#need to hug a mutual or something | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

skzophreniic · 26 days ago

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⍣ ೋ cw: explicit sexual content, exes to lovers, mutual masturbation , penetrative sex, creampie, crying during sex, pet anxiety, mentions of pregnancy, artist!hyunjin, mdni

notes: in which your situationship ex hyunjin from college asks you to watch his dog for the week--and things spiral from there.

You almost don’t answer.

Your phone buzzes across the table, skittering like a beetle over the wood, and you glance at the screen with the reflex of someone who doesn’t expect surprises anymore.

Hyunjin. The name glows up at you, unfamiliar only in the way it makes your stomach twist—like a song you haven’t heard in years but still remember every lyric to.

It’s been months since you last spoke. Maybe a year since you last saw him. A coffee meetup that turned into wandering aimlessly through the park, talking like nothing had ever gone wrong between you, except it had. That night ended with a long hug and a promise to keep in touch that neither of you kept.

And now he’s calling.

You stare at the screen for another ring. Then another.

Then you answer.

“...Hello?”

There’s a beat of silence, just long enough to make you wonder if he hung up, and then:

“Hey,” he says, breathless like he’d been holding it. “Sorry—sorry to call out of nowhere. I didn’t know who else to ask.”

His voice hasn’t changed. Still soft in a way that wraps around your ribs. Still threaded with that low, careful tension like he’s always thinking five things at once and only saying one.

You shift in your seat, heart suddenly too loud in your chest.

“Okay,” you say slowly, warily. “What’s going on?”

A soft rustle comes through the line—maybe the jingle of keys, maybe his bracelets sliding against his wrist. You picture him pacing his apartment, the same way he used to during finals week, lip caught between his teeth, hair tucked behind one ear.

“I wouldn’t call if it wasn’t important,” he says. “And I get that it’s weird. Us not talking, and then—me dropping this on you.”

You glance toward the window, try not to let your voice shake. “What is this, exactly?”

He hesitates. “I have to leave the city. It’s an art residency. Last-minute. It’s… big.”

Your stomach twists again, but this time it’s sharper. Of course it’s big. Hyunjin was always meant for something more.

You lean back in your chair, eyes tracing the rain sliding down the windowpane like it’s trying to draw an answer for you. A part of you wants to ask where he's going, what the project is, if he’s excited—because of course he is, he always was, always buzzing with vision and color and a kind of hunger you never could name. But that part of you lives behind a glass wall now. You’re not sure you’re allowed to tap on it.

So you don’t ask. You swallow the words like coins dropped into a well—silent, swallowed, never coming back up.

“I’m happy for you,” you say instead, and it’s almost true. “You deserve it.”

Hyunjin exhales, and for a second you wonder if he’s smiling. “Thanks. That means more than you probably think.”

It shouldn't. But you don’t say that either.

“I wouldn’t call if I didn’t really need the help,” he adds, voice dipping a little lower now, like he’s bracing for the ask to land wrong. “It’s Kkami. My sitter canceled last minute, and everyone else is either busy or allergic. You were the only person I thought of who could handle him.”

You laugh softly, mostly out of disbelief. “Handle him? Hyun, your dog hates me.”

“He doesn’t hate you,” Hyunjin says, though there’s something too quick in his defense, too breathless—like maybe he’s trying to convince himself. “He’s just... territorial.”

You huff a dry laugh. “Yeah, I remember. He tried to piss on my jeans.”

“That was one time.”

“Twice.”

“Okay, but in his defense, they smelled like me.”

You pause. The silence that follows is sharp and sudden, the kind that cuts deep and clean. It’s the kind of silence that remembers.

Because those jeans had smelled like him—after that night. The last one. The one where he’d backed you against the wall of your own bedroom with his fingers still wet from your mouth, where he’d said things he probably didn’t mean and kissed you like he hated how much he did.

The night you both decided—without saying it—that it was over. That whatever “thing” had been pulsing between you wasn’t something either of you could hold without bleeding.

And yet. Here you are. Picking at it like a scab that never healed right.

Your throat works around the memory before your voice does. You don’t say anything at first—just sit there, hand wrapped too tightly around your phone, eyes fixed on some vague point on the wall like if you don’t move, it won’t reach you. Like you can’t still feel him, breath hot against your neck, hands fisting in your sheets, mouth tracing every soft part of you like he was trying to memorize the map of a place he had no business returning to.

He clears his throat on the other end, and it sounds like guilt. Or maybe longing. You’ve always had trouble telling the difference when it came to him.

“Look,” Hyunjin says, quieter now. “I wouldn’t be asking if I had another option. Kkami doesn’t do well with new spaces, and I can’t board him. He’s too anxious, and if he’s not with someone he knows, he’ll make himself sick.”

You finally speak, though your voice is thin. “So you want me to stay at yours.”

A beat. Then—“Yeah.”

Just like that. No sugarcoating. No backpedaling. Just Hyunjin, honest and bare in the way he always was once he stopped pretending not to feel everything at once.

You run a hand down your face. “Hyun, we haven’t talked in almost a year.”

“I know.”

“You haven’t even seen me since—”

“I know.”

He’s not angry, not defensive. Just… raw. Like the words are scraping him on the way out. You can hear the scrape.

“I didn’t think I’d ever call you again,” he admits. “I thought that was the deal. But when they offered me this residency, and I realized I had to leave tonight—you’re the only person I could trust. With him. With my home.”

You bite the inside of your cheek, hard enough to taste the coppery edge of restraint.

His home.

It’s stupid, really. How easy it is to fall back into this rhythm. How even now, after all the months, all the distance, he can still lace your name with history. You’d been friends once. Kind of. You’d laughed a lot, touched a lot, fucked even more—on couches, against doors, in the low hush of early morning when everything was tender and wrong. It was always supposed to be temporary. Temporary, but all-consuming.

But the feelings crept in like rot through the walls. And neither of you were brave enough to call it love, so you called it off instead.

“I don’t know if that’s a good idea,” you say, but even you don’t sound convinced.

“I’ll wash the sheets,” he jokes weakly.

You laugh, soft and involuntary, the sound catching somewhere in your throat. It’s not really about the sheets.

It never was.

And the silence that follows—god, it aches. Not sharp like the aftermath of a fight, but dull and lingering, like a bruise you don’t remember getting. Like a conversation left open on a table, gathering dust.

You clear your throat. “What time’s your flight?”

“Late,” he says. “But I still have to pack a few pieces and drop off the canvases. It’ll be tight.”

“Do you need help?” The words are out before you can catch them. You curse yourself immediately for the softness in your voice.

He hesitates. “No. It’s fine. Just—just the dog. That’s all I need help with.”

Right. The dog.

You glance at your calendar. Clear. Of course it’s clear.

Of course the universe decided to leave space for this.

“Alright,” you murmur. “Just send me the code. I’ll stay at yours. It’s fine.”

“You don’t have to bring anything,” he rushes to say, and it’s like he’s trying to compensate for the ask with over-kindness. “I washed the old blanket. The one you used to crash under on the couch. It’s still there.”

Your fingers tighten around your phone.

He doesn’t mention that the last time you slept under that blanket, you were still tangled in him. Half-dressed. Half-drunk on him. That he pulled it over your hips after, when you were too spent to move, and he kissed your shoulder like he wanted to stay but didn’t know how.

You don’t bring it up either.

Instead, you breathe out slow. “Cool. I’ll head over in an hour or two.”

“Okay.”

Neither of you say I missed you.

Neither of you say This is weird.

Neither of you say Is this going to break us again?

Instead, Hyunjin adds quietly, “I’ll leave a note.”

“For the dog?”

“For you.”

You close your eyes.

“Okay.”

He doesn’t say goodbye. Just… hangs up.

And you let the dial tone ring for a few seconds longer than you should, like maybe he’ll change his mind. Like maybe you will.

But the silence stays.

And when you finally move, dragging out your overnight bag and stuffing it half-heartedly with essentials, you can’t stop thinking about the smell of his apartment. The way the floor creaks by the hallway. The coffee mugs he used to leave near the sink, rimmed with paint. The pictures he never hung. The sketchbook that held a drawing of you in fading graphite—one he never knew you found.

You wonder if it’s still there.

You wonder what else of you is.

The building hasn’t changed.

You hate that you notice. Hate that your fingers still know the keycode before you even read the text. Hate that the elevator creaks on the same floor. That the hallway smells like turmeric and old wood and the trace of him—Hyunjin, in incense and paint and something vaguely sweet.

His apartment door is unlocked, just like he promised. A sticky note is taped to the front, scrawled in the quick, crooked handwriting you used to recognize across lecture halls and grocery lists alike.

“Come in. He’s dramatic, not dangerous. Don’t let him guilt trip you.” —H.

You roll your eyes and open the door.

It looks the same. Lived-in, messy in a way that’s curated. An art book cracked open on the coffee table. Two mugs in the sink. One of his hoodies flung across the back of the couch like he wore it last night. And maybe he did.

You hear the growl before you see him.

Kkami stands in the middle of the living room, ears pinned back, hackles raised, tail stiff like an accusation. He looks you dead in the eye and lets out a snarl so pointed you actually step back.

“Oh, fuck off,” you mutter, tugging your bag higher on your shoulder. “We’ve been over this.”

He growls again. Louder.

You raise your hands. “I come in peace.”

He barks.

You take a careful step inside, nudging the door shut behind you. Kkami follows your every move like you’re an intruder in a palace he was knighted to protect.

“I’m not stealing your shit,” you tell the dog. “I’m just crashing here. Ask your absentee father.”

Kkami doesn’t find it funny.

You inch toward the kitchen, where Hyunjin’s written schedule sits neatly beside two bowls—one for food, one for water. Both full. Fresh.

You glance at the clock. He’s probably already at the airport. Maybe already boarding. Maybe looking down at the city through a plane window, tapping his fingers against the glass like he always did when he was anxious. You wonder if he thought about calling you again. You wonder if he’s relieved you didn’t call him first.

Kkami lets out a soft, pitiful whine behind you. When you turn, he’s sitting but tense, eyes never leaving you. Suspicious. Wounded. Territorial, like Hyunjin said.

“Jesus, you’re worse than him,” you sigh.

A folded slip of paper catches your eye. It’s tucked under the magnet shaped like a paintbrush on the fridge. Your name is written across the front.

Your throat tightens.

You don’t open it. Not yet.

You drop your bag by the couch and finally take a seat, letting the quiet settle around you. The apartment hums with memory. You used to sit here wrapped in his hoodie, eating leftover tteokbokki at midnight, legs draped across his lap while he rubbed lazy circles into your shin. You used to kiss in this corner. Fuck in this corner. Sleep in the bed down the hall like it meant nothing, even when it meant too much.

Kkami barks once—sharp and offended—then hops up onto the other end of the couch and curls into a tight, annoyed little donut.

“Truce?” you offer.

He sneezes. Well then.

You sigh and reach for your phone. Maybe you can FaceTime Hyunjin later. Let the dog see him. Hear him. Maybe that’ll help.

Or maybe it’ll make everything worse.

You glance over at the folded blanket. The place where you used to lay your head.

And wonder how long it’ll take for this place to feel empty without him in it.

You don’t sleep well that first night.

Kkami stays curled at the farthest edge of the bed like he’s punishing you, his little back turned, ears twitching at every shift you make beneath the sheets. He doesn’t bark, but he lets out these occasional, theatrical sighs—deep, betrayed, bone-deep things—like you’ve committed the ultimate offense by existing where Hyunjin should be.

You get it.

You feel it too.

In the morning, you wake before the sun finishes rising. The air in the apartment is cold, the kind of cold that seeps into your joints, your thoughts, the hollow behind your ribs. You drag Hyunjin’s blanket from the couch and wrap yourself in it, settle on the floor near the window with a mug of instant coffee that tastes like cardboard and nostalgia.

Kkami watches you from the kitchen doorway, still suspicious.

“Do you have a schedule, or are we just winging it?” you ask him.

He sneezes and turns his head. No comment.

The hours pass slow. You walk him—twice. He barks at a bus, growls at a stroller, and refuses to let you tie his leash to the bench while you grab a coffee from the corner place Hyunjin used to love. You wind up going without.

At noon, you wander the apartment, not touching anything but looking at everything. A half-finished canvas still rests on the easel in the corner. It’s abstract—something celestial, maybe. Blue and smoke and gold bleeding together like bruises in motion. You don’t know if it’s new. You don’t ask.

You think about texting him. Just something simple. He misses you already. Or He hasn’t peed on anything today. But the words feel too light. Too personal. You settle for:

12:31 PM — [You]: he ate most of his food. drank a lot of water too. no accidents.

The read receipt comes instantly. His reply is a few minutes later:

12:36 PM — [Hyunjin]: thank you <3

The heart curls in your chest. You close the app.

You make pasta for dinner and Kkami doesn’t touch his kibble until you sit beside him on the floor and pretend to eat a piece. Then he snarfs it all down like he’s proving a point.

That night, he won’t sleep again. He whines. He paces. He jumps down from the bed and runs to the door, then back again. Tail twitching. Eyes darting.

When you try to pet him, he flinches like he’s expecting a trick. You sit on the floor again, cross-legged in Hyunjin’s oversized hoodie (you told yourself you brought it by accident), and say softly, “He’s not here. It’s just me.”

He whines again. Low and pitiful.

“Me too,” you whisper.

You glance toward the kitchen. Toward the fridge. That little slip of paper still waits, untouched beneath the magnet shaped like a paintbrush. Your name in his handwriting. Like a bruise. Like a dare.

You haven’t opened it. Not yet.

You slept on the couch.

Not because the bed wasn’t made—Hyunjin had even tucked in the corners, left a glass of water on the nightstand like he thought about what you’d need—but because you couldn’t bring yourself to crawl into the same sheets you used to wake up tangled in. Not when the scent of him still lived in the pillowcases. Not when the memory of his hands on your bare back still lingered in the seams of the duvet.

So you curled up under the old blanket instead, the one you used to steal during lazy afternoons and Netflix half-watched kisses and accepted the fact that your neck was going to ache in the morning. Kkami refused to join you. He spent most of the night pacing between the door and the hallway, growling at shadows.

The second night is worse.

Kkami is inconsolable. He won’t eat. Won’t lie down. Won’t stop pacing between the front door and the window like he’s waiting for Hyunjin to materialize from thin air. At one point, he noses Hyunjin’s shoes—left by the entryway—and lets out a sound so hollow and pitiful it actually makes your eyes sting.

You try everything. Treats. Music. White noise. The blanket that still smells like Hyunjin’s shampoo. But nothing works. It’s like something inside him is unraveling, the cord pulled too tight and fraying with every hour he doesn’t see the one person he’s built his little world around.

Same, you think bitterly, and feel stupid for it.

You end up sitting on the kitchen floor around midnight, your legs numb, your patience thinner than it’s been in weeks. Kkami’s resting his chin on his paws but still letting out this tiny, high-pitched whine every few seconds, like he’s trying not to cry but can’t help it.

And that sound—god, that sound shatters something in you.

You sigh, rub your face with both hands, and reach for your phone.

12:04 AM — [You]: he won’t sleep. he’s been crying for an hour. won’t eat either.

You don’t expect him to reply. Not at this hour, not while he’s halfway across the country doing Important Artist Things.

But your screen lights up with an incoming FaceTime call within seconds.

Your heart drops into your stomach.

You hesitate. Just for a second.

Then answer.

And for the first time in nearly a year, you see him.

Hyunjin’s face fills the screen—soft-lit and sleepy, hoodie bunched around his neck like he’d just been getting ready for bed. But it’s not just the setting that throws you. It’s him.

The long hair you used to run your fingers through—gone. All of it. In its place: a buzzcut. Clean, close, severe in a way that shouldn’t suit him but somehow does. It makes his features sharper, more present. Like there’s nothing to hide behind anymore.

You blink. You don’t mean to stare, but the shock is immediate, visceral.

“Hi,” he says, quiet.

You swallow. “Hi.”

He sits up straighter. “Is he okay?”

You shift the camera toward Kkami, who immediately perks up. His ears shoot up like radar, and he lets out a small, startled bark before beelining to your lap—bumping his snout into the phone like he’s trying to crawl through it.

Hyunjin laughs. It’s breathless. Disbelieving.

“God, he’s dramatic.”

“He gets it from you,” you mutter.

Kkami presses against your chest like he’s trying to bury himself in your heart, finally calm now, finally still. You stroke a hand down his back and try not to think about the fact that it took Hyunjin’s voice to soothe him.

You glance at the screen again. Hyunjin’s watching you, not Kkami.

There’s a beat where neither of you speak. The only sound is Kkami’s soft breathing and the low hum of the city outside the window.

Then, gently:

“I left you something,” he says.

You swallow. “I know.”

“I wasn’t sure if you’d find it.”

“I did.”

“You gonna open it?”

You glance toward the fridge. The note still waits, tucked under the paintbrush magnet like a secret too fragile to touch.

“Not yet,” you say.

And he doesn’t push. Just nods. “Okay.”

Kkami shifts closer to your thigh and exhales, finally resting his chin on your knee. You pet him with one hand, still holding the phone in the other.

“He’s sleeping now,” you whisper.

“So are you.”

You blink. “What?”

“Your eyes,” he says. “They do that thing. The little flutter when you’re about to crash.”

You’re too tired to argue. Too tired to ask why he remembers that.

“I’ll hang up,” he offers.

You don’t say no.

You just murmur, “Goodnight, Hyun.”

And you hear the softness in his voice as he says it back:

“Goodnight.”

You don’t sleep much better that night.

But Kkami doesn’t cry again.

The next few days fall into a strange kind of rhythm—quiet, off-kilter, but somehow soothing in the way old routines can be, even when they’re made of things that weren’t meant to last.

Kkami still hates you by daylight.

He growls when you walk into the room. Barks when you open the fridge. Refuses to eat unless you pretend not to look. He doesn’t let you pet him unless he’s half-asleep or tricked by a treat, and he definitely doesn’t let you forget that this is his house, his couch, his missing person.

But at night, when Hyunjin calls, it’s like a switch flips.

Kkami leaps into your lap the moment the ringtone echoes through the apartment. He curls there, fast and warm and trembling just slightly, like he’s spent all day building tension he doesn’t know how to unspool without Hyunjin’s voice in the room.

You always answer on the couch, blanket pulled tight around your shoulders, phone propped up against a half-full glass of water. Hyunjin always looks a little tired, a little flushed from wherever he’s just come back from—a gallery tour, a studio session, a walk through some city that doesn’t have your footprints on its sidewalks.

He tells you about the art residency. The gallery director who makes coffee that tastes like battery acid. The studio space—wide and cold and full of light. He tells you about a piece he’s working on: abstract, rough, loud in a way he hasn’t painted in years.

“You’d hate it,” he laughs, voice crackling faintly through the call. “It’s all jagged lines. Chaos. I think it’s about… hunger. Or maybe grief. I don’t know.”

“I never hated your work,” you say.

Hyunjin quiets. Then, low:

“You hated what it did to me.”

Your breath catches.

Because he’s right.

You did.

You hated the way he disappeared into it—into himself—those long stretches of silence when he wouldn’t eat, wouldn’t sleep, wouldn’t touch you unless it was desperate and fleeting, like he was chasing the ghost of something he could never quite hold. You hated the way he used his own pain like paint thinner, diluted himself until all that was left was color on canvas and a shell of the boy you used to fall asleep beside.

But you don’t say that.

You just sit there, curled on his couch in his hoodie you’ve stolen from his drawer, your phone glowing in the soft hush of midnight.

“I hated how much it hurt you,” you say instead. “That’s not the same thing.”

Hyunjin nods slowly, his lips pressed into a line. “No. It’s not.”

Kkami shifts in your lap, stretching a little, his snout nudging your elbow before he sighs and drifts deeper into sleep. You stroke his fur absently, eyes still locked on the screen, on Hyunjin’s face—the new angles of it, the way the buzzcut makes him look older, sharper, like a wound that finally scabbed over.

He watches you for a while. Then murmurs, “I was scared to call you.”

You smile, tired and small. “I figured.”

“I thought you’d say no. That you wouldn’t even answer.”

“I almost didn’t.”

His throat bobs. “Why’d you say yes?”

You don’t answer right away.

Because it’s not just about the dog. Not just about the key he left under the stairs or the food already stocked or the note still waiting on the fridge like a breath you’re not ready to exhale.

You look at him. Really look.

And when you speak, it’s quiet. Honest.

“Because I missed you. Even when I hated missing you.”

The silence after is different this time.

He blinks. His mouth parts like he’s going to say something, but all that comes out is a whisper.

“Fuck.”

You let out a laugh—dry, breathless. “Yeah.”

He shifts on the screen, pulling the blanket tighter around his shoulders. “You still sleep on the couch?”

“Every night.”

“Why?”

“Because the bed remembers more than I’m ready to.”

His eyes flicker. He nods once. Like he understands. Like he hasn’t been sleeping either.

Another pause. Then—

“I dream about you,” he says.

And it’s not a confession. It’s a bruise. Something he’s been pressing on in the dark just to see if it still hurts.

You blink. “Hyun—”

“Not just the sex,” he adds, voice hoarse. “Though… yeah. That too. A lot, actually.”

You glance away, heat creeping up your neck. “You don’t have to say that.”

“I want to,” he says. “I want you to know I still—”

He cuts himself off. Breathes out hard. Shakes his head.

Kkami stirs in your lap, shifting slightly. The air feels too tight suddenly, the silence too loud.

You focus on Kkami. On the slow rise and fall of his small body, the way his paws twitch in sleep like he’s chasing something warm. It grounds you—barely.

Hyunjin exhales on the other end of the line. You can hear it, soft and ragged, the kind of breath that holds everything he didn’t say. Everything he still might.

You don’t speak. Not yet. Because what could you say? I still touch myself to the thought of you? I still wear your hoodie like armor when I can’t sleep? I still think about that night on the floor when we couldn’t stop, even though we knew it was already over?

None of it would come out right.

So instead, you keep your voice even when you ask, “Do you paint me?”

The question slips out before you can stop it. You don't even know why you asked it. Maybe its because you're so sleepy you can't filter you're thoughts. Maybe because he mentioned it once, over soggy cereal over the golden morning light that filtered through the blinds, over the laughter you've never quite had again.

Hyunjin stills.

On the screen, he doesn’t look shocked. He looks… worn. Like someone who’s been carrying the answer around for a while and doesn’t know where to put it.

“I try not to,” he says eventually. Quiet. Careful. “But you always end up there.”

Your breath falters. You nod slowly, like that’s an answer you expected—because it is. Because you knew. Somehow, you always knew.

You shift the phone slightly, angle it so he can see the window behind you. The dark skyline. The reflection of the room, soft and gold and full of ghosts. Your voice is steadier than you feel when you say, “I haven’t opened it.”

“I know,” he replies, just as soft.

“I want to. But…”

“You don’t have to explain.”

“I think I need more time.”

“Take it,” he murmurs. “I left it because I had to, not because I needed anything back.”

You nod. Not that he can see it—not really. But somehow, you think he feels it anyway.

“Okay,” you say. It's the only thing you can manage that doesn’t crack under its own weight.

A pause stretches between you. Soft. Not cold. Just full. Like the breath before a confession. Like the second before a kiss.

Kkami snores lightly, curled deeper into your lap now, his whole body lax with trust. You glance down at him, stroke a thumb between his ears, then look back at the screen.

Hyunjin’s still watching you. Not the dog. Not the view.

Just you.

“You’re wearing my hoodie,” he murmurs, a little smile tugging at the corner of his mouth.

You shrug, suddenly shy. “Didn’t pack enough layers.”

“I knew you’d steal something,” he says, teasing, but low—like he's remembering the way you used to steal everything from him. His clothes. His time. His breath.

“You left the drawer cracked open on purpose.”

“Maybe.”

His smile softens into something quieter. More real.

“I used to love seeing you in my stuff,” he adds. “Used to come home and hope you’d be there. Curled up in it. Pretending to wait for me.”

You swallow. It’s harder than it should be. “I wasn’t pretending.”

Hyunjin blinks slowly. Like that hit him somewhere unexpected. Somewhere tender.

And then, quietly, almost afraid to hope: “Are you still?”

You could lie. You could deflect. But instead, you meet his eyes through the screen.

“I haven’t been with anyone else.”

His jaw works. “Neither have I.”

The words land between you like a marker—drawing a line not to separate, but to measure distance. And maybe the distance isn’t as wide as you thought.

Your fingers curl a little tighter in Kkami’s fur.

“I should go to bed,” you say. Your voice is quiet. A little raw.

“Okay,” Hyunjin whispers. “Me too.”

But neither of you move. The seconds tick by. You don’t even blink.

Eventually, he says, “Tomorrow night. Can I call again?”

You let out a soft breath, not quite a laugh. “Hyun… you’ve been calling every night.”

His smile doesn’t fade, but it shifts—tilts into something deeper. Less playful. More certain.

“I know,” he says. “But that was for Kkami.”

You blink. “And tomorrow?”

His gaze doesn’t waver. Not once.

“That’s for you.”

It knocks the wind out of you a little, the way he says it. Not romantic. Not dramatic. Just simple. True. Like he’s only just letting himself say it out loud, but he’s known it all along.

Your throat tightens. “Oh.”

Hyunjin watches you carefully. “Is that okay?”

You nod once. “Yeah. It’s… more than okay.”

Something in his posture loosens then, like he’s been holding a breath he can finally let go of. His shoulders drop. His mouth twitches again, a smile fighting its way to the surface but not quite forming—like he’s still afraid to want too much, to hope too fast.

You don’t know what tomorrow will bring. Not really.

But you know you’ll answer.

And maybe this time you’ll stop pretending it’s for the dog.

“You’re on the bed.”

Hyunjin says it the moment the screen connects. No hello. No lead-up. Just those four words, soft and low and unmistakably aware.

You blink at him from where you’re sitting, back pressed to the headboard, knees pulled up beneath the comforter. His comforter.

You almost lie. Almost say you were just passing through. That the light was better in here. That Kkami stole the couch.

But Hyunjin’s already smiling—slow and knowing, like he’s been waiting for this.

You exhale through your nose. “Kkami’s on the couch.”

“Mm,” he hums, a little amused. “So it’s just you in my bed.”

Your fingers tighten around the phone, feeling a little flustered. “Is that going to be a problem?”

His eyes darken a shade, but the smile stays. “Not even a little.”

You roll onto your side, careful not to let the phone slip. The sheets are warm beneath you, still smelling faintly like cedar and fabric softener and something only he ever carried. His presence is everywhere in this room. On the walls. In the folded clothes. Under your skin.

Hyunjin shifts on his end of the call—he’s propped up on pillows, a fitted black tank clinging to his chest, the cut of it leaving little to the imagination. His toned arms are on full display, lean muscle catching the dim light, subtle and sculpted like something sketched in charcoal. His expression is unreadable, caught somewhere between reverence and restraint.

“I thought about you today,” he says after a beat.

You tuck your face into the pillow, just a little. “Like you usually do?”

“Yeah,” he breathes. “But this time I didn’t fight it.”

Your heart thuds against your ribs, slow and heavy. “What were you thinking?”

His gaze dips, like he’s shy all of a sudden. “That I miss you. That I used to wake up to you in that bed.”

You swallow, voice thinner now. “It’s a little colder without you.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

The silence that follows is different from all the others before it. It’s thick. Electric. It hums with all the things neither of you have said but haven’t stopped feeling. The kind of silence that shifts when the air gets warmer, when the breath starts catching, when the ache finally starts to slip through.

Hyunjin wets his lips. His voice is barely a whisper. “You look good there.”

You bite the inside of your cheek. “I feel... restless.”

He shifts again, almost imperceptibly. “Tell me.”

Your gaze flickers. “Tell you what?”

“What you’re thinking. Right now.”

You hesitate.

But then, softly, deliberately: “I was thinking about your hands.”

Hyunjin’s mouth parts slightly.

“I was thinking about how you used to touch me here,” you say, dragging your fingers over the blanket, slow, just below your collarbone. “And here.” Down, lower now, to the place between your ribs.

His breath stutters through the speaker.

“And I was wondering…” you murmur, voice barely above a hum, “if you miss the way I used to say your name when you touched me like that.”

Hyunjin closes his eyes for a second. When he opens them again, they’re dark, focused, hungry.

“I think about it all the time,” he says. “Every fucking night.”

Your thighs press together under the blanket. You feel your pulse everywhere—behind your knees, in your fingertips, between your legs. It’s not even about the sex. Not yet. It’s about the weight of being wanted by someone who remembers you—who still remembers.

“I haven’t touched anyone else,” you say.

He swallows hard. “Don’t.”

“I don’t want to.”

Hyunjin nods slowly. “Me either.”

Then, quiet: “Can I stay on the call?”

You blink. “What do you mean?”

“I mean,” he says, voice rough now, “if I asked you to touch yourself… would you let me watch?”

Your breath catches. Not from nerves. From need.

You don’t say yes. You just let the phone settle against the pillow beside you, angled toward your face, the way he used to tilt your chin when he wanted a better look at how undone you were.

The sheets shift as your hand moves lower.

Hyunjin watches. And when he speaks, it’s barely a whisper, like he’s already somewhere far beneath the surface with you.

“Fuck. You always looked so pretty like this.”

You inhale shakily, fingers slipping beneath the waistband of your sleep shorts, slow and careful, testing the heat already gathered there.

Hyunjin’s eyes drag down your body. His tongue flicks out to wet his lips. His voice is rough with memory.

“Remember that time on the floor? After your exam? You were so out of it—barely undressed. I just shoved your panties to the side and made you come in, what, two minutes?”

You let out a quiet, choked sound at the back of your throat.

He smiles—crooked, dark. “Yeah. You clenched so hard around my fingers I thought I’d lose them.”

You whimper softly. Your hand moves slow, wet, dragging through the mess of your own need, slick pooling beneath your fingertips like your body remembers him even better than your mind does.

“God, that sound,” Hyunjin breathes. “That little gasp when you’re just starting to touch yourself. Same one you made when I used to run my fingers down your stomach—real slow, just to watch you twitch.”

You press harder against your clit, circles tightening, mouth falling open as your back arches into the memory. He’s not even touching you, and still—your body bends like it’s learned him by muscle memory.

Hyunjin notices. Of course he does.

“Look at you,” he murmurs, voice gone low and ragged, the kind that scrapes the inside of your throat just hearing it. “All spread out in my bed. Fucking yourself open with your hand like you want me to see everything. Like you know I used to make you feel better than anyone else ever could.”

You moan, breath catching, and Hyunjin’s smile sharpens.

“Touch your tits,” he says, not as a command—but a conjuring. Like he already knows you’re aching for it. “Lift your shirt for me.”

You obey without a sound, pushing the hem up slowly, just enough to expose the curve of one breast, the soft point of your nipple hard and aching from the friction of your shirt.

He groans. “You remember how obsessed I was with your tits? Couldn’t stop sucking on them. Couldn’t stop biting.” His jaw clenches. “You used to beg me to be gentle. And then beg me not to stop.”

Your fingers slide down again—slippery, desperate. Your thighs shake under the weight of it. The rhythm is messier now, your hips chasing pressure. Hyunjin watches all of it, his hand dragging down his torso, disappearing beneath his waistband.

“Touching yourself in my bed,” he growls. “Wearing my shirt. Letting me watch while you make yourself come for me.”

He’s panting now, hand working slow, deliberate strokes beneath the screen. His tank top clings to his chest, sweat beading along his collarbones. His buzzed hair is messy, sticking slightly to his forehead, and his mouth—his fucking mouth—is red and parted, like he’s still tasting you.

“You remember the way I used to fuck you from behind?” he says. “Pushed your face into the mattress, held your hips like you’d run from me if I let go?”

You whimper—your fingers falter, then speed up.

“Could barely breathe, baby. You’d just sob into the sheets. You loved it. Took every inch, crying like you couldn’t handle it—and still begged for more.”

Your body goes taut, heels digging into the mattress, orgasm hovering just out of reach.

Hyunjin's voice drops to a growl, breath quick and filthy. “Bet your pussy’s fucking tight right now. Clenching like it forgot what it’s supposed to take—like it’s trying to remember the shape of my cock.”

He groans, low and wrecked. “Don’t worry, baby. I’ll teach it again. I’ll stretch you open so slow you feel it for days. Won’t stop ‘til you’re dripping all over my sheets, crying into the pillow, begging for more.”

You whimper his name—helpless. Shattered.

“You want me to say it?” Hyunjin pants, fist working now, muscles flexing. “Want me to tell you how I’d do it?”

You nod, frantic. Desperate.

His voice turns molten. Thick with lust, arrogance, something cruel and beautiful.

“I’d start slow. Tease you with just the tip. Let you feel the stretch, let you beg for the rest of it. Then I’d give you all of it at once—deep, hard. Just to see you fucking cry.”

You do cry out. The tension in your body snaps tighter, hips lifting off the bed, toes curling. So close.

“I’d fuck you into the mattress,” he growls. “Grip your hips and slam into you so hard you’d lose your voice. You remember how I’d do that? Say, ‘You’re not done yet, baby. You can take it.’ And you always fucking would.”

You’re whimpering now, moaning into your own shoulder to muffle the sound, fingers moving in slippery, filthy rhythm. The orgasm’s close—so close—spooling at the base of your spine, hot and tight and relentless.

“Oh, fuck, there it is,” he gasps, fucking into his fist now, stroking faster. “You’re close. I can see it—hear it. Just like that, baby. Let go for me. Come for the boy who still dreams about the way you taste. Come for the fucking lunatic who’d trade his last painting just to feel your pussy clench around his fingers one more time.”

That breaks you.

You moan his name—soft, ruined, high-pitched—and you come with your hand buried between your thighs, eyes fluttering, back arching. The pleasure pulses through you in waves, soaked and frantic and unstoppable.

“God, you’re still so fucking perfect,” he grits out. “I could’ve painted this. You—like that. That’s my favorite version of you.”

You whimper, still trembling.

He grins. Dark. Gleaming. “Wanna see what you do to me?”

You nod, dizzy.

He shifts the phone—just enough for you to see the slick length of him in his hand. Red at the tip, dripping, veins thick under taut skin. His pace is ruthless now.

“I used to fuck your thighs just to tease you,” he pants. “Not even your pussy. Just that pretty space between them. Used to slide my cock right there and come all over your stomach.”

You let out a breathy sound of disbelief, hips twitching in aftershock. Your cunt flutters around nothing, empty and aching.

“Fucking ruined me,” he snarls. “You ruined me. No one else has even come close. No one sounds like you. No one feels like you.”

And then, through gritted teeth:

“I’m gonna come thinking about your mouth. That filthy little tongue. That sweet fucking smile you gave me while I fucked your throat.”

Your legs tremble again.

“Fuck, baby—fuckfuckfuck—”

He comes with your name on his tongue, head thrown back, muscles tensed, body shuddering through it as his hips stutter beneath the blanket. His jaw slackens, hand squeezing out the last twitch of pleasure.

The silence after is sharp. Breathless.

Your own body still buzzes, skin flushed, sheets damp with sweat and want and memory.

Neither of you speak at first. Just breathing. Just staring.

Eventually, Hyunjin looks up again. His voice is hoarse, trembling at the edges.

“Tell me this isn’t just sex.”

You don’t.

You just stare back.

And then you hang up.

You hang up, and your hand is still trembling. Your whole body is still trembling, wrecked in ways that have nothing to do with the orgasm.

It takes less than a minute for him to call back.

Then again.

And again.

You watch the screen light up with his name—Hyun—and each time, it makes your stomach twist so violently it feels like punishment. Like grief.

You don’t answer.

The fifth time, he stops calling. Thirty seconds later, your phone dings with a text.

[Hyunjin]: i’m sorry. please just tell me if that was too much. [Hyunjin]: i didn’t mean to push you. i didn’t mean to fuck everything up. [Hyunjin]: we don’t have to talk about it. we can pretend it didn’t happen if you want. i’ll follow your lead. just… please say something.

You don’t respond to those either.

You just turn off read receipts and shove the phone under the pillow.

The next few days go by in a strange, slow blur.

You and Kkami settle into a rhythm. He doesn’t bark anymore when you walk past. Doesn’t flinch when you reach for his leash. He even curls up at your feet when you’re on the couch, sometimes nuzzling his nose into your ankle like he’s already decided you belong here.

It should feel comforting.

It doesn’t.

You stop sitting in Hyunjin’s bed. You stop wearing the hoodie. You wash it, fold it, and put it back exactly where you found it, like none of this ever happened.

You send him brief texts. Clipped. Neutral.

[You]: he ate all his dinner. no accidents. slept fine.

[You]: took him for a walk. he peed on someone’s shoe.

[You]: when’s your flight again?

You don’t tell him how it feels like the walls have closed in.

How you’ve stopped sleeping in his bed again—even if the couch hurts your back. Even if the couch doesn’t smell quite like him.

How Kkami curls up beside you now without growling, without guilt. You take him for long walks. Let him tug you through the park. Let him bark at pigeons and lick your knuckles and rest his chin on your thigh when you scroll through old texts you don’t send anymore.

You don’t cry. But your chest aches in a way that feels dangerously close.

You were never going to be able to leave without feeling like this.

But now it’s worse. Because you let yourself want again.

And it’s giving you vertigo.

[Hyunjin]: should be back around 5:30. just leave the key in the box. thank you again. for everything.

You stare at the message for a long time.

Not because of what it says.

But because of what it doesn’t.

And what you don’t know is this:

Hyunjin’s lying.

His flight lands at 3:10.

He’s already halfway through the city when you’re zipping up your bag.

He’s already in the elevator by the time you’re taking out the trash.

And he’s standing at the front door—key in hand, chest tight, hands shaking—when you reach for the handle to leave.

You open the door and nearly collide with him.

You freeze.

The air catches.

Time does something strange.

Hyunjin’s just… there.

Sweatshirt slung over his shoulder, suitcase by his side, curls of damp air clinging to the collar of his shirt from the humid sprint through the city. And his eyes—sharp, dark, wide with something between relief and devastation—lock onto yours like he’s forgotten how to blink.

For a second, neither of you speaks.

Then—

“Hyun—?”

Kkami barrels into view like a missile. He lets out a shrill bark of excitement and practically throws himself into Hyunjin’s legs, circling and jumping and whining like he’s just won the fucking lottery.

But Hyunjin doesn’t look down. Doesn’t move. Doesn’t even blink.

He just stares at you.

And says, low, quiet, steady:

“You were really gonna leave.”

You clutch your bag a little tighter. “You said you’d be back at five.”

“I lied.”

You swallow. “I figured that part out.”

His jaw clenches. His hands twitch by his sides, like he doesn’t know whether to reach for you or shove them into his pockets or bury them in your skin just to make sure you’re real.

Kkami lets out another bark, trying to wedge his head between you two like he’s the center of gravity—but Hyunjin doesn’t even glance down. Not once.

All of him is focused on you.

“You weren’t going to say goodbye.”

It’s not a question. It’s an accusation. A plea. A wound.

“I didn’t think you wanted me to.”

“Bullshit.”

That makes you flinch. Just a little. He sees it. His expression softens, but only barely.

Hyunjin steps forward. Not fast—but purposeful. Like if he stops now, you’ll disappear all over again.

“I’m sorry,” he says, voice taut with something sharp. “I’m sorry I came on too strong. I’m sorry I didn’t give you time. I’m sorry I didn’t say what I should’ve said months ago, years ago—fuck, the morning after. But don’t stand here and tell me I didn’t want you.”

You inhale—tight, shallow. Like there’s no room in your lungs for this.

For him.

“Hyun—”

“No,” he cuts in, but it’s not cruel. Just cracked. “You don’t get to walk out and let me find the ghost of you in my bed again. Not after you let me see you like that. Not after I—”

His voice breaks.

He swallows it down.

Kkami sits at his feet now, finally quiet, as if even he knows this part isn’t his.

“I meant it,” Hyunjin says, softer now. “That night. Everything I said. Everything I remembered. It wasn’t just to get you off.”

Your fingers tighten around the strap of your bag.

“You said you missed me,” he goes on. “But then you shut the door in my face. And I was willing to pretend I didn’t care. I was willing to take scraps just to be near you. But if you’re still standing in front of me—if you haven’t walked away yet—then just fucking tell me.”

He looks at you like he’s trying to memorize you all over again.

You look at him. Really look. And you know—he’s not going to let you run.

Not this time.

“Go get the note.”

His voice is soft, but firm. Like a command spoken through a kiss. Like an ache wrapped in velvet.

You blink. “What?”

“The letter,” he repeats. “The one I left you. On the fridge.”

You freeze.

“I know you haven’t opened it.”

You swallow. “I wasn’t ready.”

“I don’t care,” he says, and there’s a flicker of something dark in his voice—something possessive, guttural. “I want you to read it. Now.”

You hesitate.

“Please,” he adds, and that’s what breaks you.

You nod—barely—and turn without a word. Each step toward the kitchen feels thick, underwater.

You open it, and—

It’s not a letter.

Not really.

It’s a patchwork of thoughts, of half-confessions. Scribbled lines, crossed-out phrases, uneven spacing. The ink changes color midway—black, then blue, then black again. Some words are written in cursive. Some in a rush. Some like they cost him something to write.

You glance up. He nods again.

“Read it,” he says. “Out loud.”

You hesitate. Then you read.

“You once laughed in your sleep, and I didn’t sleep at all that night. I just watched you and hoped that whoever you were dreaming about looked like me.”

You swallow hard. Keep going.

The ink shifts color. From deep black to something fainter. Navy. A pen running dry, maybe.

Your voice wavers.

“There’s a sweater you left. It doesn’t smell like you anymore. I hold it anyway.”

Hyunjin’s throat works. He doesn’t interrupt.

“I never painted your face. Couldn’t do it. Couldn’t get your eyes right. But I painted your hands. A hundred times. Because they always knew how to hold me better than I knew how to ask.”

Your chest twists. You can’t speak the words out loud anymore, but you read. You read and read and read until there is nothing left, until the space between you feels alive–electric.

He steps forward. Just one step. But it’s enough to close the distance.

“I lied,” Hyunjin says, voice low, rough. “The sitter didn’t cancel.”

You blink. “What?”

“I had people,” he continues. “So many people I could’ve called. People I trust. People who would’ve said yes.”

His eyes are burning now—dark, wet, glittering with something fragile and ferocious.

“But I didn’t want them. I wanted you.”

You don’t say anything. Can’t. Your hands are trembling.

“I told myself it was about Kkami. About the timing. About convenience.” He huffs out a broken laugh. “But it wasn’t. It was you. It was always you.”

Your breath falters.

“I missed you,” he says. “So much it made me sick. I thought I could bury it. Paint over it. Work through it. But I couldn’t. I never did. You’ve always been underneath it all—under the hunger, the silence, the mess I made of myself.”

He steps closer. You’re breathing the same air now.

“I loved you then,” he says. “When we were tangled up in bedsheets and half-truths and pretending it didn’t mean anything. I loved you when you wore my hoodie and called me yours with your eyes. I loved you the second I saw you, and I—”

His voice cracks.

“And I love you now.”

You don't remember moving. Don’t remember closing the gap, dropping your bag, reaching for him with hands that should’ve known better.

All you know is this: one second, you're blinking back tears, and the next, you're kissing him like you're drowning.

Hyunjin catches you with both hands—one at your jaw, the other curling around your waist, steadying. The kiss is messy, open-mouthed, frantic. His lips part on a gasp when you press your body to his, and then he's devouring you like something starved.

Your back hits the wall. His teeth scrape your bottom lip. Fingers thread into his hair—short now, prickling at the scalp—and he groans like it’s breaking him.

You drop your bag. You don’t even hear it hit the floor.

You don’t care.

His hands are everywhere. On your waist, your hips, the curve of your spine. He pulls you in so tight you feel the tremor in his arms, the sheer desperation coiled in his chest like a spring pulled too far.

“Fuck,” he whispers, forehead pressed to yours. “I’ve wanted this—I’ve wanted you—”

His voice breaks again, and then he’s back on you, lips trailing across your jaw, down the line of your neck. You tilt your head back, eyes fluttering shut, mouth parting on a moan as he bites softly into your throat—just enough to mark. Just enough to remember.

Your hands scrabble at the hem of his shirt, yanking it up, palms hungry on bare skin. He hisses as your nails drag over his stomach, muscles twitching beneath the heat of your touch.

“Take it off,” you breathe.

He does. In one motion, the tank top is gone—flung to the floor like it offended him. And you stare. You can’t help it.

He’s still art. Still all sharp lines and soft skin and lean, desperate hunger. His chest heaves with every breath, sweat glinting in the hollow of his throat, and you think: I could die like this. I could burn for him and never want to be saved.

Hyunjin kisses you again—harder this time, hungrier. Like he heard it. Like he wants to go up in flames with you.

His hands slide under your thighs, lifting you without warning, and you gasp as your back hits the wall again, legs wrapping instinctively around his waist. The air shifts. Your breath catches. His cock presses against you through his jeans—thick, hot, twitching with every grind of his hips.

“I can’t wait,” he pants against your mouth. “I need to be inside you. Right now.”

“Then do it,” you breathe, dragging your nails down his back. “Hyune—please—”

Hyunjin breathes something that sounds like a curse, or maybe a prayer, and then he’s walking—stumbling, really—half-guided by the desperate way you’re clinging to him, the press of your mouths, the sharp hitch of your breath when he grabs at your ass to hold you higher. You barely register the shift from wall to bedroom until your back hits the mattress, until the world becomes sheets and skin and the low rasp of his voice murmuring your name like it’s sacred.

The mattress gives beneath your weight, springs groaning under the tangle of limbs and heat and history. Hyunjin follows you down like gravity itself — hands sliding, mouth chasing, body already slotting between your thighs as if it never forgot where it belonged.

His shirt is gone. Yours joins it. He kisses you through every inch of skin he unveils, frantic and starved and reverent, like he’s not sure whether to worship you or ruin you.

You arch beneath him when his tongue traces the curve of your breast, the bite of his teeth following fast after — a soft sting that makes your breath catch, your fingers dig into his shoulders. He groans when your nails drag down his back, when your thighs fall open wider.

And then he’s there — rutting against your center, clothed still but so hard it aches through the friction, the weight of him pressing perfect and punishing between your legs.

You can’t think. Can’t breathe. Can only move — hips grinding up to meet every desperate push of his, your cunt soaked and aching with the need to be filled.

Hyunjin’s hand slips down, hooking your thigh over his hip. He grinds into you through the last barrier, jeans rough against your soaked underwear, and it’s filthy the way your body answers—already arching, already clenching around nothing. You chase the friction shamelessly, trying to wring every ounce of pressure you can from the maddening drag of his cock pressed to your core.

He hisses against your throat, breath hot, teeth scraping the fragile skin there. You’re drenched. There’s no mistaking it—the way your panties cling, the way your slick seeps through them and stains his jeans, how he shudders just from the heat of you pulsing against the fabric.

The zipper’s down before you can even register the motion. He pushes his jeans low enough to free himself—hard and heavy and flushed dark with want. Your mouth waters at the sight of it. He tears your panties off with a quiet growl, not cruel, just crazed with the need to feel skin on skin, no more layers, no more time.

When he lines up and pushes in, it’s one long, devastating stroke—his cock thick and perfect and stretching you open like you were made for it.

You gasp—sharp, strangled. Your nails sink into his back.

Hyunjin goes still.

Buried to the hilt inside you, his entire body trembling with restraint, every muscle locked tight like he’s trying to keep himself from coming right then and there.

“Fuck,” he breathes, voice wrecked. “You—oh my god—”

His forehead drops to your shoulder. He’s shaking. You feel it. In his arms, in his breath, in the way his cock pulses deep inside you without moving. The kind of overwhelmed that turns to worship. The kind of ruin that feels like coming home.

You tighten around him instinctively—hungry, pulsing—and he lets out a strangled moan against your skin.

“I swear to god,” he whispers, forehead pressing to yours. “If I move, I’m gonna come like a fucking teenager.”

Your nails dig deeper into his back, anchoring him there, as if you could stop time with the press of your fingertips. His cock twitches inside you, thick and throbbing, and it feels like too much and not enough all at once.

Hyunjin groans—low, raw, like the sound is being dragged out of him by force.

“Fuck, baby,” he pants. “You feel… I forgot—fuck, I forgot how perfect you are.”

You whimper, breath caught in your throat. You’re stretched so full it feels like splitting—blissfully unbearable. Like he’s carved to fit you, or maybe you were carved for him.

He doesn’t move. Can’t. His whole body is locked in place, every muscle drawn taut with the kind of restraint that hurts.

“I’m gonna embarrass myself,” he rasps. “You’re so warm, I—I need a second.”

You nod, gasping. “Okay.”

But your body doesn’t care. It’s greedy. Slick clings to your inner thighs, to the base of his cock. You pulse around him again—tight, hot, involuntary—and he shudders, a curse breaking on his lips.

“You’re doing that on purpose,” he whispers, biting your shoulder.

“I’m not,” you breathe, but your hips roll anyway, a tiny grind up into his stillness.

Hyunjin moans—loud, broken. “Baby, I’m serious. You do that again and I’ll fucking—”

You clench again, on purpose this time.

He snaps.

In one hard thrust, he pulls out halfway and slams back in. You cry out—sharp, wanton—as your body folds around his. The stretch. The impact. The sound of skin on skin.

“Oh my god,” you gasp, your head tipping back, throat exposed.

Hyunjin watches the way your mouth parts, how your breasts bounce with every desperate snap of his hips. He groans then drops his mouth to your chest, sucking a bruise over your heart.

“This mine?” he pants, dragging his cock out slow before plunging back in. “Still mine?”

You can’t speak. Can only nod, breath caught in your throat. He fucks you through the motion, slow and deep now, the grind of his cock so obscene you swear you can feel him everywhere—behind your knees, in your throat, echoing in every part of you that remembers how he used to love you.

“No, baby,” he murmurs, voice fraying, fingers sliding under your knee to push your thigh back, opening you wider. “Say it. Let me hear you say it.”

“It’s—” Your voice breaks on a moan when he thrusts deep again, dragging against that spot that makes your vision go white at the edges. “It’s yours, Hyunjin. Always.”

He groans into your chest like the words punched the air out of him. Then he’s fucking you harder, deeper, like he’s trying to anchor himself in the way you take him. The bed creaks, the headboard thuds against the wall, but you don’tHe moans into your chest like the words physically hit him, his thrusts growing messier, more frantic. His hand finds yours and pins it above your head, fingers lacing together tight, grounding him even as he loses himself in the slick, pulsing heat of you.

You’re soaked, ruined, trembling under every thick slide of his cock. He hits so deep it borders on pain, and yet you arch into it—into him—dragging him closer, clawing at his back like if you could just get closer, it might be enough.

“I missed this pussy,” he growls, the words slurred and broken against your throat. “I fucking dreamed about it. Thought about it every night with my cock in my hand—nothing felt as good, nothing—fuck—”

You keen, high-pitched, overwhelmed. Your body pulses around him again, tight as a vice, and it makes him stutter—a half-thrust cut short by the shudder that runs through him.

He kisses you then—desperate, biting, tongue dragging into your mouth like he wants to consume you from the inside out.

You’re moan is swallowed by his mouth when he hits that spot—deep and relentless—and your whole body jolts. Your back arches, your legs tighten around his waist, dragging him deeper.

“Right there?” he growls. “That the spot, baby?”

You nod, frantic, mouth open but no words coming—just breath, just heat, just the sound of him splitting you open again and again.

Hyunjin grins. It's crooked. Crooked and cocky and dizzy with something feral. Like he’s gone. Like you’ve pulled him under with you.

“Yeah,” he breathes, thrusting deeper, slower now, grinding his hips in a filthy circle that makes your eyes roll back. “I remember. Right there. Got you clenching like you’re about to cry.”

His voice breaks on a moan, guttural and reverent. “Fuck, that’s so pretty—so fucking pretty, baby—your face when I fuck you like this.”

He’s unraveling, you can feel it—his rhythm fraying, pace faltering, every thrust a prayer half-remembered. He buries himself deep and stays there, hips pressed flush, cock pulsing inside you like a heartbeat. His forehead falls to yours again, and he’s breathing so hard it shakes both your bodies.

“You gonna cry for me?” he whispers, voice all fray and silk. “Wanna see it, wanna feel you fall apart. I’ll take care of it—I’ll hold you through it, I promise.”

You don’t mean to. But it’s been too much—his mouth, his voice, the stretch of him splitting you open in perfect, deliberate ruin. Your eyes blur, your breath hitches, and before you can stop it—

A tear slips down your cheek.

Hyunjin sees it. And something inside him shatters.

“Oh my god,” he chokes, fingers trembling where they hold your thigh. “That’s it, that’s—fuck—”

He fucks you through it, slow and deep, every stroke angled to keep you on the edge. His free hand cradles your face, thumb brushing the wetness from your cheek. And he’s murmuring now, wrecked and ragged and sweet:

“You’re so good for me. So perfect. I don’t deserve you—I don’t—”

You cry out again, back arching as your orgasm hits—wave after wave of unbearable heat crashing through you. You seize around him, walls fluttering, hips stuttering beneath his weight.

Hyunjin groans like it’s killing him. Like the feel of you falling apart around his cock is undoing him thread by thread.

“Can I—fuck, baby, where do you want it?” he gasps, teeth gritted, body coiled so tight you think he might break apart if you say no.

“Inside,” you breathe, wrecked and shameless. “Want it inside—please.”

That last word shreds him.

He thrusts once—deep, sharp—then again, slower this time, drawn-out like he’s trying to memorize the way you feel. His eyes flutter shut. His mouth falls open. And then he’s coming—hard.

A low, desperate sound tears out of him as his cock jerks inside you, spilling warmth in thick, molten pulses. He buries himself as deep as he can go, arms trembling around you, breath stuttering in your ear. His whole body shakes with it, every muscle straining to stay rooted in you as pleasure rips through him like lightning.

He stays like that—deep inside you, trembling, breathless—until the shudders fade to something softer. Something quieter.

The kind of silence that feels like safety.

His forehead rests against yours, damp hair brushing your temple, and you can feel the weight of him everywhere—his chest pressed to yours, his arms wrapped around your waist, the steady thrum of his heart syncing with your own.

Neither of you speaks.

There’s nothing left to say.

Just breath. Just warmth. Just the slow, wet drag of him slipping out of you when his body finally yields, when your bodies finally remember they’re separate things again. You wince a little, overstimulated, but he’s careful—gentle hands guiding your hips as he settles beside you.

The bed is a mess. You’re a mess. But in his arms, none of it matters.

He pulls you close, one hand curling behind your neck, the other splayed low across your spine. You fit against him like you were made to—legs tangled, faces barely apart. His eyes find yours, dark and soft and unreadable. And then—

He kisses you.

Slow. Tender. Unhurried. Like he’s not trying to restart anything—just thank you, silently, for letting him fall apart in your arms.

Your fingers slip into his hair. His thumb draws circles at the base of your spine.

And in that quiet, breathless space—there is no ache, no past, no noise.

The gallery hums with low conversation and champagne glasses clinking. Golden evening light filters through tall windows, casting Hyunjin’s paintings in soft amber and dust. He stands near one of his larger pieces—stark, aching, all deep reds and pale ivory brushstrokes layered like wounds healed over—speaking to a small crowd of critics and curators, hands moving with slow confidence as he explains his process.

It’s been years since he’s spoken like this—without apology. Years since he let the world see him this raw and unguarded. He’s dressed in black from head to toe, long hair tied back loosely, wedding band glinting when he gestures. He looks settled now, anchored. And you know what it took to get him there.

You weren’t supposed to come.

He’d kissed your forehead this morning, hand warm and reverent on your swollen belly, and told you to rest. “You’ll just get exhausted,” he’d said, brushing your hair back, “and I’ll be distracted the whole time wondering if your ankles are swollen or if the baby’s doing backflips again.”

But now you’re here.

Standing just inside the gallery, framed by the door like something sacred. You wore the dress he loves—the one that drapes gently over the curve of your belly, soft and simple, glowing in the dusk light. One hand rests instinctively at your side, the other slipping under the swell of you. There’s a quiet smile on your lips, half proud, half bashful, and your eyes are locked on him.

Hyunjin doesn’t see you at first. He’s mid-sentence, talking about brush technique and layered memory, about how grief isn't linear, how art can be a body trying to heal. His voice is steady. His hands are sure.

Then he glances up.

And freezes.

You watch it happen in real time—the shift. His mouth stutters around a word, vowels cut short, fingers faltering mid-gesture. And then—god. That smile. Unrehearsed, boyish, wide in a way that crinkles his eyes and ruins all pretense. A pure, delighted thing that belongs only to you.

A few people glance over their shoulders, curious. But Hyunjin barely notices.

He catches himself, coughs once, and somehow fumbles through the last few lines of his explanation. His voice is softer now. Almost sheepish. He wraps up quickly, answering a question with a vague nod, thanking the crowd with a half-bow.

And then he’s moving.

Straight through the gallery, long strides purposeful, eyes never leaving yours.

You open your mouth—maybe to apologize, maybe just to greet him—but he’s already cupping your face in his hands before you can speak. His fingers are cool from holding a champagne flute, but his palms are warm. Familiar. His touch gentle despite how frantically he reaches for you.

“You’re unbelievable,” he says, kissing your forehead. “I told you not to come.” A kiss to your nose. “I specifically said—” another to your cheek, “—that I’d worry—” your chin “—that you’d get tired,” he murmurs against your skin, peppering kisses like punctuation. “That your feet would swell. That you’d—fuck, baby, I said stay home.”

You smile, tilting your head just enough to meet his gaze—warm and full of something playful. “I know, but—”

He kisses you.

Soft and certain, his mouth presses to yours before the words can even leave your lips. It’s instinctive, almost impatient, like he couldn’t bear to hear the excuse when you’re standing right here, glowing and breathless and his. His hand curls at the back of your neck, thumb brushing the line of your jaw. You feel him smile into it, lips warm and reverent, like maybe he’s trying to convince himself he’s not dreaming.

You giggle against his mouth.

It bubbles out before you can stop it—light, easy, surprised by your own happiness.

“Hyunjin,” you laugh, gently pushing at his chest. “Let me speak.”

He leans back only a little, just enough to see you again. There’s a smudge of your lip gloss at the corner of his mouth, and you wipe it with your thumb, grinning.

“You’re ridiculous,” you murmur.

Hyunjin pulls back just enough to look at you—really look. His eyes trace every inch of your face like he’s memorizing you all over again. His thumb sweeps over your cheekbone. “You take my breath away,” he murmurs, like a confession. “Every damn time.”

You want to say something—something light, something teasing—but the way he’s looking at you leaves no room for irony. Just warmth. Just wonder.

And love. So much of it, it floods the space between you.

His hand slips down, resting over the swell of your stomach, and he sighs when he feels the smallest kick beneath his palm. “Little traitor,” he whispers to your bump, grinning. “You two planned this, didn’t you?”

You feign innocence. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

“Mhm.” He leans in and kisses you again—soft, slow, not quite chaste. Like there’s no one else in the room, no critics still lingering, no gallery full of people pretending not to watch the artist come undone in the arms of his muse.

Eventually, he pulls back—just a little. Just enough to rest his forehead against yours.

“Stay?” he asks, almost shy. “I want to show you something. After everyone leaves.”

You nod.

You nod, and his smile deepens—boyish, brilliant, the kind that still makes your knees weak even now. He kisses you one last time, quick and giddy, before reluctantly pulling away with a soft groan, dragging his hand down your arm like he’s tethering himself to you.

“I’ll be quick,” he promises, squeezing your fingers before turning back toward the crowd. “Don’t go into labor while I’m gone.”

You roll your eyes fondly. “No promises.”

He shoots you a look over his shoulder—mock-scandalized, lips twitching with laughter—and then he’s swept back into the flow of guests, nodding politely, shaking hands, answering a few last questions as people begin to drift toward the exit.

You watch from the side, sipping sparkling water from a plastic flute someone handed you, perched on the edge of a velvet bench like you belong in one of his paintings. A few guests glance your way—some with recognition, some with curiosity—but none of them matter.

You only watch him.

And he watches you too—between conversations, between thank-yous and signatures, his gaze keeps sliding back—like a tether, like gravity, like a vow that’s already been made a hundred times in silence.

You smile around the rim of your glass and press a hand to your belly, where the smallest flicker answers back. A quiet reminder of everything the two of you have built in the quiet spaces between the chaos. In the brushstrokes. In the breathing.

The gallery empties slowly, like a tide pulling away from shore. But you stay, bathed in golden light, watching the man you love exist in a room full of people who will never know him like you do. Who will never see the version of him that wakes up sleep-tousled and soft, who talks to your stomach like it already understands him, who paints love into everything he touches because he’s learned how to survive by making beauty out of ache.

2K notes · View notes

leriexoxo · 8 days ago

Text

Nowhere To Hide

Bestfriend! Hyunjin x Reader

Tags: mutual masturbation, porn, closet sex, rough sex, first time together, desperate thrusting, overstimulation, hand over mouth, biting, semi-public sex, stifled moans, creampie, aftershocks, dazed clinging, emotionally intense

Word count: 4.1k

Summary: you’re just his best friend; his open-minded, dangerously close, overly flirty best friend. so when hyunjin tells you he can’t watch porn unless someone else is in the room… you roll your eyes and let him do it. but you don’t expect to stay. you don’t expect to watch. and you definitely don’t expect to end up with his hand around your mouth, legs shaking, his cock deep inside you in a locked closet at a house party four days later.

This work contains mature themes, MINORS DO NOT INTERACT!!!

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You and Hyunjin had always been open with each other.

It was part of the reason your friendship worked — that weird, shameless kind of bond where nothing was off-limits. He could talk to you about anything. You could say things that would’ve made other people flinch, and he’d just laugh, head tipped back, telling you that your brain was his favorite place in the world.

There were no rules. Just you, and him, and the strange little rhythm you’d fallen into over the years. Late-night hangouts, casual sleepovers, the occasional too-long hug when one of you needed something unspoken. No lines ever crossed, but plenty blurred.

So when he asked you to come over that night — casual, chill, just to hang — you didn’t think twice.

You showed up in your usual post-shower state: oversized hoodie, bare legs, the kind of soft cotton underwear that felt like home. His place was warm, clean in a way that said he’d tried to impress you without saying it out loud.

He opened the door, hair messy, smile crooked. “You’re late.”

“You’re lucky I came at all.”

He stuck his tongue out. “You always come when I ask.”

You rolled your eyes, stepping in.

Maybe it was the wine. Maybe it was the quiet intimacy of the night. But somehow, two episodes into whatever trashy dating show you’d landed on, something shifted.

“Do you mind,” Hyunjin said, reaching lazily for his iPad, “if I put something else on?”

You shrugged. “Sure.”

You didn’t expect him to open his browser and pull up porn.

“Hyunjin—”

“Don’t freak out,” he said, like this was totally normal. “I’m not gonna jerk off. Just… I don’t know. I like having it on sometimes.”

You stared at him. “With me right here?”

“That’s the point.”

You blinked.

“I can’t enjoy it when I’m alone,” he said with a small shrug. “It’s not hot unless someone else is in the room. I’m not gonna do anything unless you want me to. I just… I don’t know. It feels less sad this way.”

You stared at him, mouth opening, then closing.

“Hyune,” you said slowly. “That’s not normal.”

He grinned, eyes bright with mischief. “You say that like I’m trying to be normal.”

Your instinct was to say no. To laugh it off. To tell him he was fucking insane and grab your shoes. But you didn’t.

Instead, you sighed, shaking your head, and muttered, “Fine. But you’re not allowed to make this weird.”

“I never make anything weird.”

“That’s the biggest lie you’ve ever told.”

He winked. “And yet… you’re still here.”

⸻

The video was loud. That was the first problem. The moans were high and breathy and clearly real — not the fake, over-the-top stuff that was easy to ignore.

The second problem was Hyunjin himself.

He didn’t just watch it. He felt it. Breathing in these slow, shallow hitches. Sinking back into the pillows like he was alone, even though you were right there.

You weren’t even watching the screen. You were watching him.

His mouth was slightly open. His chest rose and fell under the soft black tee he’d half-tucked into those stupid grey sweatpants — the ones you’d teased him about a thousand times for being too dangerous.

And then… he moved.

Just a shift of the hips at first. Then his hand — long fingers twitching — rested near his thigh. A rub. Absentminded at first. Then another. Slower. Firmer.

Your stomach dipped.

He groaned, soft and low. His head tilted back.

And that sound — fuck, that sound — sent a pulse straight between your legs.

You tried to ignore it. You tried so hard. But your body was already reacting before your brain could process what was happening. Your thighs pressed together. You adjusted your hoodie. You stopped breathing entirely when his eyes flicked toward you and then dropped — low, slow, hungry.

“You good?” he asked, voice hoarse.

You nodded too quickly. “Fine.”

He smiled — a little too knowingly — and exhaled. “Fuck, she sounds like you.”

You blinked. “What?”

“The girl. On the video.” His voice was dreamy, almost dazed. “She moans like you.”

You stared at him. “How would you even know that?”

He looked at you then, eyes dark and shining. “You think I’ve never heard you?”

Your skin went hot. “Hyunjin—”

“I wasn’t trying to. But you always leave your door cracked. And sometimes I’d just be passing by and then… you’d make this sound. Like you didn’t know how to stop yourself.”

You opened your mouth to say something — anything — but then he moaned again. This time because of you. He was hard now. Very visibly hard.

“God,” he whispered. “Why is this so much hotter with you here?”

You didn’t answer. Couldn’t.

Your body was buzzing. Your underwear damp. And every inch of space between you suddenly felt razor-thin, unbearable.

“Touch yourself,” he said, almost breathless.

You shook your head, barely.

He leaned in, voice low. “Please.”

You swallowed. “Why?”

“Because I need it,” he said, groaning again as he pressed into his palm. “And I don’t want to be the only one.”

His eyes flicked to your legs.

“You’re turned on.”

“I’m not—”

“You are.” His voice was firmer now. “I can see it. The way your thighs are clenched. The way you’re breathing.”

You looked away. He reached out, gently brushing your knee.

“Look at me.”

You did.

“I swear,” he said, “I’ll stop if you tell me to. But if you want this even a little… just stay.”

You exhaled. Shaky. Unsure. Wet.

And you stayed. Neither of you said anything for a long moment.

The porn still played softly in the background, but it was just noise now — the tension in the room had turned so dense it pressed in on your skin like heat, like breath.

Hyunjin dragged his bottom lip between his teeth and exhaled slowly through his nose. His hand hadn’t left his lap.

You were still watching him.

And he was watching you watching him.

“Do you want me to stop?” he asked, voice hoarse.

Your chest tightened. “No.”

That was all he needed.

He shifted closer, just barely, and let out a sound — low, needy — as he rolled his hips against his palm. The motion was subtle, but it jolted through you like lightning. He rubbed again, slow, firm, a deliberate drag of pressure down the thick line in his sweatpants.

Your thighs clenched instinctively. You were soaked. You could feel it — the press of cotton against slick skin, the fluttering ache that had been growing steadily in your core from the moment he started moaning.

He looked drunk off it. His mouth was open, panting softly. His eyes flicked over your face, down your body, then back to your eyes.

“Touch yourself,” he said again, quieter this time. “I want to see what you look like when you’re needy.”

You let out a breath that trembled.

Your hand moved before your mind could stop it — sliding under the hem of your hoodie, then beneath the waistband of your underwear. Hyunjin’s eyes followed every inch.

“Oh my god” he whispered.

Your fingers dipped into yourself. Soaked.

Your breath hitched hard.

Hyunjin groaned — loud, ragged — and dropped his head back against the headboard, his hand now gripping the full length of his cock over his sweats. The bulge was thick and heavy, straining the fabric.

“Fuck, you’re touching yourself,” he rasped. “I can’t believe you’re actually…”

You moaned — quietly, shakily — and he snapped his eyes open.

“Say something,” he begged. “Tell me what you feel like.”

“I’m wet,” you whispered, eyes closing. “I’ve never been this wet just from watching someone.”

That made him gasp.

“God—fuck—” He shoved his sweatpants down just enough to free himself, and suddenly you couldn’t look away.

He was long, flushed red at the tip, already glistening with pre-cum.

You whimpered.

His eyes fluttered shut at the sound.

“You’re fucking beautiful,” he muttered. “You know that? Just—so fucking pretty when you touch yourself like that. Show me more.”

You moved your fingers again, slow and deliberate, spreading the slickness and brushing over your clit. Your hips arched subtly into the motion, breath stuttering.

Hyunjin watched like a man starved.

“I want to taste you,” he said suddenly, voice broken. “Fuck—I want my face between your legs so bad.”

Your whole body shuddered.

He jerked himself once, twice — not fast, but hard. Focused. Like he was trying to memorize the way it felt while staring at you.

You moaned again, louder this time. Embarrassed at how fast your body was unraveling.

“I’ve thought about this before,” he confessed, still stroking. “Not like this exactly. But… you. Under me. Wet and panting. Saying my name.”

You bit your lip, fingers moving faster now. “I didn’t think we’d ever—”

“Me neither,” he whispered. “But now I don’t even want to stop.”

The air was charged, burning.

You were close. So close it was making your knees tremble.

Hyunjin leaned in again, his free hand brushing against your thigh as if asking for permission.

You didn’t stop him.

His lips were inches from your ear when he whispered, “Let me help.”

You paused. Swallowed.

He watched you — tense, hopeful, ruined — until you nodded.

And then… the shift happened.

Hyunjin slipped his hand down, fingers brushing yours under the band of your underwear. You gasped, but didn’t pull away. He cupped you gently, middle finger sliding through the mess you’d made.

“Oh my fucking god,” he whispered. “You’re soaked.”

Your head dropped against his shoulder.

“You made me like this,” you breathed.

“Yeah?” he said, voice shaking. “You like watching me stroke my cock for you?”

You whimpered again. “Yes—fuck, yes.”

He slid his finger in, slow and deep, while still stroking himself with the other hand. You cried out, biting down on your hoodie sleeve as he moved inside you, curling slightly.

“Come for me,” he said, lips against your temple. “Please. I want to see you fall apart.”

It didn’t take long.

Your body clenched tight, the pressure building sharp and sudden until it broke — heat flooding you from the inside out, your voice catching as you gasped and ground against his hand.

Hyunjin let out a desperate groan and came right after you, hot and heavy against his stomach, chest rising in ragged breaths as his hips jerked through the last few strokes.

You both collapsed sideways into the pillows, breathing hard, sweaty, trembling.

For a moment, it was quiet.

Then—

“That was…” you began, voice wrecked.

“I know.” He laughed, still panting. “I know.”

You turned your head to look at him. His hair was a mess. His lips were red. His eyes were soft now — not teasing, not smug. Just open.

“That didn’t feel casual,” you whispered.

His gaze dropped to your mouth.

“No,” he said. “It didn’t.”

You didn’t know what would come next.

⸻

The worst part wasn’t what happened between you.

It was the silence after.

The way everything between you and Hyunjin felt louder because no one was talking about it.

You’d spent the last three nights pretending that orgasm hadn’t happened. That your fingers hadn’t tangled with his. That he hadn’t whispered I want to taste you while stroking himself, eyes on your mouth.

You didn’t talk about it. You couldn’t.

But the tension between you? You may as well have been shouting.

He sat closer now. Looked longer. He didn’t tease like he used to — not playfully, not harmlessly. Now every glance had heat. Every brush of skin felt intentional.

So when Jisung shouted across the living room, “Let’s play hide and seek — losers get a punishment dare,” you already knew something was going to go wrong.

Because you and Hyunjin couldn’t be trusted anymore.

⸻

You didn’t even plan to hide in the closet.

You were laughing, breathless, the count ticking down — Ten! Nine! Eight! — and you darted around a corner in the hallway looking for literally anywhere to disappear.

The closet door was cracked open.

You pushed in and—

“Shit—!”

A hand reached out to yank you the rest of the way in.

Hyunjin.

He shoved the door closed behind you both, muffling your gasp, then exhaled hard against your ear.

You were chest to chest. Pressed flush to him. The closet was barely the size of a broom closet — coats brushing your cheeks, the smell of old cedar, the wood beneath your bare feet cool from the tile.

“Seriously?” you whispered, half-giggling. “You’re here?”

“You ran into me,” he hissed. “Be quiet—”

Footsteps passed in the hallway. The sound of someone shouting: “Not in the bathroom!”

You both stilled.

And then you started laughing.

Quiet, breathy little giggles that made your shoulders shake. His hands were on your hips now, steadying you, his face so close you could feel his mouth twitch into a smile.

“Shhh,” he whispered, amused. “You’re gonna get us caught.”

“It’s your fault,” you whispered back.

“Yeah?” His breath ghosted your cheek. “Pretty sure it’s yours.”

Your back hit the wall as you shifted to give him room. But there was no room. Nowhere to go.

His thigh brushed up between yours. Your knee bent just slightly.

And that’s when you felt it.

The slow, unmistakable press of something hard against your hip.

You froze.

Hyunjin did, too.

“Hyunjin—?” you whispered.

He didn’t answer right away. His breath had turned shallow, his forehead dropping forward slightly to rest against the wall beside your head.

“I’m sorry,” he said finally. “I can’t help it.”

His voice was low. Strained. Honest.

You swallowed.

It didn’t feel like a joke. It didn’t even feel like a dare. It just… was. Real. Present. Pressed right up against you.

The memory of that night came rushing back — the way he gasped when you moaned, the wet sound of your bodies moving in sync, the look in his eyes when he touched you like it meant something.

And now you were here.

Too close. Too warm. Your short dress had ridden up when he pulled you in, and your bare legs were brushing his sweatpants with every shaky inhale.

You should’ve moved away.

You didn’t.

Instead, you whispered, “This is dangerous.”

He nodded. Barely. “I know.”

Your hands were on his chest, fingers curled into the soft fabric of his shirt. His hands still sat heavy on your hips. Neither of you were breathing quite right.

And then—you shifted.

Just the smallest movement. An unconscious roll of your hips as you tried to balance.

And Hyunjin let out the quietest, shattered groan.

Your stomach dropped.

“Don’t do that,” he whispered.

“Do what?” But your voice was thinner now.

“That.”

You did it again. Just to be sure. The press of your core against him was slow, experimental — your thin underwear the only barrier between your body and the thick, hard line of his cock beneath his sweats.

He whined.

Low, soft, desperate.

His forehead dropped to your shoulder. You felt him tremble.

“You can’t grind on me like that,” he breathed.

“You were already hard.”

“And now you’re already wet.”

The words punched the breath out of your lungs.

You didn’t say anything — couldn’t — and instead let yourself roll against him again, slowly this time, hips rocking once more into his.

His mouth dropped open. You felt it brush your skin.

“Fuck, you’re killing me,” he groaned.

The coats swayed faintly beside you as he gently pressed you back into the wall, his hands tightening at your waist, thumbs brushing under the edge of your dress.

You gasped quietly as he rocked up into you, the friction too good, too familiar.

“I think about it every night,” he whispered, like it hurt. “The way you sound when you come. How soft you were. How hot your hand felt over mine.”

You were burning.

Your body responded before your mind did — rocking again, your arms slipping up around his neck to muffle a soft, stuttering moan into his shoulder.

He cursed under his breath.

Then he stilled. His hand cupped your jaw, tilting your face up to meet his.

“Tell me to stop,” he said.

You didn’t.

Instead, you leaned in — your lips brushing his, breath against breath, heart in your throat.

And that’s when the closet door creaked.

“Anyone in here?” someone called.

You and Hyunjin froze.

Your mouth hovered over his.

Neither of you moved. Neither of you dared.

The door didn’t open.

Footsteps passed.

And the second you were alone again, Hyunjin exhaled.

You were still catching your breath when you heard it.

The soft click of the inside lock.

Hyunjin had turned the tiny latch on the closet door — sealing you both inside.

Your eyes darted to his, wide, breathless, heart kicking.

“What are you doing—?”

But he was already shifting you, gentle but firm.

Turning you in the dark, pressing your front to the wall of the closet, your palms flat against the wood paneling, your chest rising and falling in sharp, uneven breaths.

His voice came at your ear, low and wrecked. “I can’t pretend anymore.”

His hands slid up your thighs — slow, reverent, shaking slightly — fingers brushing the hem of your dress, pushing it higher until it was bunched around your hips.

You gasped when you felt it — the warm weight of his cock, thick and flushed, freed from his sweats and nestled right in the crease of your thighs. Hot, hard skin against the damp cotton of your panties.

“Hyunjin—” You tried to say something. Anything.

But then he rocked forward.

And your mind blanked.

The first thrust wasn’t deep, wasn’t precise — just a desperate press of his cock between your thighs, dragging the thick head right along your clothed pussy.

You whimpered.

Your knees nearly buckled.

His breath left him in a shaky hiss. “Holy fuck—”

You didn’t realize you were moving until you were rocking back against him — instinctive, helpless — meeting every slow rut of his hips with the arch of your spine.

The friction was perfect.

Each thrust of his cock between your thighs rubbed right against your clit through the soaked fabric. It felt filthy. Overwhelming. Like a fever dream you didn’t dare wake up from.

And then his mouth was on your neck.

Hot, open, wet kisses down your jaw, your pulse, his tongue tasting your skin like he’d wanted to for years. His hands grabbed your hips, greedy now, pulling you tighter against him with every roll of his body.

You were panting, trembling, moaning softly into the wall with every pass of his cock between your slick thighs.

“Fucking hell,” he muttered, voice unraveling, “you feel so—shit—so soft.”

You turned your head, breath shallow, eyes finding his in the dark.

“Hyunjin,” you whispered.

His mouth crashed into yours before the word could fully leave you.

It wasn’t sweet. It wasn’t careful.

It was desperate.

Tongue and teeth, lips parted, mouths gasping against each other like this kiss had been trapped between you for years. Like he was starving for it. Like you’d never survive it.

You grabbed at his hair. He groaned into your mouth.

His hand slid up your front, fingers curling under the fabric of your dress, and suddenly he was palming your breast — rough, hungry, his thumb brushing your nipple through the lace of your bra.

You arched into his hand.

He bit your lip.

You whined, trembling, your voice cracking. “I need you.”

He froze.

Your words hung in the air — too raw, too loud, too real.

Then he growled, deep in his chest.

And his hand moved.

Down your stomach. Past the waistband of your underwear. Two fingers slid through your soaked slit and came away dripping.

He hissed, whispering something under his breath you couldn’t catch.

Then he hooked his fingers under your thong — pulled it aside.

And you felt him.

The head of his cock, hot and heavy, slipping between your folds. Your knees nearly gave out.

“Are you sure?” he breathed. “Fuck—tell me.”

You didn’t hesitate.

“Yes. Please—”

He didn’t wait another second.

He gripped your hip, braced a hand on the wall beside your head, and with a single smooth thrust, sank into you.

You gasped — loud and broken.

He groaned like it hurt.

Like he’d been dreaming of this for too fucking long.

You could barely breathe.

He filled you so completely you felt split open. Every inch of him slid deep, hot and thick, your body clenching around him like it had been aching for this—like it knew him.

Hyunjin stayed still at first.

Forehead to your shoulder, panting, hand tight on your hip like he was trying to ground himself.

“Fuck,” he whispered. “You feel like heaven.”

You whined — a low, raw sound — hips rolling back into him, your fingers scraping the wall for anything to hold on to.

That was all it took.

His restraint snapped.

His hips drew back.

And then he started fucking you.

It wasn’t slow anymore.

It wasn’t careful.

It was frantic, overwhelming, wet — the obscene slap of skin-on-skin muffled only slightly by the coats around you, your slick dripping down the inside of your thighs with each thrust.

You tried to be quiet. You really did.

But every time his cock drove into you, you couldn’t stop the moans — breathy and soft at first, then high and frantic as his pace picked up.

And when a louder gasp escaped your mouth—

His hand clamped over it.

Large, warm, shaking fingers curled across your lips, muffling the helpless sounds spilling from you as he pounded into you from behind.

You whimpered into his palm.

His voice broke right beside your ear. “I’m sorry, baby—I need you quiet—can’t let them hear—”

You nodded. Barely.

But your body was shaking. Your walls fluttering around him. And Hyunjin knew you were close.

So he got mean.

Rougher.

He slammed into you harder, his cock dragging across all the right spots, your thighs trembling from the pressure of each thrust — and the filthiest part? You were soaked. The squelch of your cunt around him was wet and loud and pornographic, and it only made him fuck you harder.

You bit down.

Hard.

Right into the base of his palm as his hand stayed tight over your mouth.

He groaned, bucking into you like it drove him insane.

“Shit—fuck, just like that—”

He lost rhythm for a second, stuttering into you, hand slipping from your mouth to your throat, thumb under your jaw to tilt your head back, mouth against your skin again.

Then he bit down.

His teeth sank into the soft curve of your shoulder as he buried himself deep, his moans muffled into your skin.

You swore you blacked out for a second.

You couldn’t tell which way was up anymore — just the overwhelming drag of his cock, the heat in your belly, the white-noise roar in your ears as your orgasm crept higher, hotter, inevitable.

“Fuck—Hyunjin—I’m gonna—”

“I know,” he groaned. “I feel you, baby—fuck, you’re squeezing me so tight—”

You came with a cry into his wrist, your whole body spasming.

Everything snapped — the pressure, the tension, the weeks of unsaid things between you, all of it boiling over in that moment as you fell apart on his cock.

He barely held it together.

You felt him twitch inside you, pace faltering, his voice falling to ragged, desperate whimpers.

“Fuckfuckfuck—oh my god, I’m gonna—can I—inside—?”

You nodded, dazed. “Yes—yes, please—”

One more thrust. Deep. Hot.

And he came with a bitten-off moan into your neck, his body jerking hard as he spilled into you — thick, hot spurts of cum painting your insides, his cock buried deep as he rode out every last pulse, twitching and trembling.

You slumped forward, boneless.

His arms caught you. Held you there.

Both of you breathing like you’d run miles. Sweaty. Shaking. Still joined, still stuffed full.

The closet spun in silence.

And when his hand finally fell from your mouth, you whispered — voice shot, lips swollen —

“…We can’t ever just be friends again, can we?”

And Hyunjin, still inside you, kissed your shoulder like it was a promise.

“No,” he said. “We’re so fucked.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Authors note: HIIIIIIIIII!!!! Breakfast is served (or lunch or dinner lol) 😂 personally i think this is the filthiest hyunjin fic i have written… right? I cant even remember lol! So i got that closet idea from this edit… saw it and my brain short-circuited 😭🫠❤️ And now we are here!

Give this a lot of love! Also update; i have officially started writing my first original novel 🥹 ahhhhh

Taglist: @malunar28replies @minchanlimbo @mal-lunar-28 @breakmeofftbr @itvenorica124 @slut4junho @deepblueocean97 @thequibbie @yaorzu-blog @imagine-all-the-imagines @just-bria @mischievousleeknow @ifyxu @melanctton @thelostprincessofasgard @binniebb @sillylittlecat1 @darkwitchoferie @m-325 @headfirstfortoro @imseungminsgf @ihrtlix @vernorica123 @hwangjoanna @swordswallower2000 @niki007 @yxna-bliss @firelordtsuki @justwonder113 @mbioooo0000 @sammhisphere @nebugalaxy @cutecucumberkimberly @chancloud8 @sunflwerstar @shxdowofdarkness @aeyla @annyeongffs @beppybeesnuggets @iamwritteninyourstars @crisle19 @stxysakura

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inseobts · 2 months ago

Text

Tell Me No Lies

law x fem!reader

you’re a psychologist who can spot any lie and that makes law keep his distance, afraid you’ll see how he truly feels. but when a mission forces you to pose as his lover, the lines between act and reality blur fast.

a/n: this was a request but since it's really long I summarized it

words count: 3.9k

tags: slow burn, mutual pining, undercover couple, spicy but not smut, fluff, tension, crewmates being chaotic

masterlist || ao3 || ko-fi

“You want me to do what?”

Your voice slices through the meeting room of the Polar Tang like a dagger, sharp, pointed, and just a little amused.

Penguin holds up his hands, grinning like he’s already imagined you and Law making out in a booth “Not my idea! Bepo came up with it.”

Bepo, ever innocent, blinks “It’s logical. Varrick lies constantly. You can tell when people lie. Captain’s the one meeting him. It’s simple.”

You stare “You want us to act like a couple.”

“Just for the night!” Shachi chimes in from where he’s stuffing chips in his mouth “The place is a casino-slash-brothel. No one goes in there looking like a business partner. You show up all cold and stiff, he’ll know something’s up.”

Law hasn’t said a word.

He sits at the head of the table, arms folded, expression blank. But you know that face. He’s thinking. Calculating. Fighting something.

Then, flatly “Fine.”

You blink “Fine?”

“You’ll have to stay close,” Law adds, eyes flicking to yours “I can’t talk in code around Varrick, and I doubt we’ll get a second chance if he feels like we’re onto him.”

“So, what, I sit on your lap and play with your hair while you ask about Navy routes?” you ask, raising an eyebrow.

Penguin snorts soda through his nose.

Law doesn’t miss a beat “If it gets us the truth.”

You swallow hard. Because that should not have sounded that smooth.

Later, in your room, you stand in front of the mirror, pulling on the final piece of your dress, a deep red number that hugs your waist and legs and dips dangerously low down your back. You smooth it down, checking the slit up your thigh, the way the silk shimmers under the ship lights.

“You don’t have to look like a goddess,” you mutter to your reflection “You just need to catch a liar.”

But damn it, the dress works. And the second you step into the hallway, you hear Shachi’s voice echo from down the corridor “Caaaptaaaain!”

You freeze.

“Don’t be mad when she looks hotter than you, bro!” Penguin adds, loud enough that it bounces off the steel walls.

“Stop yelling” Law says from somewhere out of sight. His voice is tense.

You round the corner and stop dead.

Oh no.

Law... Law is in a black suit, crisp and clean, no tie, the top buttons of his shirt undone. His hair’s slicked back just enough to make your throat go dry. Tattoos peek out at the edge of his collar. He’s leaning against the wall, looking at his den-den mushi, but when he looks up and sees you his fingers still. His eyes trail down, slow. Too slow.

You hear Shachi whisper “damn” under his breath and fist bump Penguin like they just won a bet.

Law clears his throat “You’re… ready.”

You tilt your head, smirking “You look nice too. Didn’t know you owned a suit.”

“It was a gift” he mutters.

You take a step forward “From who? Someone who wanted to see you flustered?”

His jaw ticks “I’m not flustered.”

You do notice the slight red creeping up the back of his neck. Just a little. Enough.

Before either of you can pretend to be normal, the rest of the crew crowds the hallway behind you.

Bepo holds up a little camera “Say cheese.”

“We’re not taking pictures” Law snaps.

“Oh come on,” Penguin grins “Look at you two!”

“You’re never letting this go, are you?” you ask, eyes narrowing.

“Nope.”

Shachi elbows Bepo “Ten bucks says they come back married.”

Bepo nods solemnly “I’ll take that bet.”

Law groans and starts walking past them, ignoring the chaos.

You trail after him, heels clicking on the metal. As you pass the guys, you whisper, “Try not to blow our cover.”

Penguin winks “Go get that intel... and maybe some action.”

You don’t answer but your cheeks are hotter than they should be.

And the second Law opens the hatch to the upper deck, the cold sea air hits you and so does the reality of the night ahead.

The casino is loud. Velvet-lined walls drown out the outside world, while gold lights glint off dice and crystal glasses. Somewhere near the back, a piano plays slow jazz. It’s all soft temptation and sharpened edges.

You walk in beside Law, his arm around your waist. His fingers rest against the small of your back like they belong there, not too tight, not too loose. Just… there.

You can feel the heat of his palm through the silk of your dress. You can feel everything.

Stay focused.

Varrick is waiting in a private corner booth, exactly where intel said he’d be. He’s slouched in the plush seat like he owns the place, surrounded by too many drinks and not enough class. Rings clink against his glass as he lifts it.

“Trafalgar Law!” he says, standing with a grin too wide to be real “Wasn’t expecting you to bring arm candy.”

Law’s arm tightens around you. Not protectively. Possessively.

“She’s more than that,” he says, calm as ever “But she doesn’t like to talk much.”

You smile politely at Varrick, then glance at Law from the corner of your eye.

Smart. That gives you the freedom to observe.

You slide into the booth beside Law, close, but with just enough space between you to keep your focus.

Varrick leans forward “So, you wanted info on that Navy ship?”

Law nods “I heard it was seen heading east out of Ivona Port last week.”

Varrick shrugs, swirling his drink lazily “Could be. Could be west. Hard to say.”

You place your hand lightly on Law’s thigh. Barely a touch. Just enough.

Lie.

Law’s eyes don’t move. His posture doesn’t change. But his fingers tap against the glass in front of him once, acknowledging you.

Varrick chuckles “You know, these Navy guys come and go. They don’t tell me everything.”

Your fingers slide up, brushing over the inside of Law’s wrist as you reach for your own drink.

Another lie.

Law hums “Then tell me what you do know.”

“I know they’re not looking for pirates right now,” Varrick says “Some big job further north. Something to do with weapons.”

Your nails gently press into the back of Law’s hand, slow and deliberate.

Lie.

You feel him tense slightly. Like he’s thinking.

“Do you want something in return for this info?” Law asks coolly.

Varrick grins “Only a little favor later. Nothing serious.”

Even now he's lying.

This time you run your fingers slowly down Law’s forearm, letting your touch linger like a lover’s caress. But it’s all code. All signal.

Law shifts beside you. To anyone watching, it just looks like he’s turning toward you, lips brushing close to your ear.

“You’re sure?” he murmurs.

You nod “Three lies so far.”

“Mm.”

Varrick raises a brow “You two are cute, y’know that? Real cozy. If I didn’t know better, I’d say you’re actually into each other.”

Law leans in, his lips grazing the edge of your cheek as he speaks “We are.”

Your heart skips.

You almost miss the way Varrick’s mouth twitches at that. A little wrinkle in the corner of his eyes. Something flickers. Jealousy?

“Lucky guy then...” Varrick mutters.

Law’s arm moves from your waist to your lower back, pulling you closer. Not fake this time. Not calculated. His hand is warm, firm, fingers curling possessively.

You’re practically in his lap now.

You keep your eyes on Varrick “So what’s the Navy doing near Blue Rock Island?”

He flinches.

Small. Quick. But you see it.

You drag your hand up Law’s chest like you’re playing with his shirt but your fingers dig in slightly at his collarbone.

That’s the truth. That’s the target.

Law tilts his head slightly, voice low and smooth “Blue Rock, huh?”

Varrick blinks, caught off guard.

You glance at Law just for a second and see it.

His eyes are calm. But his pulse at his neck is faster now. You shouldn’t be this close. He shouldn’t be looking at you like that. You’re supposed to be watching the informant, but now you’re catching the way Law’s lips part ever so slightly when you shift in his lap. The way his breath hitches.

He’s too good at hiding. You never have a baseline for him and suddenly, you realize you do now. You’ve been close enough tonight to read him. Feel him.

So when his ears turn red the moment Varrick leaves the table you finally know what his tell is.

“You’re enjoying this” Law mutters as Varrick disappears into the crowd.

You swirl the last sip of wine in your glass “Enjoying not getting stabbed in a double-cross? Sure.”

“That’s not what I meant.”

You turn your head slowly toward him, lashes low, a smirk threatening at the corner of your mouth “No? Then clarify, Captain.”

His jaw clenches.

You lean in “Or are you upset I figured out your tell?”

Silence.

Got him.

He doesn’t move. Doesn’t look at you. Just sips from his glass like he’s trying not to set it down too hard. You watch his throat bob, slow and tight. He’s flustered. Controlled but clearly struggling to keep that control.

Which is dangerous and tempting.

You reach out, brush something “imaginary” from his collar, letting your fingers drag across the base of his throat. He stiffens just slightly, and you swear under that cool expression, his eyes darken.

“I’m not ready to leave” you say casually, turning away to scan the floor “We did the job. Got the truth. Maybe we deserve a little fun.”

Law doesn’t argue. That alone is suspicious.

So you both stay. You drink. You people-watch. You flirt, just enough to be part of the act. And he plays along, letting his hand rest low on your back, murmuring sarcastic commentary about the drunk nobles and sleazy gamblers, voice low and rough in your ear.

But then Varrick returns.

You’re seated now in a more open lounge, a couch near the roulette tables. Varrick walks up with a drink and a too-easy smile.

“Forgot one little detail,” he says, tone casual “Seems like the Navy isn’t after pirates right now because they’re meeting with one. Some kind of alliance. Dunno who.”

Lie.

You shift against Law and drag your fingers along his inner thigh, too slow to be innocent.

Varrick talks more, and you let your hands wander. One arm over Law’s shoulder, the other toying with the fabric of his jacket. A fingertip gliding along the inked edge of his collarbone. Every time Varrick lies, you punish Law with a new touch.

You want to see how much he can take.

When you trail your hand up to the side of his neck and run your thumb along his jaw, you feel it. That little twitch. A shiver. His hand slides up your waist and grips tight, like a warning.

You lean in, lips brushing his ear.

“He’s lying again.”

Your voice is barely above a breath.

“And you’re pushing it” Law growls, so low only you can hear.

But you just smile and press a kiss to his cheek, slow and lingering “Don’t lose your composure, Captain. Someone might think you’re affected.”

Varrick finally gets bored and excuses himself, clearly thinking he’s dropped enough bait.

The second he’s out of sight, Law stands.

“You come with me. Now.”

You blink “Excuse me?”

He doesn’t even look back. Just starts walking toward the upstairs hall of the casino. Like he already knows you’ll follow.

Which… you do.

Up the stairs, past the velvet curtain, through the dim corridor lined with private doors. He finds an empty suite with a key card left in the slot—probably reserved for VIPs or those with a winning streak.

He opens it.

You step inside, the door clicking shut behind you.

And then he pins you to the wall. Hands at your side, like blocking you. Eyes burning.

“You’re playing a dangerous game,” he says, voice rough “Do you even know what you’re doing?”

You pretend to think “Touching my captain in public? Flirting with a man who’s obviously holding back? Yeah. I know exactly what I’m doing.”

His gaze flickers from your lips to your eyes and back again. His breath is hot against your face.

“Tell me if you want to stop.”

You grab his lapel and pull him down.

“I’ll tell you if you lie.”

For a few long seconds, Law doesn’t move.

His fingers flex on your hips, like he’s debating whether to pull you in or push you away. His eyes are on yours, unreadable to anyone else but you can see it now. The cracks in that cold, calculated shell. The tension. The restraint.

You’ve spent months trying to get a baseline on him. To decode his behavior. Now? You are the baseline.

And he’s struggling.

“I should let you go” he mutters, voice low, more to himself than to you.

“But you won’t” you whisper back.

His eyes drop to your lips “No.”

He steps closer. Your back is fully against the wall now, your breath tangled with his. You tilt your chin up, almost daring him.

“What’s holding you back?” you ask.

His mouth twitches “You.”

A beat.

Then “You’re too good at reading people.”

You grin “So are you.”

His hand slips to the back of your thigh, just under the slit of your dress. Not high, but enough to make your pulse skip “You’ve been testing me all night.”

“Guilty.”

“You think it’s funny watching me lose control?”

“I think it’s hot.”

That does it.

He lets out a quiet, sharp breath, like he’s just given up fighting gravity, and leans in until your foreheads are pressed together. His hand stays on your thigh. His other lands on the wall beside your head.

You whisper, “You’re not usually like this.”

“No,” he says “You bring it out.”

You stay like that for a moment, so close, heat radiating between you, neither of you quite touching where it counts. The tension is unbearable in the best way. It’s not just attraction. It’s months of silence, near-misses, unsaid things finally rising to the surface.

Law is still Law, he's collected and composed, but now you know what it costs him. You feel the restraint humming under his skin like electricity.

You reach up and slide your fingers into the hair at the nape of his neck. He shivers.

“Stay” he says. It’s not a command. It’s almost… a request.

You nod, slow “I’m not going anywhere.”

He finally steps back, not far, just enough to breathe, and moves to the bed. Sits on the edge, running a hand over his face like he’s trying to reset.

You take the moment to look around. The room is warm-toned, elegant. One massive bed in the center. Silk sheets. Balcony window cracked open to let in the sound of crashing waves and soft jazz from below.

You sit beside him, gently bumping his shoulder “So. What now?”

Law doesn’t look at you “Now, we sleep.”

You raise an eyebrow “You’re going to act like none of that happened?”

“I didn’t say that” he replies, voice quiet.

He leans back, hands braced behind him, eyes finally meeting yours “I’m saying we don’t have to rush it.”

Your heart stutters.

He adds, almost awkwardly, “This isn’t just the mission. Not for me.”

You don’t tease him this time. Instead, you smile, warm and soft.

“Not for me either.”

He pulls off his jacket, tosses it over the chair. Starts unbuttoning his cuffs. You stand and go to the bathroom to remove your heels and freshen up, giving him space, and maybe yourself a moment to breathe.

When you come back, Law’s already under the covers, shirt slightly open, tattooed chest half-visible in the low light. He’s facing the wall.

But when you slip in beside him, he immediately turns over and pulls you in, an arm draped over your waist, forehead pressing into your shoulder like it’s the most natural thing in the world.

The room is quiet now.

The casino noise is a distant hum through the balcony window, soft music, muffled laughter, the whirl of spinning wheels and shuffled cards. But inside, it’s just the sound of two hearts beating faster than they should.

You’re lying on your side, Law behind you, one arm slung around your waist like it belongs there. His hand rests just beneath your ribs, warm and heavy. Not demanding. Just… steady.

The silence stretches. Not awkward, but charged. Comfortable, yet not quite safe.

Your voice cuts through it, soft and curious.

“If we’re just gonna sleep… then why here? Why not go back to the ship?”

You feel him pause behind you. Not tense but thoughtful.

He exhales through his nose “Because.”

“Because?”

His voice drops, rough like he hasn’t decided if he wants to answer honestly “Because if I took you back to the ship, I wouldn’t be able to do this.”

He shifts slowly and pulls you in tighter, chest pressed to your back now. His nose brushes your neck, and his breath sends a shiver down your spine.

You barely manage a whisper “This?”

He hums “Stay close. Let myself… feel something.”

You blink. That wasn’t what you expected.

He continues, quietly “On the ship, I’m your captain. In control. Always thinking. Always five steps ahead.”

You glance over your shoulder, catching the faintest edge of vulnerability in his eyes.

“And here?” you ask.

“Here,” he says, “I get to be a man lying next to someone who makes him forget all of that.”

You don’t answer for a moment.

Then, deliberately, you reach back and trail your fingers down his forearm, slow and gentle.

“Good,” you whisper “Because I like this version of you.”

You feel his smile against your skin.

He doesn’t say anything else. Just tucks his face into your neck like he’s finally allowing himself to breathe.

You shift slightly.

Not much. Just enough to test the space between you.

He doesn’t stop you.

So you turn.

You roll slowly to face him, your knees brushing his under the covers, your chest barely touching his. The low golden light from the hallway filters in through the crack under the door, just enough to catch the edge of his face, his jaw, his eyes, that small crease between his brows.

He’s watching you. Carefully. Quietly.

You speak, low and honest “You’re not the only one who forgets how to breathe around the other.”

His expression flickers. Just a second. But enough for you to see hope, doubt, desire. Then gone again.

You lift your hand to his cheek, gentle.

Then he kisses you.

Hard.

There’s nothing hesitant in it. No more caution, no more reading cues, no more pretend. Just heat, and months of tension finally snapping. His hand slides to the back of your neck, pulling you in deeper.

You kiss him back with everything you’ve been holding in.

Your hands move instinctively, one gripping his shirt, the other slipping around his waist. He shifts, pressing you into the mattress, his knee between yours, his breath shaky against your lips.

When he finally pulls back, just an inch, his forehead rests against yours. Both of you breathing like you’ve just surfaced from underwater.

You whisper, “That didn’t feel like something we’ll forget in the morning.”

Law shakes his head slightly, lips brushing yours.

“It’s not.”

Another beat.

Then you add, teasing, “So much for just sleeping.”

His mouth curves into a tired smile, eyes half-lidded “You started it.”

You laugh soft and warm and tangled in sheets and tension.

And when he pulls you close again, one hand splayed across your lower back, your smile fades into something quieter. Something real.

Because this time, neither of you is pretending.

The next morning, the sun isn’t even fully up when you and Law leave the casino.

No one says anything at first. You walk side by side, close enough that your arms keep brushing, but not close enough to make it obvious.

At least, that’s what you tell yourself.

But the second the Polar Tang comes into view, the nerves hit you like a cannonball.

You’re holding your heels in one hand, the other arm looped awkwardly around your waist to keep Law’s massive coat closed over your dress. Your own shoes were giving you blisters, so somewhere between the casino lobby and the harbor, Law, annoyed and muttering, slipped out of his and made you wear them.

Now here you are, flopping around the deck in his too-big shoes while he walks beside you in his socks, lipstick faintly smudged across the corner of his jaw.

You don’t look at each other. You cannot look at each other.

And then just as your foot slips slightly in one of his clunky boots “Well, well, well… Look who finally decided to come back.”

Shachi.

Leaning on the railing with a bowl of cereal and way too much smugness for six in the morning.

You freeze.

Penguin appears from the stairwell, blinking at you both. His gaze travels from your tousled hair to your crooked dress zipper, to Law’s missing shoes, to your very obvious lipstick on his jaw.

He lets out a slow, exaggerated whistle.

“That,” he says, pointing his spoon between the two of you, “was not part of the mission.”

Law doesn’t even flinch. Just keeps walking, face unreadable except for the ears burning red.

You try to look casual. Like you didn’t just sneak off a casino floor at sunrise “We, uh... we stayed for surveillance reasons.”

Penguin snorts “Yeah, I bet you were surveilling something.”

You shoot him a glare, still wearing Law’s boots “My heel broke.”

“Sure it did. And your lipstick broke too? All over the captain’s face?”

You reach up automatically to touch your lips, and groan when you realize he’s right.

Law growls under his breath “Enough.”

But Shachi’s having too much fun “Man, I thought you’d at least try to sneak back on like it didn’t happen. This is so much better.”

“Do you want to swim today, Shachi?” Law deadpans.

Bepo pops his head out of the hallway “Did you two share a bed? Was it part of the act or did something actually happen? Because you both look like—”

“Bepo.” Law cuts him off like a gunshot.

You turn to face Law, trying so hard not to laugh because the man looks like he wants to teleport to another planet. His hair’s still a little messy. His collar’s open. And he’s got the exact same expression he had when you kissed him: that barely-holding-it-together calm that only you can see cracking.

You mutter under your breath, “We should’ve never come back.”

Law nods “Agreed.”

Then, just when you’re about to make a break for your quarters, Law stops and turns.

He grabs your hand.

The crew goes dead silent.

He lifts your fingers to his lips in one smooth motion. Kisses them.

Soft. Deliberate.

Then walks off with all the calm dignity of a man in socks who’s still the most dangerous person in the room.

Your brain short-circuits. The crew loses their minds.

Penguin lets out a strangled “WHAT—”

Shachi screams “HE’S IN LOVE!!!”

And you’re just standing there, one hand in the air, heart about to burst out of your chest.

You finally bolt down the hallway toward your room, calling back “I’M NOT TALKING ABOUT THIS!!”

Bepo shouts after you, “CONGRATULATIONS ON YOUR EMOTIONAL MATURITY!”

You slam your door shut, cheeks on fire, heart racing, and a stupid smile you can’t shake no matter how hard you try.

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luna-azzurra · 2 months ago

Text

Crafting Breakup Scenes That Actually Hurt

(because “we can still be friends” is a war crime)

Listen, if your characters are splitting up and the vibe is “mutual and mature” and “no tears at all”, congratulations, you’ve written a politely boring obituary for a relationship. Breakups are messy. Even the amicable ones. Especially the amicable ones. Because it's not just losing a person, it's losing the version of yourself that existed next to them.

❥ The “We’re Still Halfway in Love” Break Most people don't walk away clean. They still love each other a little. Or a lot. It's not a neat amputation—it’s tearing Velcro off skin. Show that ache. The lingering looks. The fingers almost reaching out and then clenching into fists instead. The “if one of us said ‘stay’ right now, this wouldn’t end” tension. Make your readers beg for one of them to crack and then don't let them.

One character leaves their favorite sweater behind. Not on purpose. Not exactly. They just... forget it. Or maybe they want to give themselves an excuse to come back for it later.

❥ The "Wrong Words at the Worst Time" Implosion Nobody says the perfect thing during a real breakup. They stammer. They say too much, or nothing at all. They lash out in clumsy, cruel ways because "I’m hurting" doesn’t sound heroic, but "you never loved me right anyway" comes out real easy. Write the fights that should have gone differently. Let your characters regret what they said before the echo even fades.

“I guess you never needed me after all.” Silence. The other person blinking like they’ve been shot. Because that wasn’t true. But now it’s hanging in the air, poisonous and permanent.

❥ The “Silent Break” Because Sometimes Words Are Useless Not every heartbreak needs a monologue. Sometimes it's sitting in a car together, staring out the windshield, saying nothing. Sometimes it’s standing at a door, one hand on the handle, too many words trapped in your throat. Let silence be heavy. Let it say, “I love you but I can’t anymore” without making anyone say a damn word.

The engine's ticking as it cools. Neither of them moves. One finally gets out of the car. They don't look back.

❥ The “Stupid Mundane Detail That Breaks You” Moment Big speeches are forgettable. But a breakup feels real when it’s tied to something stupid and tiny. Like they’re arguing and suddenly one of them notices how the other always folds the pizza box before throwing it out. Or how their coffee mug is still sitting on the table. Ordinary things take on the weight of the extraordinary loss.

She’s screaming, he’s begging, and somehow he notices her chipped nail polish and thinks, God, I’m losing her, and I still know what shade that is.

❥ The “One Last Selfish Touch” Goodbye Before they walk away, before its final, one of them touches the other’s face. Or smooths their hair. Or pulls them into a hug that lasts way too long. Selfish, tender, desperate. Knowing it’s the last time and doing it anyway because they physically cannot help themselves.

“Don’t go.” “Then tell me to stay.” Silence. Shaking heads. They kiss. It doesn’t fix a damn thing. It just hurts better.

Remember: The breakup isn’t the death of love. It’s the death of hope. That's what you need to break. Not just the hearts. The possibility of a different ending. That’s when it wrecks your reader in the best way.

#writing #writerscommunity #writer on tumblr #writing tips #writing advice #character development #writer tumblr #writblr #writing help #novel writing #fiction writing #tumblr writing community #unrequited romance #romance #aspiring writer

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syrenqin · 4 months ago

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Love and Deepspace, Ft. Assorted Kinks➶-͙˚ ༘✶

>>>>>>>>>>>>> smut, mdni! >>> f!MC

➸ caleb

praise kink: okay so he gets off of being praised, like tell him he's the only one in the world who can satisfy you. Tell him he's the only one you need, and he'll show you just how well he can pound you.

lingerie kink: something about sneaking into the lingerie stores of the girl he's loved since childhood, the shedding of innocence and seeing you as an adult for the first time.

dacryphilia: I believe he has a savior complex. Seeing you cry and call out his name to save you would turn him on 100%.

powerplay: he's the colonel ffs he def gets off having authority and would love to display it in bed, having you at his mercy. The two of you get mutually turned on by this.

golden shower: The dawg in him will pee on you to mark his territory, especially after he sees literally any MALE interact with you, he'd feel the need to drown you in his piss and show you who you belong to.

➸ sylus

cockwarming: sylus is someone who needs external stimuli while working, since he tends to work all day. What is a better stimulus than your warm walls hugging his lonely cock as he types away on his laptop, or attends calls with his dealers, or cleans his guns...

body worship: will 10/10 be bowing down to every inch of your body. No matter how insecure you are, HE can't BELIEVE that all of you belongs to him AND he's allowed to touch it. Expect a lusty compliment every 10 minutes, sex or no sex.

sensory deprivation: canoncially believes that switching off one sense heightens the other so.... expect a lot of blindfolds and other innovations he might come up with to please you to the fullest

motorcycle sex: some days he wants to ride his motorcycle, some days he wants you to ride him, atop the motorcycle sfhsfk. he'd take you out on a ride to see the nightlights and you'd find a spot dark enough to climb on top of him and ride out the adrenaline rush.

size kink: big fat dragon cock, you'll definitely need to be trained to take in. It will take a few sessions but Sylus is more than patient.

➸ xavier

roleplay: I think specifically like... he wants to roleplay as hunters who bang bang after killing off a particularly difficult bunch of wanderers after a perfect display of teamwork? I can see it as something he'd want to do in real life but can't so he makes up this scenario in bed.

consensual somnophilia: he sleeps so much, he gives you the permission to play with him even when he's asleep. He'd often, to his delight, wake up to you sucking him off as he giggles drowsily

groping: possessive kitty, will grope you in public if anyone even looks at you. He'd grope your ass anyway frequently but he'd bolden up and grope your boobs too.

anal: ... he loves your other cavities but the shitter is his favorite place to nest.. something about the deviation from the norm and the chance to plug in 3 fingers into your pussy while he fucks your ass really gets him off.

also, golden shower: would def pee on you too. Wants you to swallow it mostly. Does it more than caleb, and not to mark his territory - he just likes peeing on you. Love when the sound of the trickle bounces off your tits.

➸ rafayel

waxplay: well melt some candles with his evol and pour it over you. It really resembles his cum. Spreads it around your body to guage your reaction.

neon paint play: Loves having sex in the dark but also wants to see the shape of you properly. Paints your curves with neon paint as he watches you illuminated breasts marked with glowing Xs bounce around in the dark as he thrusts into you.

underwater sex: again, he loves watching the flabs of your body, especially your breasts and ass bounce in the water when he pounds into you. He also feels this is his natural habitat and the most natural way for him to make love to you.

also roleplay: he'd love to play the hostage with you as the capturer, sorry not sorry.

foot fetish: hear me out, him licking your toes and rubbing up wet strips up your sole and kissing your heels. He wishes your feet were a tail but they aren't so he shows his admiration for you by lathering up your legs.

➸ zayne

bondage: he likes it when you take away his ability to move. He's the one the likes to be bound up so he can frown and snarl at you while you have his way with him. Closeted sub boy.

nipple play: loves loves lovessss suckling on your nipples like a baby. Wants to have you boobs constantly in his mouth, rent free. Will especially need a nip session post a tiring work day.

car sex: He has an AUDI for a reason and it's not mileage or performance. It's to make it reek with the smell of sex after you and him go multiple rounds atop the expensive leather of the back seats. He makes sure your head never hits the car interior

face sitting: Sit on him, sit, put all your weight on the wicked curve of his nose. Don't just hover over his face, plant yourself DOWN. He will give you the best head of your life while his angry cock slaps itself on his abdomen, waiting for its turn.

breeding kink: Dr. Zayne wants to knock you up so bad but you aren't ready yet. So whenever you decide to be on birth control, he will absolutely fill you up with his seed and watch it pool inside you, guaging your fucked out expression and dreaming of the pretty babies you will make in the future.

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kajibunny · 1 year ago

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⋆𐙚₊˚⊹♡ we're just friends! (or are we?) w/ the wind breaker boys ✧⋆⭒˚｡

✿ featuring: hajime umemiya, jo togame, haruka sakura, hayato suo, ren kaji ✿ fluff, mutual pining, hidden feelings (aaaa), suggestive for suo, a lil angst (with comfort) for kaji ✿ a/n: i guess by now everyone can tell that i’m very into the friends to lovers trope ໒꒰ྀི´ ˘ ` ꒱ྀིა~♡ it’s def my fav!!! and these wb bois are all perfect friend material, and ofc boyfriend material too! enjoy, cuties! ✿ wc: 2.3k

— you have a closely intimate friendship to the point that everyone around you thinks you two are dating, though you know you're not lovers (yet), but are definitely more than just friends.

ʚɞ umemiya

— sharing hello and goodbye kisses with each other.

ꕤ you and umemiya are the definition of 'affectionate', as your love languages both consist of physical touch. but maybe with each other, a little bit too much for just friends.

ꕤ the word "boundaries" did not exist to the both of you once you were within arm's reach of each other. you and umemiya give each other hello and goodbye hugs, sometimes cheek and forehead kisses, as a greeting, right? to be friendly. though he doesn't seem to do that as often to other people, or at all, even. just to you. only to you.

ꕤ he also loves cuddling up to you whenever he takes a nap on the rooftop, inviting you to join him in picking out some veggies that you two could make a meal together with.

ꕤ while you two were cooking together, you definitely gave off a 'married couple' vibe with the way you held the ladle up for umemiya to taste, the way he had pressed his palm to your back whenever he needed to pass through, the way he fed you with his own spoon and giggling while complimenting how delicious your cooking was, the way he wrapped his arms around you and hummed while he helped you wash the dishes. anyone who saw would have immediately bid their congratulations and would think you two are newlyweds.

ꕤ hiragi took one look at the both of you appearing all lovey-dovey, and the confusion of whether you two were dating or not made his stomach scrunch up in pain.

ꕤ umemiya calls you such adorable names when referring to you in conversation, too. his tiny bean, his ray of sunshine, his cherry blossom, it was always "his", as if you belonged to him. he was openly affectionate with you and was not afraid to show it.

ꕤ many guys also took a liking to you, but never attempted to even make a move or confess, because they were already under the assumption that you were umemiya's, seeing you two playing with each other's fingers and comparing hand sizes like you were made for each other. but how could that be, you and umemiya were just friends, weren't you?

ʚɞ suo

— you get a special seat (on his lap).

ꕤ suo just can't seem to keep his eyes and his hands off of you. you always have to be within his vicinity, or he's not sure how he'll be able to stand it.

ꕤ he sees you at the corner of his eye, after you have made your way back from the restroom. you and the other bofurin first years were at an izakaya, and the moment you returned, all of their eyes were glued to you and suo, as if they already knew something was going to ensue. you two have been friends for a long time, but the way you acted towards each other felt like you two have been lovers for a long time.

ꕤ suo was always up in your space, whether its pulling random pranks on you, inviting you to go out then paying for everything even though you tried to stop him (nothing can stop suo), visiting your home and leaving an endless supply of tea enough to last you a whole year - his excuse being it's there for whenever he comes over, and multiple instances which all prove that suo was no doubt a very clingy friend. not that you minded, anyway. you were used to suo and his antics.

ꕤ he had his ways of persuading you too (he is the master of negotiation, after all), and you just couldn't resist him, as you loved being around suo just as much.

ꕤ this time, he took advantage of your short absence and made himself comfortable in your chair, and wouldn't even move an inch. "hayato, that's my seat!" you exclaimed. "hm?" suo tilts his head. "you can just sit on my lap, then." he smiles, with that damn mischievous smile you know all too well. you tried to get him to move by gently pushing him back and forth but suo seemed to not have a care in the world.

ꕤ you can't tell whether suo is serious or joking sometimes, but nirei and sakura seems to have their doubts that you two are "just friends" as you both claim. "are you sure the two of you aren't dating?" nirei asks you. sakura blushes and lets you know his thoughts, too. "y-yeah...! you two are unusually close!" you always reply to them with an astounding "no!" but suo just laughs and does not affirm nor deny any of their claims.

ꕤ suo pulls you in close, making you sit on his lap regardless of your little outburst, and you weren't sure if it was hot in the izakaya, or if it's just you, but you certainly felt warmth overcome your body while it was pressed flush against his, his arms wrapped around your waist nonchalantly. "hayato!" you protested, trying to squirm your way out of his grasp, and pushing away all intrusive thoughts about his and your bottom halves being so close together, only separated by thin pieces of clothing.

ꕤ nirei, the most observant of the bunch (next to suo), points out that you even call suo by his first name, and that's another one of the reasons why you two seem like you're dating.

ꕤ with suo, everything seems to be a mystery. but in suo's perspective, it's all clear. he loves you, whether it's as a friend or as a lover, that's for him to know and for you to find out.

ʚɞ togame

— leaves everyone on read except you.

ꕤ togame just doesn't understand why people need to type out what they want to say, aren't calls more personalized? he didn't understand at all, until he met you.

ꕤ you were, to put it directly, a chatterbox in all forms. you loved to talk, regardless if it's chats, calls, or in person, you just yapped your heart out to him everytime, and he lives for it. he wouldn't miss a second of you opening your mouth and giving him a taste of your innermost thoughts. he absolutely adored talking to you, because it was you, and you were special to him.

ꕤ the shishitoren guys thought it was so funny and adorable whenever togame picks up his phone so quickly because he thought it was you calling, then scowls when he realizes it isn't, and immediately silences it and shoves it back in his pocket. this caused him to set a different ringtone just for you, so he could pick up on the very first ring.

ꕤ you were also the first reply he ever sent via sms, a simple "ok" to your long message talking about how you thought it was amazing that he won the town's annual eating contest for many consecutive years in a row and that you were totally ready to challenge him next year by stuffing your face with okonomiyaki and invited togame to join you and have some with you so you could keep an eye on the competition. he found your personality totally amusing, his face immediately lighting up with a gentle smile whenever you sent him messages.

ꕤ anyone who sees how happy he is while he rereads your texts over and over would interpret that as togame being totally, irrevocably, head over heels in love with you.

ꕤ he doesn't actually reply to anyone at all ever, but he wanted to share all his firsts with you, he just couldn't help it. you were captivating, witty in your words, and very very charismatic, bombarding him with the cutest and funniest messages everyday. of course, he doesn't mind at all and is always looking forward to them.

ꕤ you two stay on calls for longer than eight hours at a time talking about how each other's day went, and yet you wonder why people always think you two are dating. normal friends don't stay up until the break of dawn chattering for hours on end, expressing all the things they like about each other, do they? at least togame knows he wouldn't do it with anyone that wasn't you, as he valued his precious sleep time dearly, but as time went on, you became more precious and more dear to him than his sleep time ever could.

ʚɞ kaji

— play fighting like an old married couple.

ꕤ kaji is the type to never go down without a fight. needless to say, that also applies to you. but your fights with him were different, more banter adjacent, more affectionate and playful. only lasting for a few minutes.

ꕤ kaji had a huge soft spot for you, as even though you did irritate the heck out of him sometimes, somehow he still could not stay angry or annoyed at you for more than one second. he just couldn't resist the way you crossed your arms and huffed with your cute little frown. he thought you were the most adorable angry little thing he's ever seen and wanted to pinch your cheeks out of cuteness aggression and frustration, but he would never say it to your face.

ꕤ one time, you two had a heated argument because he said he could hear you just fine but wouldn't bother to take off his headphones. you argued that it was impolite and that you won't talk to him at all anymore if he does that again, and you two were at each other's throats, giving one another a piece of your mind, until kaji mutters a 'sorry', and you began to sob uncontrollably and let him hold you in his arms while he stroked your hair to comfort you because you two couldn't stand the intensity and tension of being angry at each other for long.

ꕤ you had your less serious fights too, like when you made him a bento box for lunch and you two had a picnic together with his vice captains. you fed him the food with your chopsticks, kaji teasing you by saying "it's bland." and you reasoning out that kaji was 'as salty as his tastebuds'. kaji then asked you if you wanted to have 'a taste of his fists', which ended up with kusumi and enomoto snickering in the background wishing that the both of you would just date each other already.

ꕤ whenever you two argued, your faces were so close to one another's that you were just a few centimeters shy from kissing, the tip of your noses touching. kaji had to hold himself back, a lot. like an insane amount. friends didn't want to kiss and make out with their friends, right? but kaji did. and you did too.

ꕤ his way of apologizing is by suddenly leaving a lollipop with you. he puts them in your bag, or places them in your pocket while you weren't looking. it was his little peace offering, one that you treasured and collected, accumulating dozens of them by your bedside table. kaji would gladly give up his last lollipop for you, and no one could argue otherwise.

ʚɞ sakura

— blushing wildly whenever you two are around each other.

ꕤ you and sakura always looked like you two were having a blushing competition. the littlest touches and the most minimal contact had both of your cheeks heating up in response.

ꕤ it was like sakura's blushing was contagious. ever since you two became good friends (if you could call it that, though it seemed to be more than that at times), being around him triggered a whole bunch of embarrassing and hilarious but sweet situations.

ꕤ you once dragged sakura off to his very first cherry blossom viewing in the park, and needless to say, with both of you being a chaotic (but cute) duo, it kind of felt like you were on a wild rollercoaster ride with him.

ꕤ you took a stolen photo of sakura while he was mesmerized by the falling pink petals. you thought he looked adorable, but sakura thought otherwise. he was a blushing mess and told you to delete them, but you said they were cute and that you were going to make it your wallpaper.

ꕤ sakura chased after you, and tripped over a stray cherry blossom branch, leaving you two in quite a suggestive position, sakura on top of you, pinning your wrist down with his hand. your cheeks were as pink as the cherry blossoms, and tried as you might, you couldn't keep your eyes off his lips. friends don't observe their friends with wanting eyes, do they?

ꕤ suo and nirei instantly noticed how huge of a klutz you were around sakura. they also noticed how curious sakura was about you, always (not so subtly) asking nirei how much he knew about you, or your likes and dislikes, then asked him not to tell you that he asked about you. but suo told you instead, because they were your biggest supporters and cheerleaders (and biggest shippers, of course) after all.

ꕤ on sakura's birthday, they made you hold the cake and surprise him, which was a huge mistake, because before it could even reach him, you slipped and fell over him. luckily, sakura had good reflexes and was able to catch you before you completely toppled over. some of the smushed cake ended up on his and your face, which you tried to wipe off as you apologized, but sakura dipped his finger onto the icing that got on your cheek and licked his finger. "t-the cake's not bad, i guess..." he looked away from your smiling face as you greeted him happy birthday in a sing-song tune.

ꕤ suo, being a menace, greeted sakura happy birthday as well as gave him a 'best wishes to the happy couple' greeting card, that sakura threw back at him like it had a virus on it.

ꕤ sakura definitely had a memorable birthday that year, but now that he thought about it, all of his memories that were memorable to him had one thing in common: you were in all of them. you, the greatest gift he could ever ask for on any and every occasion.

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vipwinnie · 2 years ago

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Sleeping after an argument

mattheo riddle x reader

Summary : you decided not to sleep with him after an argument

In the dimness of his room, you sit on the edge of the bed, your heart heavy with frustration. The walls echo with the reverberations of an seemingly endless argument. He stands, a sharp gaze in his eyes, his poisoned words filling the air.

"Why are you always like this?" you ask, trying to contain your own anger. "Your attitude is toxic, Mattheo. It can't go on like this."

He sneers, an ironic smile distorting his face. "Oh, now it's my fault? You're always the victim, aren't you?"

You take a deep breath, trying to calm the flames of anger rising within you. "It's not about being a victim. It's about mutual respect. You can't keep acting this way."

Mattheo approaches, his presence oppressive. "Mutual respect? Funny coming from you. You just criticize me, judge me."

"Because you act disrespectfully! You constantly attack me, and I can't take it anymore."

He shrugs, disdainful. "If you can't take it, leave. No one is forcing you to stay."

The tension reaches its peak. You stand up, facing Mattheo with determination. "Maybe that's what I should do."

The words hang in the air, heavy with consequences. The room is filled with the silence that follows an argument, and you wonder if this confrontation marks the end of something, or perhaps the beginning of a new dynamic.

Frustrated by the atmosphere, Mattheo abruptly stands up and heads to the bathroom, using the excuse of needing to prepare in there to escape the confrontation. You remain in the room, Mattheo's dark look still echoing in the air. The decision not to spend the night in this toxic atmosphere takes hold in you, and you head to the bathroom as well.

Reflecting in the bathroom, you decide to leave the unresolved argument behind and choose not to sleep that night. The idea of returning to your shared room with Pansy becomes a tempting refuge. Exiting the bathroom, you silently slip through the hallway, deliberately avoiding Mattheo's room.

Meanwhile, Mattheo, after anxiously waiting in the bathroom for some time, starts to worry about your absence. Concerned, he knocks on the door, softly calling, "My love, are you okay?" Faced with your silence, he eventually opens the door, discovering that you're no longer there. Regret fills him as he realizes the impact of his behavior.

Determined to find you, Mattheo heads towards the girls' dormitory, disregarding any rules of decency. His only thought is to bring you back to him, suddenly realizing how crucial your presence is to him.

Upon opening the door to your room, he notices Pansy's absence, but you're there, asleep in your bed, hugging a pillow that was supposed to replace him for the night. Mattheo gently removes the pillow from your arms, slipping into its place. He embraces you tenderly, whispering an "I love you" in your ear, realizing the foolishness of the argument. He holds you tightly, hoping that you'll find it in yourself to forgive him despite the hurtful words he uttered.

#mattheo riddle #mattheo riddle x you #mattheo riddle x reader #mattheo riddle blurb #mattheo riddle imagine #mattheo riddle fluff #mattheo riddle fanfic #mattheo riddle fanfiction #mattheo riddle fic #slytherin boys #slytherin boys x reader #harry potter #golden trio #harry potter fanfic

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xxsinisterbunniexx · 2 months ago

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No Caller ID - Ticci Toby x female reader NSFW

Warnings: dubcon?

Originally published on AO3, which you can read here if you’d prefer :)

Tags: Phone Sex, Stalking, Breaking and Entering, Mutual Masturbation, Vaginal Fingering, Cunnilingus, Choking, Degradation, Obsessive Behavior, German dirty talk, Hide and Seek

Words: 6.3k

Summary: Your friend canceling on you gives you an unexpected treat: a night in to yourself. Your boredom leads you to entertain a stranger that dialed the wrong number. Little do you know, he's watching from your window.

As always:

⋆˙⟡ All canon will be flexible to make way for sexy ⟡˙⋆

Alright so YES this was supposed to be for Toby’s bday and it’s a bit belated… I knew I had to write something for Toby's bday but I was crunched for time so I went for a ghost face-esque sort of theme. A basic idea I know but I kind of love the way it turned out so… slay?

“I can’t make it tonight.” Your friend’s voice rang through the phone’s speaker.

“What? No way.” You said, hanging your keys back up.

“My car won’t start. Fucking battery is busted or something. I’m really sorry. Can we reschedule?” She really did sound sorry. If only she knew how much she didn’t need to be.

“Man, that fucking sucks… No big deal though, we can always hang another day.” You tried to contain your glee, slipping your shoes off.

“Totally! I’ll talk to you later. I gotta get this car shit figured out. Love youuuu, bye.”

“Okay, love you byeeeeeeee.” You hung up quickly.

Immediately after you set down your phone, you did a little happy dance.

Fuck yes!

It was a true rarity for you to have a night in to yourself. You already had the perfect idea. You had a tub of ice cream that was waiting in the fridge and a box of brownie mix that was screaming at you to bake it.

You quickly ran to your room, ditching your going out clothes for a pair of sleep shorts and an old band tee.

This was going to be an awesome night. You already couldn’t wait.

—

Toby watched as you danced around the kitchen, loving how adorable you looked. God, you were the perfect distraction tonight.

He had things he was supposed to be doing of course, but how was he supposed to resist you? You had no blinds on those kitchen windows, and the light from the room pouring out into the darkness of the night attracted his attention. What he saw through the window, though, was far more captivating. He was the moth and you were the flame, an irresistible force pulling him in. Those people he was supposed to murder could die anytime. He had to have you tonight.

His eyes were fixed on you as you twirled around, giving the performance of a lifetime to your cat. He couldn’t help the smile that broke out across his face and the small laugh that escaped him. You were so carefree, all caught up in your own little world. You’d never notice him watching you from the bushes outside your window.

The longer he watched you, the faster he was becoming infatuated with you. Everything about you was drawing him in. He loved the way your shirt was loosely hanging off one shoulder, exposing just the right amount of skin. Your sleep shorts were perfectly hugging your ass, and the way you moved in them around the kitchen got him in a trance.

He felt his jeans grow tighter, his bulge straining against them. His mind was already racing, thinking of all the things he wanted to do to you. He imagined how your body would writhe under him, how your cunt would look stretched around his cock as you arched your back.

He wanted to know how you sounded when you moaned, the way you’d scream his name when you came. Right now, he needed to know what your voice sounded like.

It was time to see how much fun you’d be.

—

“So~ melodramatic but it turns me on. I clo~ose my eyes, it feels just like a movie.” You sang out, using a spoon as an imaginary microphone. “I’m convinced that we don’t make sense but I’d kill-”

Beep! Beep!

“Alright, alright. I heard ya.” You pulled the brownies out, setting them on the counter to cool. Now all you needed to do was find a good movie on Netflix and you’d be so set for tonight. You hummed as you walked to the fridge, ready to pull out that tub of ice cream, when your phone rang.

You looked down at it. It was a number you didn’t recognize. You shrugged and silenced it.

If it’s important they’ll leave a voicemail.

To your surprise, your phone started ringing again. It was the same number.

Well, if it’s a scammer at least they’re persistent.

It’d been a while since you messed with a scammer. At least you’d be able to get a laugh out of being silly with them. If they’re gonna try to waste your time, it’s fair game for you to waste theirs.

You picked up the phone. “Helloooooo~” you answered in a sing-song voice.

“Hello.” A lower, gravely voice rang through the speaker.

“So like… what’s the dealio~?” You held the phone between your ear and your shoulder as you got the ice cream out of the fridge.

He had to contain a giggle. You were already so much fun. He leveled his tone before speaking. “I’m looking for someone but I’m -fuck- not sure if this is the right number.” His neck cracked in tandem with the swear as he spoke. He hoped that hadn’t thrown you off too much.

You straightened up upon hearing that.

Oh shit, this is like a real guy.

You decided to be normal now. “Oh sorry, I thought you were a scammer.” You laughed a little. “Who are you trying to call?”

“Who is this?”

You raised your eyebrow a bit, slightly amused with the oddity of this situation. This was starting to feel a little like a very familiar movie scene. “I don’t think I’m who you’re looking for.” You smiled, scooping out your ice cream. “Good luck though.”

You hung up the phone and set it on the counter, finishing your scooping. Just as you set the ice cream tub back in the freezer you heard your phone ring again.

It was the same number.

You scoffed, wondering why he called again. Yet, you picked up the phone and answered. “Hello?”

“Whoops, I guess my finger slipped.” His voice was almost sultry.

Is he… trying to flirt with me?

It felt like you were jumping the gun a little to think that already but what was with that tone? Plus, he called you again after you already told him he had the wrong number. Either way, you didn’t really mind that he had. It’s not like you had anything better to do. Plus, he had a pretty nice sounding voice, and the way he had just said that was kind of hot. Nonetheless, this was some random guy calling you by mistake.

“Well, I think I’m still not who you’re looking for.”

“Are you sure?”

You walked to the living room with your ice cream, sitting down on the couch. “Oh, I’m pretty sure. I hope you find them though.”

“Wait, don’t hang up so soon.” He said as he followed you to living room, watching the way you froze for a second.

He had an even better view of you at the window beside your couch. Being this close to you, all without you knowing was stirring up his arousal. The darkness completely hid him from your view, not that you were paying much attention anyways.

Your lips curled upward a bit as you answered. “Why not? You lonely?”

So maybe flirting with some random guy who called you by accident wasn’t the best idea but who cares? You don’t know him in real life and it’s not like you’ll ever have to see him. It’s just a little harmless fun. Besides, he started it.

He was loving the banter you two had started up. The tone of your voice, your flirtatiousness, was only serving to tempt him further. “Maybe. You can’t spare a little time and humor me?”

You smiled even more. “Hmmm… I dunno. I’m kinda busy.” You sunk into the couch, resting your back against the cushions while you twirled your hair.

“Just -fuck- answer a question for me.” He bit his lip, annoyed that he couldn’t keep his tics under control while talking to you.

“Let me guess, you wanna know what I’m wearing?” You teased.

He was so amused with your behavior. You were much bolder than he was expecting. He knew you were trying to rile him up, and it was working like a charm. “Yeah? I wouldn’t mind knowing. Tell me.” His voice was low and husky, sending heat between your thighs.

“Hm…. No way~” You said cutely, a big smile on your face.

His laugh sent butterflies swarming in your stomach.

“Aw, playing hard to get? That’s cute.” He said.

Watching your jaw drop had him stifling a growl. He could just imagine that pretty little mouth wrapped around his cock. He was already starting to feel a little impatient, but he wanted to hold out for a bit longer. He wanted to play with you a little more before he pounced. “Tell me your name.”

“Well that wasn’t a question.” You said sarcastically, but your enjoyment was evident in your voice.

“C’mon, I’ll tell you mine.” He coaxed. Of course, he already knew your name though. It wasn’t hard to find your name and phone number, especially since he already knew your address. Really, it was a test of naivety. He was seeing how easily you’d give information to a stranger.

He watched as you took a bite of ice cream before you answered, loving the sight of your mouth sucking it off the spoon.

“Tell me yours then.”

“It’s Toby.” He said easily.

“Hm… Toby, Toby, Toby.” You drew out the -y part on the last one, doing a little experimenting with saying his name.

He’d never loved hearing his name more than just now when it came from your lips. “Mm, careful how you say it now.”

“Why’s that, Toby~?” You said, taking another bite of ice cream before wincing as brain freeze hit you. “Ack-”

“What’s wrong?”

“Ugh, I just got a brain freeze.” You pushed your tongue against the roof of your mouth, trying to alleviate it quickly.

“Eating something cold?” He silently wondered what that felt like, both the pain and the cold.

“Yup, I was just having some ice cream.”

“You have a big sweet tooth or something?”

“Eh, I dunno. I’m just having a little night in to myself and I thought I’d be a little indulgent.”

Crap, probably not the best idea to tell a stranger I’m alone.

“What kind of ice cream is it?”

“Cookie dough~”

“Is that your favorite flavor?” At this point Toby was just having a bit of fun chatting with you, getting you to relax and open up.

You had a thoughtful expression for a moment. “Oh, I dunno. There’s so many ice cream flavors. That’s a really hard question.”

“Well, how about an easier question? What’s your name?”

A smile broke out across your face again. “You really wanna know, huh? It’s a secret.”

“You’re really not gonna tell me? Why? You scared?” His voice was like a caress, just a little breathy and somehow making your heart race.

“Pfft, I’m not scared. It’s just fun to mess with you.”

“That’s fine. Haah… I think it’s sexy when you play hard to get.” His breathing was a little heavier.

You shifted on the couch, feeling the moisture collect in your panties. You questioned if your hearing was off or if he truly sounded like he was having a lot more fun talking to you than you thought. You were probably reading too much into it. There was no way he was… doing something like that.

Your own breathing picked up. You bit your lip, wondering if you should say something. You heard another breathy sound on the line. It sounded almost like a moan.

If he was truly doing what you were thinking he was, that would be really creepy, right? Not… hot at all. You shifted again, feeling the uncomfortable tension building between your thighs.

“Whatcha doing over there?” You asked, a little nervously.

He laughed breathlessly and you pulled your knees up, hiding your face in them.

God, I’ve only heard his voice but why the fuck is he so hot?

“Whatever do you mean?” His panting got a bit louder.

“I mean… um… it- it kind of sounds like you’re doing something… inappropriate…” You said the last word in a tiny voice, not even wanting to say it out loud.

He chuckled again, and you almost couldn’t take it.

He knew he was driving you wild, and it was only serving to make him harder as he freed himself from his boxers. He started to lazily stroke his cock. “Mm… does it?” He let out another breathy sound. “Maybe I am. Maybe I’m thinking about you and all the things I wanna do to you.”

Your breath hitched at his confirmation, and it was the last straw. Your hand traveled down between your legs, lightly cupping yourself and adding just a little pressure, just enough to sate your aching clit. “Well, if you are, that’s pretty gross then.”

He bit his lip hard to stifle the growl that erupted from his throat as he watched you touch your cunt while you lied to him. His voice started to sound more ragged, “Yeah? It’s gross? Why aren’t you hanging up then? I bet you’re already wet for me.”

Your breath hitched again, getting just a bit heavier as you started to rub yourself through your sleep shorts. “As if I’m getting turned on by some pervert touching himself while he talks to me.”

He moaned breathily as he watched you start to rub yourself harder, grinding your hips against your hand. He chuckled again, “Mhm… sure you’re not. I guess you’re not rubbing your cute little pussy to the sound of my voice are you?”

A sigh escaped you as you kept grinding against your hand. “I’m not doing anything, but I bet you’re stroking your cock right now.”

This time you heard a low groan emit from the speaker. “And I bet you’re playing with your pussy like a little slut.”

You bit your lip hard to stifle the moan that threatened to escape. This was getting you way more worked up than you’d care to admit. You pulled off your shorts and your panties, discarding them to the side. Settling back down on the couch, you leaned back against the back of it. You spread your legs wide, letting them fall to the sides of you with your knees pulled up to your chest, exposing your cunt fully.

You kept a hard bite on your lip, trying to stifle any sounds as you slipped a finger inside.

Toby groaned again, fisting his cock harder as he watched your finger disappear into your cunt. It was taking everything in him not to just walk up to your door and let himself in. He knew you needed more than just your little fingers to satiate you. You needed something bigger. “What’s the matter, pretty girl? Cat got your tongue? Or are you just too occupied to say anything back?”

You were slowly dipping your finger in and out of your cunt. You were trying to be quiet, but secretly you really wanted him to hear. You wanted him to pick up on your tiny moans and whimpers. “No, I just thought I’d let you sit here and entertain your own fantasies.” You slipped another finger in, picking up the pace. You were so dripping wet your fingers made little sticky wet sounds each time you pushed them inside.

“You think I can’t hear what you’re doing?” His voice was low and breathy, with just a tinge of roughness. “You think I can’t hear you fingerfuck your sloppy cunt?”

“Oh… god…” You moaned as you moved your fingers faster. You put the phone on speaker, setting it down beside you so you could use your other hand to rub your clit.

“Fuck… I wanna be inside you so bad… need to feel that pretty cunt wrapped around my cock…” He groaned as he picked up the pace, trying to match the rhythm of your movements.

“Mm… I wanna feel your cock stretching me open.” You whined, feeling your stomach start to tense as the pleasure built deep inside you.

“God… fuck…” he grit out. “I wanna feel you coming around my cock so bad… I need to feel you come all over my cock.”

Your whines and whimpers were getting more desperate, rubbing your clit faster and pushing your fingers deeper as you imagined him fucking you. You knew it’d feel so fucking good, he’d get deeper than your fingers ever possibly could.

“Are you gonna come? Huh? Are you gonna come just from hearing my voice like the pathetic little slut you are?” His groans were also sounding more desperate. “That’s all it takes for you? All I had to do was call you and you turn into a filthy little whore.”

“You’re the one who couldn’t resist stroking your cock to the thought of fucking me.” You were so fucking close now, just a little more. “You probably called me… fuck….. just for this.”

“I know you’re so fucking close. You wanna come for me? Be a good girl and say my name while you come.”

That was it. “Fuck… Toby…!” You cried out as your cunt started to convulse around your fingers. You kept rubbing your clit, riding the waves of pleasure as you listed to a strangled growl come out of Toby.

It was the final straw for Toby too. “See you soon.” The call ended.

That had shocked you out of your post orgasm haze. Your heart immediately started to race.

What the fuck does that mean?!

You suddenly realized the gravity of the situation. This guy was a complete stranger to you and you just had phone sex with him and told him you wanted him to fuck you.

You started to look around, feeling a little less safe in your home now. You grabbed your panties and shorts, pulling them back on so you could at least go double check all your doors were locked.

You checked the front door, finding it locked. Looking around your windows, you saw nothing as you walked to your back door to make sure it was locked too.

Sure enough, it was also locked.

Maybe you were overreacting. He could’ve just said that as some kind of prank.

Pretty shitty prank.

Just as you felt the coast was clear, you heard some noise coming from the front door, like someone was trying to open it, or pick the lock.

You ran to the door, determined to lock it back if someone picked the lock. Your heart was racing, hoping you’d make it in time.

Just as you reached for the handle, the knob turned, and the door pushed open. You grabbed the door, but just as you did another, much larger hand was placed over yours.

“Toby…?” You trembled as you spoke. Your stomach dropped as his large frame pushed through, entering your home.

He was much taller than you, towering over you as he stepped inside. He had messy brown hair and dark eyes that bore into yours. His eyes were the only thing you could really focus on, the rest of his face was covered by some kind of mouth guard that sort of looked like a muzzle.

You tried to take in as much as you could about his appearance, grasping at straws to try to find something that would help you decipher his motives. There was a pair of orange scratched up goggles on his head and he wore a striped jacket along with jeans. Nothing really jumped out at you until you noticed the hatchet hooked at his hip.

You started to take slow steps backwards as he closed in on you. The only thing that could be heard throughout your empty house was the sound of your own shaky breathing, trembling in fear.

You continued to back up until your back pressed against the wall, looking up into his eyes.

He placed his hands on the wall beside you on each side. “Aw, what’s-” he interrupted himself with a breathy laugh. “What’s wrong, pretty girl?”

He pulled off his mouth guard, revealing the rest of his face. He had a kind of grizzly attractiveness to him, but the most notable feature on his face was a large gash on his right cheek. It was jaggedly scarred up, and deep enough to go all the way through, exposing his teeth.

A wolfish grin spread across his face. “You scared?”

Honestly, you were, but not in the way he was thinking. Much to your displeasure, it was the good kind of fear. The kind that made you feel the need to press your thighs together, wondering what he was going to do with you.

God, I need mental help.

You shouldn’t be finding this hot. You really shouldn’t and you knew that. You should be running away, screaming, something other than standing here getting wetter. You truly pondered where in the evolution process you had failed. Your flight or flight response had suddenly presented you with a third option: fuck.

Your only choice was to bring your hands up to cover your face, feeling the heat rise to your cheeks.

He let out a sick sounding giggle when he saw you do that, eating up all your reactions. “Oh no, don’t try to hide from me.” He grabbed your wrists, pulling your hands away from your face. “Don’t tell you’re all shy now. After you just came to my voice.”

Even after he moved your hands you kept your head down, trying to keep your face out of his view.

“Aw, you’re acting so pathetic, baby.” His voice was taunting. “What happened to all that boldness you had on the phone?”

He leaned in close to your ear, letting out a breathy laugh when you shivered. “Tell you what.”

Your whole body was trembling in anticipation.

“Since you wanna hide so bad, I’ll give you ten seconds to hide.”

Much to your displeasure, the idea of playing some kind of twisted hide and seek game with him excited you even more. “What happens if you find me…?” You just had to ask.

“You’ll find out when I find you.” He let go of your wrists.

You immediately broke into a sprint, already hearing him counting.

Fuck. Fuck. Fuck!

You really had no idea where to hide. It was like the adrenaline killed your ability to think. You ended up in your bedroom, and he was already halfway to ten.

Under the bed felt too obvious, not like the closet was any better. Your eyes darted between the two places. You heard Toby call out nine and you yanked the closet door open, getting inside and shutting it just as he got to ten.

Your heart was jumping out of your chest as you heard his footsteps. Your house wasn’t that big, he was clearly just toying with you, taking his sweet time to find you.

The door to your bedroom swung open slowly. You clamped your hand over your mouth to quiet your breathing. Your heartbeat thumped loudly in your ears, loud enough you feared he could hear it.

He appeared in your field of vision through the crack of the door.

“I know you’re in here.” His voice was only slightly menacing.

He dropped down to the floor looking under the bed.

I knew that was a shitty spot.

“Not there? Guess you’re a little -fuck- smarter than I thought.”

You watched as his neck cracked uncontrollably, straightening back up before turning to the closet you were in.

A big sinister looking smile stretched across his face as he slowly approached the closet. Your heart felt like it was going to explode.

“I know where you are…” He said before yanking open the door.

You froze. Partially because there was nowhere to run to, and partially because you weren’t sure you really wanted to.

He bit his lip as he closed in on you. You looked like a bunny hiding in its burrow, eyes wide and heart racing. You couldn’t look more adorable to him. He felt his cock throb in his jeans, a painful reminder that he still hadn’t came yet.

He pressed his body up against yours, pulling your chin up to look at him. “Found you.”

His hands were already all over you, grabbing and squeezing wildly. “A little too -fuck- obvious, don’t you think? It’s like you -fuck- really wanted to be found.” His neck was cracking and twitching uncontrollably even more, like getting him riled up made it worse.

Your lips fell open in a gasp, and he took the opportunity to capture your mouth, instantly pushing his tongue into it. His kiss was desperate, like he was pouring all of his desire into you. He grabbed your waist, roughly pressing your body into his. You gripped at his hoodie, trying to anchor yourself with something as he overtook you.

He released your mouth, his lips traveling down to leave bites and suck dark marks into your neck. He moved his hand from your face down to your waistband, pushing past it and into your panties, instantly feeling how wet you were.

He laughed, pulling away from your neck. “Oh, you’re so worked up. You like this? You like being scared?”

You nodded your head, not having the courage to say it out loud.

Now it was his turn to have wide eyes. He truly hadn’t expected you to agree. You kept proving you were better than he thought. He grabbed you, pulling you out of the closet and pushing you down onto your bed.

His eyes traveled up and down your body, drinking you in. You pressed your thighs together again, trying to sate that ache. The action caught his attention and he smirked, looking up into your eyes. “Oh, you really do like this don’t you?”

He ran his hand down your neck, just a featherlight touch. You shivered as he kept going, down to your collarbone and slowly down the curve of your waist. At this point you were contemplating begging him to just touch you already.

Finally, he hooked his fingers into your waistband, yanking your shorts down and taking your panties with them.

He grabbed your legs, pushing them back to your chest and spreading you wide open. You let out an almost squeak sound in embarrassment.

“There’s that pretty pussy you showed me earlier.” He was staring hard.

“You don’t have to stare… so directly…” You mumbled nervously.

He let go of your legs, looking up at you. “Keep those there.” Just the look in his eyes was enough to keep you in place, but his tone had you set on staying put.

Your legs trembled as he continued to stare, inching his face closer to your cunt. “You’re dripping onto the bed. Fuck… that’s hot.” He said, running his finger up your slit to collect the moisture.

He grabbed your hips and jerked you to the edge on the bed as he sunk to his knees. “Need to feel your cunt coming on my tongue.” He mumbled before pressing his mouth against you.

You couldn’t help but moan out the second he did. He started sucking your clit a little before tracing slow languid strokes up your cunt. You arched off the bed, only for a second before Toby roughly grabbed your hips, holding them down with a bruising force.

You placed your hands over his, grabbing them as a way to ground yourself. He sucked your clit again, starting a slow steady rhythm that had you writhing and whimpering.

“Toby….” You whined.

You felt him chuckle into your cunt, the vibrations intensifying the pleasure even more. He moved his tongue down to your entrance, slowly pressing his tongue inside.

He moved one of his hands down to rub your clit with his thumb and the other he used to hold your hand, lacing your fingers together on top of your hip where he could still hold you down.

He started moving his tongue in and out of your cunt, while keeping pressure on your clit with his thumb. Your orgasm was building rapidly, the combination of every way he was touching you had you clenching around his tongue before you even realized you were that close.

He moaned when you came around his tongue, lapping up every bit of your arousal that flowed out. He kept going, drawing out your orgasm for as long as possible.

You thought that would be enough for him, but he switched the placement of his tongue and hand, slowly pushing a finger into you while he sucked your clit lightly.

Your head was going numb as he stretched you open with his finger, slowly working a second one in and curling them forward. At this point you didn’t even have the capacity to think about how embarrassing the sounds you were making were. You were moaning unabashedly because that was all you were able to do.

He was sloppily dragging his tongue over your clit over and over. Drool poured from the gash on his face, only making your cunt messier. He pumped his fingers in and out of your cunt, making wet noises fill the room from him pressing your g-spot over and over.

You squeezed his hand you were holding hard, a pitiful whimper coming from you as you came again. He moaned on your clit when he felt you squeeze his fingers, which only served to heighten the feeling of your orgasm. Your whole body felt like it was on pins and needles, all stemming from the wet heat of his mouth and fingers torturing your cunt.

He pulled his fingers out slowly, lightly running them over your cunt as he climbed back onto the bed. “You’re so cute~” He cooed. “This time I wanna watch while you come.”

This time…?!

He pushed your shirt up, exposing your chest. He took a nipple in his mouth as he slowly pushed his fingers back in. Your body jolted and trembled, it was like every little touch was sending electric shocks through your body.

He laughed and then said, “Ich könnte dich jetzt sofort brechen.”

You weren’t sure what scared you more, the fact that you had no idea what the fuck he said or the tone he said it in. Either way, it had you tightening around his fingers, eliciting a growl from Toby.

His cock was so painfully hard, screaming at him to claim your pussy already. He was in a battle with himself, he wanted to come so badly, but he was also enraptured watching you come. He just needed one more from you.

He pushed his fingers deep inside you, grinding them against your g-spot, his palm pressing down on your clit. You struggled to keep up when he leaned down and kissed you sloppily. Your whole body was being surrendered to him. He pulled away, loving the way your tongue stayed out a bit even after he pulled away.

He cupped the side of your face, pushing your hair back with his fingers. “Look at that slutty face you’re making. I wish you could see how much of a whore you look like right now.”

You tried to keep your eyes locked with his, failing miserably. Your head felt so fuzzy, the only thing you could focus on was the pleasure building deep in your cunt.

“You want my cock, pretty girl?” He asked.

You instantly responded with an eager nod. “Pathetic…” he said under his breath with a smirk.

His breathing was so ragged. He leaned down close to your ear, his fingers so deep in your cunt as he whispered, “Ich kann fühlen, wie gut sich deine Fotze anfühlt. Ich kann es kaum erwarten, es in dich zu stecken.”

You were so close to coming again, just a little more would tip you over the precipice.

As if he could read your mind, Toby bit your neck, sucking the skin right below the ear, right where he could feel your pulse. Your head went fully blank as you convulsed around his fingers. Your cunt was greedily sucking him in and that was the last straw for him. At this point it would be cruel to not give you what you so desperately need.

He stood up, pulling off his jacket and his shirt. Your eyes ran over his form, taking note of his slender, yet somewhat muscular form. What really stood out to you was the tattoo on his chest, right below his right collarbone. It looked like a scratchy drawn circle with an X through it.

You could practically feel the impatience coming off him in waves. His hatchet made a dull thud on your bedroom floor as it was tossed to the side. He yanked his zipper down, not even bothering to pull his pants off before pulling his throbbing hard cock out. You could hear the way his heavy breathing was shaking, how close he was to losing his restraint, how much he wanted to give into his overwhelming need for you.

He positioned his cock at your entrance, his head falling back in a groan when he ran it up your slit, your cunt coating the tip in your wetness. “Du bist so verdammt nass...es fühlt sich so gut an, dein kleines Fotze gegen mich zu reiben...” He said breathlessly.

“Please…” You whined. Feeling his hard cock press on your clit was too much. You needed him inside you before you went insane.

“Mm… You can ask better than that. C’mon, I know you want this cock. Beg for it. Show me how much you want it.”

You whimpered, already feeling pathetic enough. “Please, Toby… I need it so bad.”

He kept running the tip over your clit, teasing you with the feeling of his hard cock. “Is this what you imagined on the phone? You imagined my thick cock rubbing against your cute little clit and making you feel good? Tell me again what you said you wanted.”

You thought back to your phone call, trying to remember what you said in your cum drunk stupor. You grabbed your legs, pulling them up for him to expose your dripping cunt even more. “I wanna feel your cock stretching me open.”

“That’s a good girl.” He groaned, slowly pushing his cock into you. The gush of your cunt was audible as he filled you completely. He took a deep breath, trying to control himself. He couldn’t break his new toy already. “God…” He harshly sucked in a breath. “Your slutty fucking cunt is gushing.”

You let out a particularly lewd moan, the stretch of his cock was nothing short of pure euphoria. Your eyes rolled back in your head as he started to thrust into you, starting a slow and hard pace.

“Yeah… that’s it. Fuck… Moan and cry and gush all over my cock.” The sounds of your sloppy cunt only amplified as he picked up the pace, hooking his arms behind your shoulders. “God… you’re such a good little cock sleeve. You’re so fucking pathetic, you know that?”

Your wanton eyes met his dark lustful ones. You nodded profusely. “I’m so pathetic…” You whined.

He growled, using one of his hands to pull your mouth open. You were so obedient, giving him no resistance as he spit in your mouth. You swallowed it, still holding his gaze.

“Pretty fucking slut.” He looked absolutely enamored with you at this point. “Du bist so nass, deine Möse fühlt sich so gut an.”

He leaned back, hooking his arms under your legs so he could hold them back himself. He wrapped his hands around your neck, applying just enough pressure to feel your pulse. Your hands scrambled to his shoulders as he started drilling into you.

“Ich werde dich so sehr züchten, dass du nicht mehr klar denken kannst, mein Mädchen.” He grit out. He was getting close, your cunt wrapping around him perfectly. He could hardly take it, the slutty face you were making, the way your tits bounced each time he pounded his cock into you, the way your cunt looked stretched around him. He wasn’t going to last much longer.

His voice was getting breather, whinier almost as he rutted into you like you were his lifeline. “God… you’re such a perfect little slut, so fucking perfect. Ich werde dich zu meiner eigenen kleinen Besitzung machen und dafür sorgen, dass du nie wieder von mir weg willst.”

“So good… fuckkkk… Du wirst mir gehören, ob du willst oder nicht.” His head was scrambled, rapidly switching between English and German as he slammed into your cervix.

His cock felt so good nestled right against your cervix, pressing so deep you were seeing stars. You came hard around his cock, sucking him in.

The feeling of your cunt milking his cock pushed him over the edge. He pressed in deep, filling your cunt with his cum.

He didn’t pull out right away. Your head was spinning, feeling his cock throb inside you with his aftershocks. He captured your lips again, lazily pushing his tongue into your mouth. You were both exhausted. He pulled back, cupping your face like you were the most precious thing in the world. “You’re cute. I wanna keep you.”

He got up, pushing a hand through his hair, looking pensive for a moment. “I gotta go take care of some business though…”

“I’ll be back for you.” He said casually, he picked up his shirt, slipping it back on.

“Hm…?” You tilted your head to the side in confusion, still feeling out of it.

He smiled to himself, not really noting your confusion. “Maybe you should get some things together… probably not coming back for a while.”

You finally realized what he meant. This harmless fun of yours had gone farther than you thought it would.

He headed for your bedroom door, turning back and grabbing his hatchet. “By the way…” He said with a sick little giggle. “Don’t try to run later. I don’t wanna have to use this thing on a pretty girl like you.”

He left, leaving you alone with your thoughts and apparently giving you time to pack. It turned out your night had been more eventful than you planned.

~please remember to distinguish fiction from reality

Feel free to leave your thoughts in the comments <3 I love hearing what u guys think and I'm always open to constructive criticism

#creepypasta #crp fandom #creepypasta headcanon #creepypasta fic #creepypasta smut #ticci toby x reader #toby rogers #ticci toby #ticci toby smut #toby rogers x reader #toby rogers smut #creepypasta x reader

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littlegochu · 1 month ago

Text

all mine │ jjk 18+

“Look all you want. She’s not yours anymore."

pairing: jeon jungkook x reader (f)

genre: drug dealer jungkook, witty female lead

rating: 18+, smut, smoking

synopsis: Y/N runs into her ex — a face from the past who still thinks he has a hold on her. But Jungkook sees everything. From across the room, he watches the way the guy leans in too close, speaks too familiar, and touches what doesn't belong to him.

The bass shakes the floor, the lights strobing red and gold across a packed room. You’re posted up with Mira and the girls near the back booth, sipping something sweet and forgettable when Mira lights up.

“Oh my god — Lucas!”

You look up, throat tightening.

Of course. Still mutuals.

Lucas slides in with a lazy grin, hands tucked in his jacket like he owns the place. He greets Mira with a hug, then turns to you — eyes dragging over your face, your skirt, your legs.

“Y/N,” he says like it’s a memory, not a name. “Didn’t think I’d run into you tonight.”

You give him a flat smile, already bored. “Yet here we are.”

Mira, oblivious, clinks her glass with his. “You two remember each other, right? God, you dated for forever in high school—”

Lucas chuckles. “Three years. But who’s counting?”

You don’t look at him. You don’t need to. He’s already looking at you like he remembers too much.

And across the room — Jungkook sees it all.

He’s got one arm slung across the back of the leather booth, a cigarette between his fingers, glass untouched in front of him. Myles is talking, Carlo’s checking his phone, but Jungkook isn’t listening to either of them.

He’s watching you.

He sees Lucas lean in. Sees the way his hand brushes your arm. Sees the way your ex still thinks he’s got room to exist anywhere near you.

He stands. Doesn’t say a word to the others. Just moves.

You feel him before you see him.

Lucas is mid-sentence — something smug and useless — when a shadow falls over your shoulder.

“She said it was high school,” Jungkook says, tone cold, deadly still. “So why the fuck are you still standing here?”

Lucas blinks. “Whoa—chill, man. I’m just catching up.”

“She doesn’t need catching up.”

Jungkook steps in behind you, arm sliding low around your waist. His fingers dip past the curve of your hip, and you don’t flinch. You don’t try to pull away. In fact—you lean into him.

Deliberate. Slow.

You let your body melt into his, head tilting just enough so his breath hits your neck.

Not because you care what Lucas thinks.

But because you love what this does to Jungkook.

His grip tightens.

“You remember how she used to be yours?” Jungkook says, voice low and calm, aimed like a blade. “That was a fucking joke. She’s mine now.”

Lucas shifts, glancing between you both, his smirk finally cracking.

You smirk back, running your hand along the tattooed arm wrapped around your waist. “You should go, Lucas. Before it gets embarrassing.”

He does. Eventually.

When he’s gone, Mira makes some awkward excuse and follows after him, but you and Jungkook are already in your own little storm.

His mouth grazes your ear. “You liked that.”

You smile, dragging your fingers through the hem of his shirt. “So did you.”

He laughs, dark and low. “Car. Now.”

The car door slams shut behind you, but the silence doesn’t last long.

Jungkook’s in the driver’s seat, keys still in his hand, chest rising like he’s holding back a storm. His jaw is tight, brows furrowed, cigarette between his lips like it’s the only thing keeping him from starting a fight he’d enjoy too much.

He doesn’t start the engine.

Just turns to look at you.

“You let him touch you.”

It’s not a question.

You lean back against the passenger door, heart pounding. “You were watching.”

“I saw his hand on your arm,” he mutters, flicking ash out the window. “Should’ve broken his fucking wrist.”

You don’t apologize.

You don’t explain.

Instead, you let your eyes drag down his inked forearm, slow and deliberate, until he notices.

“You jealous baby?” you ask, voice soft and sweet — the exact kind of provocation that sets him off.

He scoffs, leans over, and grips your thigh — hard. “You think this is jealousy?”

You gasp, just slightly, as his hand slides up between your legs. “Feels like it.”

His jaw clenches. “Feels like you wanted me to see it.”

You smirk. “Maybe I did.”

That’s it.

His mouth is on yours in an instant — rough, hungry, biting. His free hand tangles in your hair, tilting your head so he can kiss you deeper, devour you harder. You moan into his mouth, grinding against the palm still pressed high on your thigh.

The air inside the car grows heavy. Hot. Every breath is laced with tension and want.

Jungkook breaks the kiss, panting. “Get over here.”

You don’t wait.

You climb over the console, straddling his lap with practiced ease. His hands are already under your skirt, grabbing your ass, pulling you flush against the bulge in his jeans.

“You wanna act like mine in front of him?” he mutters, voice rasping low against your throat. “Then be mine right now.”

You grind down, slow and filthy, breath hitching. “I am yours.”

He groans — head falling back for a second, throat exposed, Adam’s apple bobbing. He looks wrecked already, and you haven’t even taken his clothes off.

“You’re not wearing these home,” he says, yanking your panties aside roughly. “I’ll ruin them.”

You whimper when his fingers slide between your folds — already soaked. He grins darkly.

“Yeah… that’s what I thought.”

He starts to work you open, slow but deep, fingers curling just right. You cling to his shoulders, lips parting around a moan as your hips roll against his hand.

“Keep looking at me like that,” he says through gritted teeth. “See what happens.”

“I’m not scared,” you whisper.

He smirks. “You like this. You like when I lose my fucking mind over you.”

You’re close. It’s embarrassing how fast he gets you there — but it’s always like this with him. Intensity, fire, no patience.

And when you come — biting his neck to stay quiet, hips twitching in his lap — Jungkook holds you there, lets you ride it out, lets you shake in his arms like it’s the only place you belong.

“Fuck,” he growls, head pressing against your shoulder. “You drive me insane.”

You smile, breathless, forehead pressed to his. “Good.”

authors note: pls comment and give any ideas!

#jungkook #bts jungkook #jeon jungkook #jungkook scenarios #jungkook smut #bts x reader #bts smut #bts fanfic #bts #bts army #jungkook fanfic

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leriexoxo · 2 months ago

Text

TRAFFIC JAM

Bff! Jisung x Reader

Tags: aphrodisiac trope, accidental drugging (non-malicious), public setting (car), masturbation, voyeurism, fingering, desperate!reader, panicked but horny!jisung, unprotected sex, creampie, Smut, Slow Burn, Best Friends to Lovers, Mutual Pining, Drug-Induced Arousal

Word Count: 4.5k

Summary: You and your best friend Jisung go to a party. Nothing crazy. Nothing new. Until you take a drink that wasn’t meant for you. It doesn’t hit until you’re in the car on the way home, stuck in traffic, rain pounding on the roof—and suddenly, your body is on fire. Sweating, squirming, overstimulated… and Jisung is right beside you, panicking, blushing, painfully hard, and utterly unequipped to handle what you’re doing in the passenger seat.

This work contains mature themes, MINORS DO NOT INTERACT!!

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Jisung was already side-eyeing your outfit when you stepped out of your room. He didn’t say anything—just blinked too many times and tried to fix his expression when you caught him staring.

“Too much?” you asked, doing a little spin.

It was. A tight, black mini-skirt that hugged your hips and rode dangerously high when you walked. Your top was some sheer lacy thing that left little to the imagination. But you were confident. And Jisung was your best friend. He could handle it.

“Just enough,” he croaked, then cleared his throat. “I mean—it’s fine. You look hot. Not that I’m saying that like—ugh, never mind.”

The party was already in full swing when you got there. Red cups, loud music, too many people packed into a too-small house. You got separated for a bit. Some guy from the friend circle handed you a drink—rum and soda, probably. You sipped it without thinking. It was cold, sweet, a little syrupy. A nice buzz settled in after the first few gulps.

By the time Jisung found you again, you were perched on the arm of a couch, giggling too much, legs crossed like a show, your hand on someone’s arm as they talked. But your eyes lit up when you saw him.

“There you are!” You reached for his hoodie sleeve, tugging him down to sit beside you. “I missed you.”

His eyes darted from your bare thigh to your flushed cheeks. “You okay?”

“I’m good,” you said, a little too quickly. “I feel kinda warm, though. Probably just the booze.”

He squinted. “What did you drink?”

You blinked. “Umm… the cup on the counter. I thought it was mine.”

He stiffened. “You sure?”

You shrugged. “Eh. Tasted fine.”

But a little while later, you started getting really warm. Not just drunk-warm—sweaty, tingly, overly sensitive. Every brush of your skin felt like static. Your clothes were suddenly suffocating. You tugged at the lace edge of your top and leaned against Jisung’s side without thinking, cheek pressed to his shoulder like he was your personal AC unit.

“Jesus, you’re burning up,” he muttered, frowning. “You wanna head out?”

You nodded, eyes fluttering. “Please.”

He helped you up with a hand at your waist, and you leaned into it a little too eagerly, like you needed his body to stay upright. Like you needed contact.

The rain had started by the time you made it to his car. Big, heavy drops hitting the windshield as he drove, music low, your body curled in the passenger seat. You rolled the window down just an inch to get cool air, but it didn’t help.

You were sweating. Your thighs were sticky. And deep in your core, something throbbed.

You didn’t know what was happening yet. But you knew one thing:

You were not just drunk.

The rain was steady now. Heavy, rhythmic, blurring the windshield in waves. Wipers swiped back and forth in a lazy beat as Jisung drove, eyes on the road but stealing glances at you every other second.

You had one knee pulled up onto the seat, your skirt hiking even higher in the process. The window was cracked an inch, letting in cool air that barely helped. You pressed your cheek to the glass, trying to regulate your breathing.

“I feel… weird,” you whispered.

Jisung’s fingers tightened on the wheel. “Still?”

“It’s not the alcohol,” you said, voice shaky. “It’s something else. I’m hot—like really hot. Everything feels… sensitive.”

He looked at you again. Longer this time. “Wait—are you okay? What do you mean sensitive?”

You hesitated. Embarrassed. But the pressure between your legs was building, and you were squirming, shifting every few seconds in the seat because nothing was giving you relief.

“My skin’s on fire,” you murmured, your voice barely audible over the rain. “Even my thighs—I can feel my heartbeat there.”

His face twisted. “Did someone spike your drink?”

You blinked at him slowly, like your brain was catching up a few steps late. “Maybe,” you breathed. “I don’t know.”

You reached down, pressing the heel of your palm between your thighs—like you could squash the feeling away.

You couldn’t.

Your hips twitched at the contact. A soft, breathy whine slipped from your lips before you could stop it. And Jisung—poor, sweet, repressed Jisung—nearly swerved into the lane divider.

“*Jesus—okay, okay, um—fuck,” he blurted, adjusting his grip on the steering wheel like it personally offended him. “D-Don’t do that. Or do. I mean—shit, I don’t know what I’m saying—”

You moaned again, softer, clenching your thighs as your fingers teased the inside of one. “It hurts. I can’t sit still.”

“I—There’s a traffic jam up ahead,” he stammered. “Accident or something. We’re gonna be stuck for a bit. Can you—like—breathe through it?”

You nodded, but your hand slid further up your thigh, bunching the edge of your skirt. “I can’t,” you whispered. “I need something. I need more.”

You were unraveling—shaking, whining, breath hitching with every wet slide of your fingers.

And beside you, Jisung was gripping the wheel like it was the only thing keeping him from doing something unforgivable.

The traffic hadn’t moved in ten minutes.

Red brake lights glowed against the fogged windshield. The rain kept falling, relentless and loud, turning the car into a little cage of heat and heavy breathing.

Your legs wouldn’t stop shifting. Thighs rubbing. Hands clenched in your lap. But no matter how you moved, it didn’t help—it just made it worse.

“I feel like I’m gonna crawl out of my skin,” you whispered.

Jisung glanced at you, worried. “Is it still happening?”

You nodded, chewing your bottom lip. “It’s getting worse.”

He didn’t say anything. His jaw tightened as his eyes flicked back to the road. But you saw it—the way his fingers twitched on the steering wheel. The way his knee bounced like he couldn’t sit still either.

You tried pressing your thighs together. Hard. But the pressure between your legs was so intense now it was making your stomach clench.

A soft whimper slipped out before you could stop it.

Jisung flinched. His voice cracked. “Are you—are you okay?”

“I’m not doing it on purpose,” you murmured, eyes squeezing shut. “I didn’t mean to drink it. Whatever was in it. I can’t—my body won’t calm down.”

He exhaled, shaky. “Fuck.”

“I keep getting these… spikes. Like waves of heat. And my—” you paused, swallowing thickly. “My body feels so empty. Like I need something.”

You turned away from him, facing the passenger window. The rain was cool against the glass. But it didn’t help. Not enough. You were sweating. Trembling.

And getting wetter by the second.

Your hand slipped down, slow and hesitant, and when your fingers brushed against your inner thigh, your hips jerked.

“Shit—” you gasped, barely above a whisper.

You looked down. Your panties were soaked. Practically see-through. You could feel your heartbeat inside them.

You slid your hand beneath the fabric.

And whimpered.

Jisung made a sound—a quiet, choked noise that he tried (and failed) to smother with the back of his hand.

“Are you—” he cleared his throat. “Are you… touching yourself?”

You couldn’t answer. You didn’t want to say yes. Not to him. But you couldn’t lie either. Your fingers were already sliding through your folds, slow and shaky, collecting slick.

The first circle over your clit made your legs twitch and a broken moan spill from your lips.

“I’m sorry,” you whispered. “I didn’t want you to see me like this.”

He made a strangled noise. “You’re my best friend.”

“I know.” You closed your eyes. “That’s why I shouldn’t—but I can’t stop. My body won’t listen.”

He groaned, low and tortured. “You’re—fuck, you’re actually doing it. Right next to me.”

You didn’t speak. Couldn’t. Your hand was moving now—steady, tight circles, hips shifting just enough to chase the pressure. The heat was coiling low, tighter and tighter, until it was all you could focus on.

“I can look away,” he whispered, but didn’t.

You moaned again. Higher. Shaky. Embarrassed.

“I’m trying to be quiet,” you said, trembling. “But it feels too good. Everything feels too good.”

He cursed under his breath. His hips shifted again, and you knew—you knew—he was hard. Probably painfully so. His leg was bouncing, his fists clenched on his thighs, and his jaw was so tight it looked like it hurt.

You turned slightly toward him, eyes hazy. “Are you okay?”

His head dropped back against the seat. “No. Not even close.”

The car was fogged with your moans and the smell of your arousal. Every soft sound you made—every shaky breath, every wet shlick of your fingers—it all had Jisung spiraling deeper.

“Why does it feel like this?” you asked, breathless. “It’s like I can’t get enough.”

“You’re gonna make me lose my fucking mind,” he hissed.

Your fingers moved faster. You gasped, moaning his name without thinking.

He jolted.

“You’re saying my name while you—” He cut himself off with a groan, throwing his head back. “Oh my god.”

You whimpered again, head rolling back, eyes fluttering shut. “I can’t stop,” you whispered. “I’m sorry, Sungie.”

He looked at you.

Really looked.

And saw it all.

Your legs spread. Your skirt bunched. Your hand moving frantically between your legs as you arched into your own touch, flushed and wrecked and so, so close.

“I shouldn’t be watching this,” he said, but his voice was hoarse. Hungry.

Your orgasm hit like a wave crashing over you, hips jerking, back arching, mouth falling open in a desperate cry. Your fingers worked you through it, thighs trembling, breath coming in gasps.

Jisung stared.

Frozen… And painfully hard.

—

The car was dead silent except for your breathing.

Heavy. Sticky. Tired.

Your thighs were still trembling.

You tried to fix your skirt, hands unsteady, the fabric clinging to the sweat on your skin. You didn’t dare look at Jisung. Couldn’t.

Not after that.

Not after the sounds you’d made.

Not after the way your fingers had moved.

Not after the way his name had ripped out of you mid-orgasm.

You heard him exhale beside you. A shaky, broken breath.

“I’m sorry,” you whispered, still facing the window. “I didn’t mean for you to see that.”

His voice was rough. “You don’t have to apologize.”

“I do. I—” You winced, pressing your forehead to the glass. “God, it was so embarrassing.”

“It wasn’t,” he said quietly. “It was… it was a lot. But it wasn’t embarrassing.”

You finally looked at him.

His cheeks were flushed. His eyes were wrecked. His jeans still tight around the hard-on he’d been trying to hide for the last ten minutes.

You swallowed. The heat was fading—just a little. You thought maybe it was over. Maybe you could survive the ride home.

But then it came back.

Harder.

Like a flame licking up your spine. Like your nerve endings snapped awake and screamed for more.

You gasped, grabbing the edge of the seat. Your knees pulled in, thighs clenching together, your hips twitching involuntarily. It felt like lightning, sharp and heavy and deep, right between your legs.

“N-no—no, not again—” you whimpered.

Jisung sat up straight. “What’s wrong?”

“I don’t—fuck, it’s coming back,” you sobbed. “It’s worse this time. I can’t—I can’t—”

Your hand darted to his sleeve, gripping his shirt in a panic. He turned, saw your eyes—glassy, desperate, pleading.

“Sungie,” you cried out, voice barely holding together. “Please.”

That broke him.

Without a word, he yanked the steering wheel and swerved into the emergency lane. Rain hissed on the pavement. He threw the car into park, hands shaking.

Then silence…

Breathing… Tension so thick you could taste it.

And then he said: “Friends help each other, right?”

You blinked at him.

He was already climbing over the console, into your space, cupping your face with both hands.

“Tell me to stop,” he whispered. “Tell me this is too much and I’ll back off. I swear.”

You couldn’t.

Your thighs rubbed together again. “I need something,” you said, voice trembling. “I need you.”

That was it.

He pulled your seat back with a sharp click, his hands already under your skirt, dragging your soaked panties down with a speed that had your breath catching.

“You’ve been suffering for too long,” he muttered, kissing your throat. “You were sitting here—right fucking next to me—touching yourself while I couldn’t do a goddamn thing.”

You gasped, your head tipping back against the seat.

“I couldn’t stop watching,” he groaned, kissing your jaw, your cheek, your shoulder. “You moaned my name and I almost came in my pants. Do you know how insane that is?”

Your legs spread instinctively as he slid between them, one hand stroking your inner thigh, the other cradling your face like he was still in denial this was real.

“Sungie,” you whimpered, writhing against the seat, “please, I can’t—I need your fingers, I need something—”

He didn’t make you wait.

One hand moved between your thighs, his fingertips grazing your soaked folds, and he let out a raw, choked groan.

“Holy shit. You’re still dripping.”

His fingers slipped inside you like they belonged there. You cried out, hands gripping his arms, hips bucking up to meet his touch.

“Oh my god—yes—yes—fuck, right there—”

He moved faster. Deeper. Curling his fingers the same way you had earlier—but better. More controlled. More deliberate. The heel of his palm pressed against your clit with every stroke, dragging a filthy moan from your lips every time.

Your body was on fire.

Your back arched.

And your best friend was fucking you with his fingers in the front seat of his car, rain pouring outside, traffic crawling past behind tinted windows—and none of it felt real.

“You needed this,” he panted against your neck, as if trying to justify himself. “You needed someone to help. So let me. Let me take care of you.”

“Sungie—please, don’t stop—”

“I’m not stopping until you cum on my hand,” he growled. “Not again. Not like that. I want it now—I want to feel it.”

You shattered.

Your orgasm hit so hard you nearly screamed, thighs clamping around his hand, nails digging into his shoulders. He didn’t stop—not for a second—fingers fucking you through it while you rode every pulse and tremor and cry, hips rolling, mouth open, body wrecked.

When it faded, he leaned in close. His forehead pressed to yours.

Both of you were breathing like you’d just sprinted through a storm.

“…We’re still best friends, right?” you whispered.

He laughed—breathy, wrecked, delirious.

“Sure,” he said. “Just best friends who make each other cum in parked cars now.”

—

You were still panting in the passenger seat, your skin warm and glowing, legs spread lazily with your skirt rucked up around your hips. Your panties were somewhere on the floor, forgotten, soaked.

And Jisung…

He hadn’t moved.

He was staring down at you with wide, dazed eyes. His chest was heaving. His hair stuck to his forehead, damp with sweat. And his jeans?

Still on. Still tight. Still miserable.

You reached for his belt.

His hand shot out, catching your wrist. “W-wait—what are you doing?”

You looked up at him through your lashes. “You didn’t cum.”

“I wasn’t supposed to,” he breathed. “This wasn’t—this wasn’t about me.”

You sat up just enough to lean close, lips brushing his cheek, his jaw, the corner of his mouth.

“It is now,” you whispered. “I want you to feel what I felt.”

He shook his head, desperate. “I’ll lose control.”

“Then lose it.”

You pulled his hand between your legs again—still soaked, still throbbing—and moaned softly as your walls clenched at the contact.

“I want you inside me, Jisung.”

His eyes widened. His whole body stiffened.

“I want you to use me,” you whispered against his ear. “Just for a little. I can take it. Please—please, I want to feel you.”

That was the final straw.

He moved so fast it knocked the breath from your lungs.

Your seat went all the way back with a sharp click. His belt hit the floor. His jeans and boxers shoved down just far enough for his cock to spring free—hard, red, glistening at the tip.

And fuck, he was big.

Thick. Desperate. Veins throbbing down the shaft, heavy with need.

He fisted himself once, twice, then leaned over you, bracing a hand beside your head.

“This isn’t gonna be slow,” he warned, his voice hoarse. “I’ve been hard since you said my name back then.”

You nodded. “I don’t want slow.”

His hips snapped forward.

You gasped as the head of his cock slid through your folds—slick from your arousal—and then pressed in, inch by inch, until he was stretching you open.

“Holy shit,” he choked out. “You’re so fucking wet—so tight—I can’t—”

He sank in all the way, and both of you groaned—loud. The car shook slightly under the sudden movement. Rain pounded the roof. His forehead dropped to your shoulder.

“This is insane,” he whispered. “We shouldn’t be doing this.”

“But it feels good,” you whispered back, kissing the curve of his jaw. “Doesn’t it?”

He lifted his head. Looked at you.

Something broke behind his eyes.

And then he started to move.

Not careful. Not hesitant. Just fucking.

Desperate, hungry thrusts that had your body rocking up the seat, your hands gripping his back, your legs wrapped tight around his waist.

You moaned his name again—and he snapped.

“You don’t get to say that,” he growled, fucking into you harder. “Not like that—not when you’re letting me fuck you in my car.”

“Sungie—ahhh, fuck—it’s so good—”

“Yeah?” he panted. “Is this what you needed?”

You nodded, eyes rolling back as his cock hit deep, angling perfectly inside you.

“This what best friends do now?” he murmured, mouth hot on your neck. “Do we just fuck when we’re frustrated?”

“If it’s like this?” you gasped. “Yes. God, yes.”

He let out a broken moan, hips stuttering. “You’re gonna make me cum so fast.”

“Do it,” you whispered. “Cum inside me. Please.”

His thrusts grew erratic. Rough. The windows were fogged completely now, the air thick with sex, the scent of sweat and skin and need.

You dragged your nails down his back and tightened your legs around him.

“I want to feel it,” you moaned. “Want to feel you fill me up, Sungie.”

He groaned—loud, wrecked—and then he slammed into you one final time, cock pulsing as he spilled inside you, gasping and panting and shaking as he came harder than he ever had in his life.

The second he was done, he collapsed on top of you, forehead pressed to your collarbone.

His voice was muffled when he finally spoke. “We’re so fucked.”

You smiled, running your fingers through his hair.

“But you feel better, right?”

He laughed—hoarse and breathless.

“Yeah,” he said. “Way better.”

—

The traffic was moving again.

Barely. Slowly. But the world had started turning while you were half-naked in the passenger seat of Jisung’s car, legs spread and body full of his cum.

And now… now the silence was unbearable.

You’d pulled your skirt back down.

Tried to sit normal.

Tried not to squirm even though his cum was sticky and warm between your thighs, and every bump in the road made it shift a little more inside you.

Jisung gripped the wheel like it had personally offended him.

His knuckles were white.

You snuck a glance at him. His jaw was clenched. His hair was messy. He had scratches down the back of his neck from where you’d grabbed him—and the mark your mouth left on his collarbone was definitely visible under the collar of his shirt.

You opened your mouth. Closed it. Tried again.

“…Do we talk about it?”

He exhaled through his nose. “What, now?”

You shrank slightly. “I mean. We just—kind of had sex.”

He turned to look at you.

His eyes dragged down your body. Landed on your thighs—still sticky, slightly trembling. He swallowed hard.

“Yeah,” he muttered. “Kind of.”

You chewed your lip. “We’re still good though, right?”

He didn’t answer at first.

Then: “Yeah. Of course.”

But his hand reached over.

Landed on your knee.

Squeezed gently.

And didn’t move.

You didn’t say anything about it.

Didn’t say anything when his thumb started brushing little circles into your skin. Or when the heat in your belly started coiling again—not sharp, not desperate this time. Just simmering. Warm.

“You okay?” he asked suddenly.

You blinked. “What do you mean?”

“You’re quiet. I’m just… I dunno. Making sure you don’t regret it.”

You paused. “Do you?”

He didn’t answer right away.

Then he whispered, “No. Not even a little.”

You let out a breath you didn’t realize you’d been holding.

“But,” he added, voice tighter, “I do regret not getting to see your face when I made you cum like that.”

You turned to him slowly, wide-eyed.

“Jisung—”

“I’m serious,” he said, finally glancing at you again. “It was dark, and I was too far down, and you were pulling my hair so hard I thought I was gonna pass out—”

Your thighs clenched. Visibly.

“—but I still wanted to look up. Just once. Just to see you.”

You squirmed in your seat again.

He smirked. “Still sensitive?”

You crossed your legs. “A little.”

“I could help with that again,” he offered, voice low. “If we weren’t still like, thirty minutes from home.”

You didn’t say anything. Just looked out the window and whispered:

“…What if we didn’t wait that long?”

His hands jerked on the wheel.

He choked. “Don’t fuck with me.”

You turned to him, eyes innocent but voice dripping with heat.

“I mean,” you said softly, “you already came in me once today. Might as well make it a real habit.”

The car swerved slightly before Jisung gripped the wheel tighter and growled, “We are not doing this again on the freeway.”

You giggled. “Fine. Then get us home.”

And God help you both, by the time you stumbled through the door of Jisung’s apartment, your hands were already on each other.

Shoes kicked off. Jackets hitting the floor.

His mouth found yours before the door even clicked shut.

He kissed you like he was starving. Like he couldn’t believe he’d waited this long. Tongue deep, lips bruising, fingers sliding under your shirt, pushing you back step by step until the backs of your knees hit the bed.

He broke the kiss, panting, staring down at you like you were a dream.

“Get on the bed,” he said softly.

You did.

You crawled back until you were sprawled across the pillows, chest rising and falling fast, skirt riding up your thighs again. The room was dim, but the glow of the hallway light still poured in—just enough for him to see everything.

Jisung stood at the edge of the bed, eyes dark, chest rising in heavy, controlled breaths.

“You look so fucking pretty like that.”

You bit your lip, spreading your legs just enough to make him groan.

“I still need you, Sungie.”

He stripped fast—shirt over his head, jeans kicked away, boxers shoved down. His cock was already hard again, flushed and leaking at the tip, twitching when he caught the way your thighs squeezed together.

He climbed onto the bed, hovering over you. One hand cradled your face.

“I’m gonna go slow this time,” he murmured. “I want to feel all of you. Every inch.”

You nodded, lips parted. “Please.”

He kissed you again—softer now. Deeper. Like a promise.

His hand slid between your legs, fingers brushing your soaked folds, and he moaned against your mouth.

“You’re still wet,” he whispered. “Still messy from earlier.”

He pushed two fingers in slowly, watching your face.

You gasped, hips rolling. “Fuck. Jisung—”

“I wanna see you fall apart this time,” he breathed, curling his fingers just right. “No distractions. Just you and me.”

You were already whining, eyes fluttering shut—but he caught your chin gently, made you look at him.

“Don’t close your eyes,” he said. “Wanna see you when I make you cum.”

You nodded weakly. “I’ll try. Just—please—don’t stop—”

He didn’t.

When he finally lined up at your entrance, sliding in slow, every inch was torture.

You clung to his arms, gasping into his neck, your body stretching open to take him again.

“So tight,” he hissed. “Fuck, you feel unreal.”

And then he started to move.

Deep, slow thrusts that rocked your body beneath him. He kept his forehead pressed to yours, breathing heavy, lips brushing your mouth every time he pulled back and pushed in again.

You held his face with both hands, moaning softly.

“Feels so good, Sungie.”

“Yeah?” he whispered, fucking into you a little deeper. “You’re taking me so well. You were made for this.”

You whimpered, walls fluttering around him.

“F-for you,” you gasped. “Only you.”

His hips stuttered.

“Say that again.”

You wrapped your legs around his waist, pulling him deeper.

“I want it to be you. I want it to always be you.”

He growled—deep and low—then started thrusting harder. The bed creaked, your moans growing louder with each roll of his hips, each pass over that sweet spot inside you.

“Don’t stop—please—don’t stop—” you cried, nails clawing at his back.

“I’m not,” he panted. “I’m gonna make you cum on my cock. Wanna feel you squeeze me.”

You were so close.

Your hands gripped his hair, eyes locked on his, mouth falling open as the pleasure built like a tidal wave.

“I’m gonna—oh god—Jisung—!”

“Look at me,” he whispered, thrusts sharp and deep. “Look at me when you cum.”

You did.

And the second you locked eyes with him, your body exploded.

You came with a cry, walls clenching so hard around him it dragged a broken moan from his throat.

“Fuck—fuck— I’m gonna—”

He kissed you again, hard and messy, then groaned as he thrust once more and came deep inside you, filling you up with thick, hot pulses, hips grinding as he milked every drop into your still-quivering cunt.

When it was over, he collapsed onto you, both of you gasping, sweaty, tangled in each other.

The room was quiet except for your heartbeats and the soft sounds of your breath.

You pressed a kiss to his forehead.

He didn’t move.

Then, finally, in a soft, dazed voice—

“…We are so doing that again.”

You laughed, breathless. “We’re not just best friends anymore, are we?”

He smiled against your skin.

“Nope,” he whispered. “You’re mine now.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Authors note: I think at this point ive written a best friends to lovers fic for all the members 😂 i’m so loving it!

I know i enjoyed writing this one but if you did too, give it a like and drop that comment, let me know what you think!!! Reblog too ❤️

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