the side, too weak to lift it. your mouth is parted, chest rising and falling rapidly, and the second your legs start to tremble again from overstimulation, he finally pulls away.

and then… there’s him.

you barely register jungwon stepping in until you feel the warmth of him in front of you. he kneels slowly, patiently, his expression soft but unreadable as his hands come to rest on your thighs. he’s calm in contrast to the wreckage around him, composed even as his eyes drink in your ruined state. he leans in, placing the softest kiss to the inside of your thigh, then another to your hip, your stomach, your ribs—each one purposeful, almost reverent. he doesn’t rush. every kiss feels like a quiet apology for the ache still rolling through your body. and maybe it is. or maybe it’s just his way of showing that he’s going to ruin you next—but on his terms. his lips brush against your skin like they’re worshiping it, like you’re something precious, fragile, and holy. you look down at him, eyes glossy and half-lidded, and when he speaks, his voice is a low whisper that melts into your ears like warm honey.

“gonna make you feel so good, princess. do you want that?”

you nod before you can even form words, your mouth too dry and your throat too wrecked from moaning. your body leans into him like it recognizes him—like you need him now. your eyes catch his, and it’s like everything else blurs away. the chaos, the overstimulation, the ache—they all fall into the background the second jungwon cups your face and helps you settle into his lap. his movements are slow, tender, like he’s handling you with care, and it makes your chest ache. he slides onto the couch and brings you with him, letting your legs straddle his thighs as he holds you steady. his cock rests against your ass, heavy and leaking, already painfully hard. he wraps one hand around the base, guiding it beneath you, while the other stays planted at the small of your back, anchoring you against him.

he teases you with the tip first, sliding it through your folds, collecting the slick and cum still dripping from earlier. your cunt is flushed, red and glistening, still twitching with every little brush of contact. you can barely handle the teasing, your fingers curling against his shoulders as your hips jerk forward in response to the pressure. he doesn’t push in—not yet. just rubs the head of his cock against your entrance again and again until you’re practically shaking, whining for more with broken breaths.

“just do it, wonnie,” you whisper, voice raw and needy, every nerve screaming for him.

he huffs a breath, a crooked smirk pulling at his lips, though there’s still a softness behind it—an admiration in the way he looks at you like you’re the only thing he wants in the world. “so fucking desperate, aren’t you?” he murmurs, the words dragging along your skin like velvet.

and then finally, finally, he lets you sink down.

the head of his cock pushes inside first, thick and slow and unforgiving. your pussy stretches around him, still puffy and sore, but eager to take him in. the stretch is deep and immediate. you gasp, clutching his shoulders, nails digging into his skin as your body trembles from the sheer fullness of it. jungwon groans beneath you, fingers digging into your waist as your heat envelops him, inch by inch, your walls clenching down like you never want to let go. the slide is slow, both of you shaking with the intensity of it, and it feels like your body is molding to fit just him.

“fuck,” he breathes, voice cracking, his head falling back as he bottoms out. “you’re still so fucking tight…”

his hips stay still for a moment, buried deep, letting you adjust. the tip of his cock is pressing against the deepest part of you, and you can feel every throb, every pulse as he twitches inside of you. your walls flutter, wrapping around him like a vice, squeezing him in, and your body is burning again—so overstimulated you’re not sure where the pain ends and the pleasure begins. but you don’t care. you want it. you want him. you want everything, all of it, every drop they have left to give you.

and from the way jungwon’s holding you so tightly, from the way his breath stutters against your shoulder as he presses soft kisses to your skin—you know he’s going to give you everything.

“you’re so fucking good for us, princess…”

his voice drips against your ear like honey laced with poison—warm, slow, addicting. jungwon’s breath is hot against your skin as he holds you flush against him, his cock still buried to the hilt inside your soaked, overstimulated pussy. his words curl in your chest, crawl down your spine, and settle deep in your core like a flame catching on gasoline.

his hips jerk up into yours again, sharp and deliberate, and you gasp—your head falling back, your throat dry from moaning, yet still begging to make more sound for him. the slide of his cock inside you is enough to make your toes curl, your walls pulsing tightly around him as your body struggles to keep up with the relentless pleasure. your muscles twitch, still sore, still shaking from the last orgasm that tore through you, but none of it matters—not when jungwon holds you like this, fucks into you like it’s the only thing that will keep him breathing.you can feel the slick mess between your thighs—his cock gliding easily from how soaked you are, from the cum already inside you, from your body’s desperate need to take everything he's giving and more. it’s filthy. it’s too much. and it’s perfect.

jungwon’s eyes are locked on yours, dark and intense and impossibly focused. there’s no smirk now, no teasing glint—just raw hunger. reverence. like you’re the only thing in existence.

his brows twitch when he feels your cunt clench again, and a choked sound escapes his throat. “fuck…” he breathes, almost like he’s in pain. “you feel so good—so tight, baby. you’re not gonna let me go, are you?”

you shake your head weakly, the motion barely there, too overwhelmed to form words. your hands are clutching his shoulders, nails dragging across the damp heat of his skin, desperate for something to ground yourself with. but there’s nothing. the couch beneath you is shaking with every thrust. the air is too hot, too thick. you’re floating somewhere between ecstasy and exhaustion, and still—your hips roll into his, still—you beg for more.

his cock drags along your inner walls so deeply you swear you can feel it in your stomach. every movement hits something devastating, something that leaves you gasping and arching into his chest. your nipples brush against his skin, the friction sending tiny sparks up your spine, your whole body lit up like a live wire.

he grunts again, his pace beginning to pick up, each thrust more urgent now, more needy. he’s chasing something—so are you.

“fuck, look what you do to us…” he growls into your neck, voice cracked, his rhythm faltering slightly as your pussy flutters around him again. his hands travel down, grabbing your ass hard, squeezing handfuls of flesh as his hips snap upward, forcing you to take him deeper. “you know what you’ve been doing to us, walking around like that… acting so fucking innocent…”

you whimper as he pulls back just enough to slam back in, the impact making your tits bounce with the force. his hands don’t stay still—one lands sharply against your ass with a smack that echoes across the room. you cry out, your body jolting from the sting, and he moans at the way your cunt clenches immediately afterward.

“dressed like a fucking tease,” he growls, voice right in your ear now, low and dangerous. “those tiny shorts… that shirt with your tits practically falling out… you knew what you were doing.”

his other hand slides up to your throat—not choking, just holding. his thumb presses gently beneath your jaw, guiding your gaze back to his. and when your teary eyes meet his again, everything else blurs.

“you’ve been begging for this, haven’t you?” he whispers. “all this time… just waiting for one of us to snap.”

you can’t even speak. you just nod, broken and desperate, your whole body quivering in his hands.

“say it,” he demands softly, voice so calm it makes you shiver. “tell me you wanted this.”

“i—i wanted it,” you manage to gasp out, your voice wrecked. “fuck, i wanted all of you—so bad, i—”

you can’t even finish the sentence before he thrusts up into you again, harder this time, sharp enough to knock the breath right out of your lungs. his eyes flutter closed for a second, like he’s overwhelmed by the way your pussy clenches around him, like he’s feeling everything you just confessed.

and then he breaks.

his hips lose rhythm, turning erratic, frantic, his hands gripping you tighter as he fucks into you like he can’t hold back anymore. your bodies are slamming together now, the wet sounds of your cunt swallowing him over and over filling the space between your moans. your thighs shake where they straddle his, completely worn out but still clinging to him like you need to be filled, need to be owned, need to be his.

and he gives it to you.

all of it.

with each deep, brutal thrust, jungwon tears you further apart—stretching you, overwhelming you, dragging another orgasm from your body before you even know it’s coming. it slams into you with no warning, your vision going white as your pussy clamps down around him, tight and pulsing and wet. you scream his name, sobbing against his shoulder, and he holds you through it—fucking you through it—never stopping, never slowing down.

“fuck, you’re cumming again?” he groans, eyes wide with disbelief, like the way you tighten around him is going to split him in half. “shit—your pussy’s milking me—”

you can’t respond. your mouth is open, but all that comes out is a shattered moan, your body arching into him as he continues to fuck into the mess between your legs. your cum, his precum, the leftover slick from the others—it’s all mixed together, coating his cock as he thrusts in and out of you like he owns you.

and he does.

in this moment, he absolutely does.

you don’t even know how you’re still conscious.

every nerve in your body is fried, every muscle trembling with the weight of your own pleasure, and yet jungwon doesn’t stop. he holds you against him like you’re his only salvation, like the feeling of your pussy wrapped around his cock is the only thing keeping him tethered to reality. his thrusts are punishing now, deep and ragged, his moans growing louder with every roll of his hips.

your hands are fists on his shoulders, nails raking down his damp skin as you bury your face in the crook of his neck, muffling the endless string of cries that tumble from your lips. your entire body bounces in his lap, tits shaking from the rhythm, your breath catching in your throat each time the thick head of his cock hits that one spot deep inside that makes you see stars.

he’s whispering to you again, voice shaking, incoherent between his panting and groans. “you take it so well… fuck—so fucking well. this pussy was made for me, wasn’t it?” his fingers dig deeper into your ass, pulling your cheeks apart to fuck into you harder, rougher, deeper. “say it, baby. say it’s mine.”

“it’s yours,” you sob, so hoarse you barely recognize your own voice. “fuck, wonnie—it’s all yours, just don’t stop…”

he lets out a shaky breath, something unsteady and desperate, and his forehead presses against yours as his thrusts grow erratic. “gonna cum,” he whispers. “you’re gonna make me fucking cum inside you—”

you clench around him at the words, body reacting before your mind can even process it. the idea of him cumming inside you, filling you up after everything they’ve already given—it sets your blood on fire. you want it. you need it.

“please,” you gasp, tears prickling at the corners of your eyes, “cum in me… fill me up…”

and that’s all it takes.

his moan is guttural, deep and raw as his cock throbs inside you. the first pulse hits hard, warmth blooming deep in your belly as he spills into you, thick and hot. he doesn’t stop thrusting, even as he cums—his hips jerking upward as if trying to bury himself even deeper. you feel every wave of it, every twitch, every drop, and your head spins with the intensity of it all.

jungwon holds you tight through it, forehead resting against your temple, his breath ragged and his body shivering beneath yours. you’re both shaking, sweat-slicked and ruined, chests heaving as you come down from the high together. the room is still spinning, your body still pulsing with overstimulation, but neither of you move.

he stays inside you.

he doesn’t pull out, doesn’t let you go. he just holds you, one hand stroking your spine, the other cradling the back of your neck. his lips press soft, lingering kisses against your shoulder, your cheek, your temple—as if grounding you. as if grounding himself.

“you did so good, baby,” he whispers against your skin, voice barely audible, like it’s meant for you alone. “so fucking good…”

you let out a weak whimper, body limp against his, your head foggy and eyes heavy. but before you can melt into him completely, you hear a sound from across the room.

a soft inhale. a shaky breath.

a quiet, needy moan.

you barely manage to lift your head, and that’s when you see them.

sunoo and niki.

both of them standing near the couch, still untouched, their eyes dark and glazed over with pure, unfiltered want. they’ve been watching—waiting—and now, with your body trembling in jungwon’s lap, flushed and soaked and filled to the brim, they know it’s their turn.

niki is the first to move.

his strides are slow, deliberate, his eyes locked onto yours like you’re prey and he’s already tasted the blood. his shirt is gone, sweat glistening on his chest, his pants slung low on his hips with his cock already painfully hard, jutting forward as he walks. he reaches down lazily to stroke himself, precum smearing across his thumb as he approaches. there’s a quiet, unspoken hunger in his expression, one that sends a fresh pulse of arousal straight through your overstimulated core.

beside him, sunoo moves more delicately—graceful, almost shy in the way he carries himself, but the flush on his cheeks and the way he bites his lip betray just how badly he wants this. his hands tremble slightly as he pulls his shirt over his head, dropping it to the floor. his eyes flick between your cum-filled pussy and your dazed, tear-streaked face, and he swallows hard like he’s trying not to lose control too soon.

jungwon shifts beneath you slowly, carefully easing you off his lap, and you gasp when his cock slips from your swollen cunt, a messy mix of cum immediately dripping out. your legs shake as he helps you lie back across the couch, hands gentle even as his eyes still burn with residual lust.

niki kneels between your thighs without a word, his large hands pressing your knees apart as he leans in, watching your pussy with a greedy kind of fascination. his breath hitches when he sees the way you’re leaking, still twitching from your last orgasm, and he groans low in his throat.

“fuck…” he murmurs, dragging his fingers through the mess. “you’re still dripping…”

you try to respond, try to say something, but the only thing that escapes is a weak whimper—high and airy and broken. niki leans over you, one hand braced beside your head, the other stroking his cock lazily as he brushes his lips against your cheek.

“don’t worry,” he whispers, his voice dark and full of promise. “i’ll take it slow at first…”

sunoo moves closer now, climbing onto the couch beside you, his fingers brushing lightly over your ribs, your stomach, your thighs—as if he can’t believe he’s finally allowed to touch. his lips are soft against your neck, placing tiny kisses there while niki lines himself up between your legs.

“just relax, angel…” sunoo whispers, voice shaking. “we’ll take care of you…”

niki’s cock fills you like it was made to—thick, long, so hot it burns, yet all you can do is moan as he stretches your already swollen cunt with every slow, devastating thrust. his hips roll into you with practiced control, but the look on his face betrays the restraint he’s fighting to keep. his jaw is tight, eyes hazy with need, and sweat shines on his collarbones where the low light catches.

you’re dripping around him. soaked. your walls still clench hard with every inch he gives you, and he feels it—fuck, he feels all of it. the mess, the tightness, the aftershocks of your last orgasm still rippling through you like echoes, and it drives him insane. his hands stay on your thighs, spreading you wide so he can watch everything—your hole stretched wide around his cock, fluttering and wet and glistening, your stomach tensing every time he drags across that one perfect spot inside you.

“fuck, baby,” he grunts, voice rough, hips stuttering for just a second before he steadies himself again. “you’re so messy down here… so wet, fuck…”

your head tilts back, throat exposed, your lips parted in a breathless moan as his cock rocks into you again, deeper, and you swear you feel it in your spine. your body shakes, your hands clawing at the cushions, your mind completely gone—floating in the overwhelming warmth of being touched, used, adored.

sunoo’s hands glide over your ribs, and you barely register the way his fingers move until he’s softly tugging one of your nipples between his fingers, his lips still pressed to your cheek. then your jaw. then your mouth. his breath is light and shaky when he kisses you this time—not soft like before, but needy, filled with the kind of urgency that makes your thighs press together even with niki still inside you.

you whimper into sunoo’s mouth as niki thrusts again, the angle hitting something sharp and sweet, your whole body tensing up. sunoo swallows the sound, kissing you harder, his tongue slow and curious as it slides against yours. and when he pulls back, his cheeks are flushed and his eyes are blown wide, his breathing unsteady.

“baby…” he whispers, brushing his nose against yours, “can i…?”

you know what he wants. the way his cock twitches against your hip says more than words. he’s hard—so hard—painfully so. he’s been holding back for so long, being patient, gentle, soft, but now you see it in the way he bites his lip and avoids your gaze. he needs you.

you blink up at him, dazed and fucked-out, and still, your voice breaks through in a breathy whisper. “come here, baby… let me take care of you.”

sunoo’s mouth falls open slightly, like he hadn’t expected that, and he nods quickly, cheeks flushed deeper. he shuffles around, adjusting his position until he’s kneeling above your chest, his cock resting just above your lips. and fuck, he looks so good like this—his thighs trembling slightly, the tip of his cock red and dripping with precum, the way his fingers twitch at his sides like he doesn’t know where to touch.

niki groans low in your ear as your mouth opens to take sunoo in. he watches it happen—sees your tongue flick out to taste the bead of precum at the tip before your lips wrap around him. sunoo’s whole body shudders at the contact, his hands flying to your hair, though he doesn’t pull. he just holds. anchors. watches you with wide, dazed eyes as you slowly suck him down, inch by inch.

his cock is warm, flushed, and he tastes sweet on your tongue—faint salt and need, the kind of flavor you want to drown in. you moan around him, your throat relaxing as you take him deeper, and the sound makes him whimper above you, hips twitching forward slightly. “oh—fuck…” he gasps, voice breathless, eyes fluttering closed. “so good—your mouth feels so good…”

you swirl your tongue around the head, suck a little harder, and the shaky little sound that slips from him nearly makes your core clench again. you feel his thighs shaking beside your head, his fingers tightening in your hair as he tries not to thrust. he’s holding himself back for you, just like they all do—just like he always has.

niki’s pace falters for a moment when you moan again, the vibration traveling down sunoo’s cock, and then he growls, deep and guttural, burying himself deep inside you before pulling out in one smooth drag. “fuck, watching you take him like that…” he mutters, voice strained, “you’re gonna make me fucking cum.”

he starts moving again, harder now, hips snapping against yours, and the sound of wet skin slapping fills the air, your cunt making the filthiest squelching noises as it struggles to take the full length of him over and over. your body bounces beneath sunoo’s weight, your throat stuffed full of his cock while your pussy gets ruined by niki’s thick, pounding thrusts.

sunoo’s breath is coming in broken gasps now, his eyes locked on your mouth. you take him deep, deeper than before, until your nose is pressed to his stomach, your lips stretched wide around him, and your throat tightens just enough to make his knees buckle.

“shit—gonna cum—i’m gonna—y/n, fuck—” he cries out, voice cracking.

you moan again, the vibration enough to push him over the edge.

sunoo cums hard, hips jerking forward as he spills down your throat. you feel the heat of it coat your tongue, thick and hot, his breath stuttering in your ears as he gasps your name over and over. you swallow every drop, your throat working around him, and he nearly sobs from the sensation, one hand cradling the back of your head like you’re something fragile, even as your mouth is still stretched around him.

niki’s thrusts don’t stop.

you’re still moaning around sunoo’s cock, even as he softens between your lips, even as he trembles above you, breathless and flushed and completely wrecked. he pulls back slowly, carefully, pressing a kiss to your forehead before collapsing beside you, arms wrapping around your waist from the side like he can’t bear to be far.

niki’s breathing is wild now. his pace has turned frantic, thrusts slamming into you with desperate urgency as your pussy clenches hard, soaked and stretched and dripping with a mess of everything they’ve given you. your legs shake violently, every nerve ending firing all at once as he pounds into you one final time.

“fuck—gonna cum—fuck, fuck, fuck—” he gasps, voice raw, eyes wild.

he pulls out just in time, thick streams of cum painting your inner thighs, your stomach, the top of your mound. he moans as he jerks himself through the last spurts, chest heaving, hands twitching from the effort of holding back.

and then—it’s over.

your body collapses into the couch, completely limp, chest rising and falling rapidly, your mind a haze of pleasure and nothing else. you’re soaked, wrecked, flushed from head to toe, and so full—inside, out, all over. the air is humid and sticky, the scent of sex clinging to everything, but all you can feel is the warm weight of their bodies settling around you.

niki slumps beside you, chest to chest, his hand immediately sliding into yours. sunoo nuzzles into your other side, his lips still brushing soft, gentle kisses across your shoulder, your jaw, your collarbone.

you don’t move.

you can’t.

and they don’t make you.

they just hold you—quiet, steady, safe.

your body feels like it’s floating.

not in the way that’s light or airy, but in the way that nothing seems fully connected anymore. every inch of your skin is humming with aftershocks, tingling with the ghost of their touch, their lips, their words. you can’t tell where the ache ends and the warmth begins—all you know is that your limbs are heavy, your muscles limp, and your chest rises and falls in uneven, exhausted breaths.

but you’re not alone.

you’re so far from alone.

sunoo is the first to move, brushing the hair from your face with the gentlest sweep of his fingers. he’s lying beside you, curled into your side like he’s guarding you from the air itself, and when you manage to blink your eyes open, his soft smile is the first thing you see. his eyes shimmer with warmth—pure and golden and so full of love that it steals the breath right out of your lungs.

“hi, angel…” he whispers, so softly it makes your throat ache. “you still with us?”

you nod weakly, unable to speak, but that’s enough for him. he leans in to press a kiss to your cheek, then another to your temple, his thumb stroking slow circles against your hip. you shiver from the tenderness of it, your body far too raw and sensitive to handle even the softest affection, and he notices immediately.

“you’re shaking,” he says gently, concern flickering behind his voice.

“too much,” you whisper, barely audible.

niki’s already sitting up, propped on one elbow beside your legs, his hand running down your calf with a touch so soft it’s almost nothing. “hey,” he murmurs, voice low and soothing. “you did so good for us, baby. so good. you okay?”

you nod again, but the tremble in your chin betrays you, and suddenly jungwon is there too. you don’t even notice when he moves in—he’s just there, on his knees in front of you, already reaching for a warm towel, already soaking another with a bottle of water from the side table. he looks so calm. so focused. his brows are drawn slightly, lips pressed together, but the way his hands move across your skin is steady. certain. safe.

“let’s get you cleaned up,” he murmurs, barely louder than a breath.

you feel the warm cloth as it presses between your legs, and you flinch instinctively. the tenderness there is still too much—your pussy swollen, soaked, and sore from being stretched and filled and used again and again. jungwon immediately pauses, eyes flicking to yours.

“too much?” he asks quietly.

you breathe out a little sigh. “just… slow, please.”

“always,” he whispers, leaning in to kiss your knee. “always slow with you.”

he works carefully, wiping the mess from your inner thighs with gentle, steady strokes. the warmth of the cloth is soothing, the heat easing some of the soreness even as your body continues to twitch beneath his touch. you feel his hands shake just a little as he presses a clean towel against your entrance, holding it there for a few moments to absorb the rest of the cum still leaking out of you. he doesn't say anything while he works—he just keeps going, eyes flicking up to check on you every few seconds, like he’s making sure you're still here.

sunoo continues stroking your hair, humming softly under his breath as you lie still, your body slowly starting to feel like yours again. niki shifts behind you, wrapping his arms around your waist, resting his chin on your shoulder. his chest is warm against your back, his breath slow and steady.

“you’re not allowed to move,” he murmurs playfully, though his tone is all affection. “we’re doing everything now.”

“you already did everything,” you mumble, eyes fluttering shut again.

niki laughs softly against your skin. “and we’re not done.”

jungwon finishes cleaning you, using a new cloth to wipe gently over your stomach, the backs of your thighs, your chest where streaks of cum and sweat still stick to your skin. his touch never lingers too long in one spot. he treats your body like something precious, something holy.

once you’re clean, he pulls a soft blanket over your legs, tucking it around your hips before adjusting the cushions behind your back. sunoo helps you sit up, holding your arms steady, brushing a kiss to your shoulder as he wraps another smaller blanket around your upper body like a shawl.

and then, jay appears from the kitchen.

you didn’t even realize he had left. his shirt is still off, a few droplets of water clinging to his collarbones, but in his hands are two water bottles and a small bowl of fruit. he doesn’t say anything as he kneels beside you—he just opens a bottle and brings the rim to your lips.

you drink slowly, shakily, the cool water tasting like salvation as it glides down your raw throat. jay wipes the corner of your mouth with a thumb, then kisses your forehead without a word. his gaze lingers on your face, the tiniest furrow between his brows as he studies your expression.

“hurting anywhere?” he finally asks.

you shake your head, leaning into sunoo’s arms. “just… sore.”

he smiles, the lines in his face softening. “you’ll rest. we’ve got you.”

jake joins moments later, crouching down to set extra water bottles on the table, then leans in and brushes a kiss to your cheek before whispering, “you were unreal. we’re so proud of you.”

you smile sleepily, warmth blooming in your chest at the weight of their words. your limbs are still heavy, and your mind is still floating, but there’s something grounding about being wrapped in their voices, their praise, their hands.

jungwon finally settles beside you again, towel gone, his body warm as he pulls your legs across his lap. his fingers massage your calves, working slowly through the tension, and you moan quietly from the relief it brings.

sunghoon is last to return—his hair wet now, a clean hoodie draped over his shoulders. he kneels in front of the couch, between your legs, and takes your foot in his hand, pressing a kiss to your ankle before resting his forehead there for a long moment.

no one speaks.

the silence is soft. sacred. every breath is slow. every hand is gentle.

they take turns feeding you fruit—one piece at a time, between kisses and strokes of your hair. mango slices, sweet and sticky. cold grapes. strawberries dipped in sugar. you chew slowly, letting them take care of everything, your body curling further into their arms with every bite.

sunoo wraps his arms around you from behind again, his cheek resting against your shoulder as he whispers praise against your skin.

“you did so well.”

“you were so perfect.”

“we love you so much.”

niki’s hands never stop moving—petting your thighs, massaging your hips, his lips pressing occasional kisses to your temple, your shoulder, your knuckles. jungwon hums as he plays with your toes, brushing his thumb in small circles around your ankle, his gaze still protective and focused.

and eventually… you close your eyes.

not because you’re tired—though you are—but because you feel safe.

warm.

held.

completely adored.

their hands stay on you the whole time. rubbing, holding, kissing. keeping you here. keeping you theirs.

and in that soft, slow silence, you realize something—

you’ve never felt more loved.

natty's notesᝰ.ᐟ hoped y'all liked it !

[tiramissyoucake]

Self indulgent post, Mark being down bad

You were thankful you decided to stay home today, the storm was unrelenting outside as rain pattered down against surfaces like bullets, thunder and lightening exploding amidst the wind and rain. As ominous as it was, taking safety measures and remaining inside comforted you, you followed procedure, anything else is out of your hands.

A warm mug next to you as your favorite blanket draped over your legs, your laptop dimly playing videos of varying types. Everything was fully charged, your phone next to you, quiet as a mouse. You weren't going to move for a while...

A knock on the front door quickly stopped your train of thought, all appreciation dissipating.

Holding back a groan, you got up from the couch, adjusting your clothes as you made a beeline for the door— peephole be damned, who's crazy enough to be out in this weather?

Swinging the door open, you look up to a messy head of sopping wet black hair. You almost didn't recognize Mark since his hair is always out of his face. His eyes were swollen, and his lips tugged into a cross between a frown and a pout. This is the first time you've seen him since your break-up about a month ago.

"... Mark?"

"... Hi." He sounded glad, like he didn't expect you to answer. "... c-can I come in? I just- I need to talk to you, like REALLY need to."

"No." Your answer may have been cold, but your relationship ended on bad terms. "Go home, it's thundering outside."

His heart plummeted to his stomach seeing you close the door, his hand quickly reaching out as well as his foot to keep it open. "Wait— please. (Name), hear me out. Just hear me out and I'll go, I swear." His voice almost cracked as he begged you.

"Mark, it's over. I gave you back all your stuff and deleted your number, just move on—"

"I can't." He whimpered, "please, don't make me do this— I can't find anyone else like you." He sighed, unsure if it was shaky from the cold or the sob bubbling in his throat. "Don't leave me, please- just hear me out."

You grimaced, the door opening further by his hand. "(Name), you don't have to respond now, but please just... don't do this." Mark approached you, clothes soaked through his coat and hands hesitant to touch you. "I-I can't stop thinking about you, please baby—"

You looked away, wincing at the nickname. "I told you not to call me that."

"I'll call you whatever you want— fuck, (name), please—" you heard a thud, glancing back to him you found him on his knees, his arms caging around your legs. "Don't leave me, please- need you so bad.." he sniffled, a choked sob escaping him.

His rambling continued as he rubbed his cheek against your body. You're now mortified as your hands on his shoulders to balance yourself. "Mark. Get up. My neighbours will see—"

"Let them, I don't care." He huffed, the tears and sobbing returning tenfold. "Just take me back— I-I'll be good, I promise." Mark looked up at you with glossy eyes, the pink undertones of his skin now more evident from both the cold and the crying. "Please baby, lemme be your good boy again..! I'll be the best, I promise. I love you so much..!"

Your other hand landed on his head by mistake, he almost moaned at the feeling of you touching him in a way that slightly resembled affection, leaning up to your hand. "I know deep down you still love me too.." he huffed, that sentence was such a gamble.

"Let me in, let me show you how much I love you." He kissed your body wherever he could reach, causing you to yelp. "Mark!! What the hell?! I'm serious! Stop it!"

With renewed vigour, he looked up at you. "I'll stop when you let me in... please, baby.. it's so cold outside..."

[alyimoss]

YES YES YES IVE NOTICED THIS BEFORE!!!! the reverse is also true: chara calls asgore dad, but toriel is just toriel. both have a parent theyre closest with

that does make me think tho like. frisk seems to me like he would either call both parents just by their name or call both mom and dad. not pick one and leave the other. hes shown to be more considerate of the residents of xtale in later timelines than chara, whos grown much more disillusioned, hateful, and violent. chara has way fewer problems treating people more poorly because in his mind the end justifies the means and as long as the goal hes working toward is noble (which. it at first is but later twists into something completely different. but i think he still considers it noble and the "best outcome for everyone" and thats ahat matters most to him) any horrible thing he does is completely fine. hes playing on the same battlefield as xgaster, after all, so he has to adopt his same tactics. frisk, though also shown to have grown more hateful and violent and disillusioned, shows a lot more hesitation in using and/or hurting the residents of xtale.

anyway, all that to say that he just doesnt rlly strike me as the type of guy to just exclude one parent, especially if it hurts/saddens them. like i could be completely wrong and hes just got a preference contrasting charas bc siblings, but. idk.

bc chara not calling toriel mom immediately makes me think of timeline III. the timeline right after the one where chara got the father figure he yearned for. it was the first timeline to use underswap as a base instead of the original timeline. in the episode, we see both frisk and chara sitting in toriels lap. frisk is chatting happily with her, but chara looks livid

i wonder if chara refuses to call toriel mom because she hasnt been the mother he knew for so, so long. she doesn't even know it. and swap toriel taking asgores role and some if not all of his personality (depending on the interpretation), it probably felt to chara like she was trying to replace asgore. a shoddy stand in, smiling at him almost in mockery as he has to mourn the death of his father alone because noone except for him, frisk, xgaster, and alphys even know he died. for all the other residents of xtale, that series of events never happened.

toriel asks him whats wrong and he has to fight the urge to snap at her, to yell at her that she knows. she knows and shes mocking him. that shell never be him. that she shouldnt have ever dared to do something like this so close to his death. and he only barely holds that all in because he knows shes not doing this on purpose. she doesnt know what happened. she didnt ask to be remade in someone else's image. she doesn't even know she has been

the whole situation fuels his hatred of xgaster more, because now more than ever he feels like hes being toyed with. first it was just the world. just seeing what changed. and then one of the most precious things to him was taken from him by the very man who promised him the world, a marionette facsimile dangling by strings from the claws chara couldve sworn he didnt always have.

and again, its not toriels fault. but it leaves such a strong impression on him that she forever changes in his eyes. shes no longer the loving mother. shes someone who doesnt belong, someone he doesnt recognize as his own. she changed from who she was when she WAS his mom, all the way back in timelines I and II, and the mother he loved is dead. gone. erased. irreplaceable. and no matter what xtoriel does, chara can never bring himself to call her mom again

and, on the contrary, he latches to asgore hard. because hes also changed, hes not exactly as he remembers him, but hes back. hes alive. hes still asgore and hes still his father and he missed him so much. he doesnt care about the smaller details, nothing matters except the fact that his father is back. that the man who gave him hope and support and company when he felt so crushingly lonely under the weight of losing his world is back, and that means chara isnt alone anymore. hes not hopeless. and he holds to that tiny hope as tight as he can

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[syrecjh]

─★°🧁Hero in the Headlines, Softie at Home

˚🎀༘⋆ || katsuki bakugo x reader, pure fluff

The city knows Dynamight. You know Katsuki.

The headlines love him — all grit, explosions, sharp eyes and sharper temper.

"Dynamight Decimates Villain Ring in 3 Minutes Flat"

"The Explosive Hero Strikes Again"

They call him a force of nature. A walking warzone.

But right now, he’s crouched in front of your tiny apartment oven.

Wearing plaid pajama pants.

And socks with tiny chili peppers on them.

His brows are furrowed in deep concentration, eyes fixed on the warm glow inside like he’s disarming a bomb, not baking.

You’re perched on the counter, elbows on knees, grinning at him as he mutters, “They’re gonna rise this time. I measured everything. Even used the stupid toothpick trick.”

Last time was a disaster. The batter overflowed, he cursed at the oven like it personally betrayed him, and then sulked for a solid hour before vowing vengeance on… baking.

Now, though? Now he’s being so careful. Flour in his hair. A bit of vanilla batter on his cheek. Arms crossed like the fate of the world depends on those cupcakes rising.

You can’t help it.

You snap a photo. Click.

His head whips toward you, incredulous.

“Did you just—? Oi. Delete it.”

You hold the phone close, grinning wider. “You look cute.”

“Damn it, I’m supposed to be intimidating.”

But he doesn’t lunge for the phone. Doesn’t scowl too hard. He stands, sighs, and leans forward to kiss you — batter cheek and all.

“You better save me one, cupcake thief,” you murmur against his lips.

He smirks. “Only if you swear not to post that photo.”

You don’t swear.

You don’t delete it either.

And he lets you keep it.

Because no matter what the headlines say — ruthless, unstoppable — you know the truth.

Dynamight is a menace on the streets.

But at home, he's just Katsuki — flour-dusted, fiercely soft, and all yours.