#sometimes i wonder if i should go back and finish it... | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

satosugusthirdwheel · 3 days ago

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Chance Encounter- ch.2

A DILF! Toji x CollegeStudent! Reader AU

18+ NSFW content warning heavy on this chapter

Masterlist link

Chapter Synopsis: 3 days after meeting Toji (and all that happened in his car), you finally reach out. Gotta get your favorite hoodie back, right? And maybe, just a little more than that. (Okay- a lot more than that),

Chapter warnings/content: age gap (toji is 42 user is 25), oral (69 female on top), AFAB reader, pet names (doll, pretty, sweets, etc), dirty talk, degradation (ishh), marijuana smoking (420 friendly), classmates dad (college, everyone over 18), power play, size fetish (if ya squint), unprotected (wrap it b4 u tap it people)

includes a few fake texts, hints of angst.

Authors note:

First for a lil context-in this AU, Toji stuck around to take care of Megumi and Tsumiki, and raised them. Sometimes absent with his job, so not father of the year, but they were provided for and they have decent relationships.

Secondly, I had a lot of fun with this chapter. I used a new app for making the texts and they look much better. I hope it's enjoyed by at least a few people. Tortured Toji just can't resistttt such an alluring woman. ((And I can't resist HIM- He's just too hot..))

I've got big plans for this story. Even Toji POV in the future 😈 stick around for more.

Chapter 2: WC ~7.5k

It had been 3 days since you had your encounter with Toji Fushiguro. That night, as you were debriefing with your best friend, you'd added his phone number to your contacts but you hadn't called. Not yet.

The day after was too exhausting to even think about anything except consuming copious amounts of caffeine and dragging yourself through classes. The next day, you'd spent some time thinking about your encounter with Toji. How you'd been drawn to him as soon as you'd fallen into him. You wondered if you should call him, or reach out for your hoodie at least, but you'd decided against it. You didn't want to seem too desperate.

Today, however, you're filled with a surprising amount of vigor. Its Saturday, which means you have no classes, free time to meet up or talk.

-I wonder if Tojis free.. Even if not, it would be good to text finally, right? Or get my damn hoodie back. Its my favorite..but I don't know- You think, lying in bed, still a little sleepy. You're staring at the ceiling, trying to find an excuse not to text him when suddenly a body plops into your bed. Your best friend, probably noticing your thoughtful expression. You'd learned over the years how to read each other, which was both a blessing and a curse.

“You're thinking about hot dad”

“His name is Toji”

“Whatever, stop avoiding texting him. Just do it. Besides, he said he doesn't do that often, right? Why'd he give you his number if he didn't want you to reach out?” She says, nudging you.

“Yeah.he said he wanted to hear from me. but should I, really? I don't know if I even want something right now.”

“Who says it has to be anything? You had fun right? He's hot! Either way, his balls are in your court, babe.”

“Thats not the saying, weirdo”

“Whatever. I know you're scared of getting attached or whatever but just start by getting your hoodie. Anndddd if you accidentally fall onto his-”

You cut her off by throwing a pillow at her face.

“Shut it!” You scold playfully, starting to laugh. “You're so dirty!”

She laughs, throwing the pillow back. “Text him or I'll do it FOR you”

“ABSOLUTELY NOT, you'd probably just message him like “you, me, your bed, 5mins”” You say, sitting up in your bed and grabbing your phone.

“I'm efficient..what can I say?”

You roll your eyes but open up your messages and finally decided to text him. Enough is enough.

Your best friend squeals alongside you as you text back and forth with Toji. When you finish texting, she's already asking what you're going to wear, giving suggestions and offering up her own clothes. You laugh, almost nervous after making plans, but always encouraged by her support. She would help you find an outfit 1,000 times in a row if you'd asked, especially if it's to meet up with THE “hot dad”.

You end up settling on a sundress, and a cute thin cardigan. You head to the bathroom to put on some light makeup, lotion and perfume. You style your hair, double checking in the mirror that you're happy with your appearance. It's 10:45 now, and you grab a bag, throwing in a couple essentials as you chat with your best friend for a few more minutes. Finally, you decide to head outside to wait for him, going to the same place he dropped you off the last time. You wait for a few minutes, and then you see his car pulling up. He rolls down the window as he does, turning down his music to call out to you.

“Damn, look at you. C'mon pretty” he says, reaching over to open the door. His voice sends tingles through your body, just like it had done every time he'd spoken to you.

-get it together!!-

“Hi, handsome. I take it you like the dress?” You ask as you climb in, buckling your seatbelt. Something about him is just so comfortable. You find yourself naturally wanting to tease him, or joke around as if you've known each other forever. He pulls away from the school, heading in the direction from the ramen shop.

“course I do..” he says, before quirking his lip up in a small smirk. “Handsome, eh?”

“Don't like the nickname?

“Mm. ‘s alright when you say it” He says. You can tell he's got the confidence of a man who could get whatever he wants.

He drives, one hand on the steering wheel, leaned back in his seat, looking completely cool. You wouldn't be able to tell that he was actually, for the first time in a long while, kind of excited to go out with someone.

“Well, handsome, you didn't have to pick me up. I could've taken the bus.”

“You want me to stop or somethin?” he says with a raise of his eyebrow. “I'm not always a gentleman, doll.”

“No, no. I just meant to say, thank you. I appreciate it”

“Don't mention it. You smell like a damn bakery again”

“Aww, thanks, that's what I was going for”

He continues driving, and as he does he lets his free hand rest on your thigh. His touch is exciting, even one so innocent. He's not even moving, and yet you're picturing so many things that hand could be doing. Skin tingling as you remember the way his fingers felt inside you.

“Thinking about somethin?”

“Oh! Um, no!”

“Uh huh. So then.. whys your face red?”

“It's not! You should focus on driving, you know”

“Oh, yeahhh, that's the worst distraction I've had right? Not your pretty little mouth, all stretched around my-”

“TOJI!” you say, smacking his toned bicep.

“Aww, the princess is shy?”

“No! Just, you don't have to be so vulgar about it!!” You say, hiding your face in your hands for a second.

“Doll, everything we did in this car was vulgar. Suddenly embarrassed?”

“No! I'm not embarrassed! You're just getting me a little flustered, Toji”

“There ya go sayin my name again.” He warns, his fingers tightening on your thigh ever so slightly.

You arrive at the little ramen shop, where you'd met only days earlier. Toji pulls the car into a parking spot, and reluctantly removes his hand from your thigh. Unbuckling his seatbelt and opening the door, he steps out and walks around the car to you. You've unbuckled your seatbelt and opened the door, but he extends a hand to help you step out of the car.

“Thanks. So chivalrous, Toji” You croon, knowing now just how much it affects him when you say his name.

“Not always. But for a pretty thing like you..” He says, putting a hand on the small of your back as he leads you to the doors. He opens it, allowing you to walk in first.

“Thank you” You say sweetly as you walk through the door. A friendly hostess smiles at you as you ask for a table for two, and you smile back. Tojis hand returns to your lower back while you follow the hostess. His thumb rubs almost absentmindedly, like he doesn't even notice he's doing it. It's a strangely gentle touch for a huge, brooding man, and you can't help but wonder if he touches all his dates like this.

You sit across from each other, his large frame swallowing the booth. You gaze at the menu, trying to decide on a drink, as you feel Toji's knee brush your own under the table. A waitress approaches, and you both order a coke to drink.

“So, you know what you're gonna get to eat?” You ask Toji, resting your chin on your hand.

“Somethin' with meat.” He says simply, eyes glancing up to you for one moment.

“I think I'll have the same ramen as last time” You reply, as the waitress comes back with your drinks. She takes your food orders, smiling politely before turning to put them in.

His phone rings and he checks it, before glancing back to you. “Gotta take this, it won't be long”

He answers as he's standing to walk away. “Hey, Miki. You all good?”

-Miki? It's a girls name… he doesn't sound gruff as he does in the interactions I've seen with the waitresses and such.-

As a few minutes pass, you pull out your phone, getting a little bored alone. The waitress comes back with your food, you thank her, and a moment later, Toji is walking back to the table. You can see his muscles beneath his tight shirt as he walks, your mind begins wandering to what he looks like underneath.

“Sorry. Glad I made it back right when our food got here”

“Its alright.” You say with a smile. “Who was it?”

He takes another bite of his food, raising an eyebrow ever so slightly. It's barely noticeable, but you see it.

-that seems nosy. why should he have to tell me??-

“If you're even comfortable answering, just curious” You add.

“Tsumiki. My daughter. Why, were ya worried there's something to be jealous of?” He drawls, low and teasing, as if he's entertained by the idea that you'd be jealous already.

“No, not jealous! Just curious. Megumi said he just lives with you, so I didn't know he had a sister.”

“Yeah,she lives off abroad. College. Bout a year older than Megumi. I adopted her when she was around 8” He says with a shrug, finishing his food after in the momentary silence.

“Adopted?” You take another bite of your ramen, enjoying the way it leaves a comfortable warmth in your stomach. It's just as delicious as the last time, and you add that to the list of reasons you're grateful to have found this place.

“Yeah. Was with Tsumiki's mom, she split, took everything she could. Bitch never came back, never even called. Couldn't just leave the kid”

“Wow, I had no idea. That's really noble, to take her in. A lot of people would just leave them up to the system.”

“Yeah yeah. Don't make it seem like I'm some great guy, Doll. You don't really know who I am.” He states, almost menacing. Sitting in a way that made him look bigger, as if trying to be more intimidating, hes warning you, of who he truly is. He's not a gentleman, not by a long shot, and he's not exactly a good person by most people's standards. He's had to do things no man should in all his years. And you're soft, sweet, looking innocent to his worn eyes.

“You're right. That's still a kind thing to do. I'm not saying you're a saint because I wouldn't know yet, but you deserve credit for good things."

“Sure. Guess so. Just woulda sucked for a lil girl to be alone. Not like she was a shitty kid or anything. Helped with everything she could.”

“And Megumi's yours? I mean, he looks just like you.”

“Nah..kid looks like his mom did.” He says, a flash of far, far away pain in his eyes before it's stamped out. “But yeah, my blood. Acts like his pops, just more damn sensitive”

“Did something happen..to her?” You ask, gently placing a hand on his. He tenses but doesn't pull away. A shuddering, faint breath escapes his lips, and if you weren't already paying attention you wouldn't have seen it. It seems Toji is surrounded by subtleties, the softness he'd locked down escaping in only the tiniest trickles.

“She died. Soon after megumi was born. I don't wanna get into it right now.” A darkness in his eyes that tells you he hasn't opened up about that, possibly not to anyone.

“Of course, I don't want to pry. I'm sorry” You say, an apologetic and soft tone to your sweet voice. He sees the gentle look in your eye, and though he hates the way it makes his heart clench, he likes the feel of your hand on his.

“‘s alright, ma. You didn't know. How's your food?”

“It's delicious!” You say, smiling at him. “I assume yours was good, since it's already gone” You say with a laugh, eyes lighting up, easily shifting the back to the playful tone you've had before.

"Guys gotta eat, brat” He shoots back.

You laugh, kicking him under the table at the name. “Brat? You're so rude!”

“Rude? Here I am payin for your ramen again and I'm rude? Tch” He crosses his arms, pulling his hand out from under your delicate one.

“Aww, you were gonna pay? Sooo, does that make this a date?”

“Don't know, doll. Don't really do the dating thing. Can't even remember the last time I took a girl out to eat”

“So I take it you weren't looking for a relationship either? Honestly I wasn't even looking for a hookup, you just fell into my lap. Or, I fell into your chest I guess.”

“Well, to put it bluntly, I don't know what I'm lookin for here. Don't wanna lead you on or nothin, Doll. Ive only been having some occasional quick fucks, but I'd be a liar if I said your company was bad."

“I don't know exactly what I want here either. Ive had some hookups but I really wasn't looking either. Maybe we can just see where this goes for now. I think we can have some fun together”

“Well, I'm not one to like missing out on all the fun” He says, corners of his lips quirked up in a slight smirk.

“I'm done eating, let's go get my hoodie. It's my favorite and it probably smells like man-house now”

“Man house? The fuck does that even mean?”

“You know, man air. Messes up pretty girls' hair and makeup, kills all perfume immediately, the like.”

“No, I don't know. Sounds like some made up bullshit.” He says, raising a brow at you. “Gotta be fake, cuz that thing's been making my bedroom smell like a damn pastry for days”

Before you can reply, he stands up and turns to walk away, headed off to pay the bill. As he strides away, you can't take your eyes off of his towering form, the muscles in his back. You stand up as he comes back to your table, following him to the doors and back to his car. He opens the door for you, and you slide into the passenger seat.

“Thanks, handsome”

“Tch. Stop flirtin woman” He says as he starts the car. He pulls out of the parking spot, looking irresistible behind the wheel. The way his large hands grip the wheel, the way his large body looks even larger inside the vehicle. He drives calm, casual, the house not far at all.

“Ohh, so I can't call you handsome, Toji?” You coo, knowing exactly what you're doing as you see his hands tighten on the wheel.

“You're playing with fire, Doll.” He warns, glancing over at you darkly for a moment. You can see that you're approaching his house already, recognizing it from the other day. He pulls into his driveway, slowing to a stop.

“Oh yeah, am I, Tojiii?” You ask, feigning innocence as you bat your lashes at him.

“Stop saying my name like that” He says, as you step out of his car.

“I'm not sure what you mean, Toojiii" You tease, following him into his house, slipping your shoes off at the door like last time.

“Fuck. I'm warning ya’, ma. I'm tryna be respectful here” He says, low and deep, a warning for you to stop.

“Warning me? Oooh of what? Should I be scared?” Following him deeper into his house, towards the hall that you remember must lead towards the bedrooms.

“Say my name like that again and you'll find out."

You smile, practically purring out “Tojii”

In a second, youre pinned to the wall in his hallway, a hand holding your chin possessively while his body cages you in. The lust in his eyes is deep, finally unleashing after all your teasing.

“Here I am, tryna be a gentleman. Tryna treat you nice. And you wanna test me, get me to turn you into a little slut again, don't you?”

He slides his hand around your throat and you smile, locking eyes with him. A challenge in your eyes, a dare to go further. Any nerves you'd had earlier before texting him, before being around him flew out the window. The unadulterated lust flowing through you throws all caution to the wind.

He shakes his head at your smile, his message clear: 'I can't believe this girl'

“Fuck, you do. Playin that damn princess act on the outside. All fuckin embarrassed when I talk about your mouth around my cock. But you know what you're doing, don't ya?”

“I don't know what you're talking about” You tease, batting your long lashes with a feigned innocence.

“Tch, brat. Tryna get what you want that way, huh?” He challenges, fingers tightening around your throat as his other hand trails down your body, between your legs. “Well, Doll, If you're too shy to ask me for what you want, I don't think you deserve it.” He says, suddenly removing his hands from your body. A whine escapes you immediately, desperately craving the return of his touch.

“Come onn Toji”

“If ya want it..then be a damn good girl, and ask for me to fuck your pretty pussy, yeah?”

“Please..” You pout at him.

“Must not want it very bad, ma. What a shame”

“Ngh..fine. please, fuck me Toji…I wanna feel you inside me..” You finally break, face growing warm as you confess what you want him to do to you. You feel warmth growing elsewhere too..through your body, between your thighs.

“Knew you had it in ya, dirty girl.” He says, stepping forward and kissing your neck, his large hand trailing up your body to your breast.

Your breathing grows more ragged, beginning to feel the warmth growing inside. He hooks his hands under your thighs and picks you up, carrying you to his bedroom as he bites and sucks at your neck.

"Mm. Pretty girl like you, begging so dirty" He murmurs between bites.

Normally he wouldn't do things like this. He's gotten so used to quick fucks after jobs, finding any random chick who won't expect boyfriend treatment. He wasn't gazing longingly at women anymore, not bringing them to his home, surely not driving them around and opening doors. Not after pain followed him every time he’d let his guard down. Something about you, though, chipped away at that. Ever so slightly. He found himself wanting to stare, wanting to try to act like a gentleman, even wanting to sit back and watch you undress for him instead of only ripping your clothes off like some whore. He sets you down in front of his bed and takes a step back, leaning against his bed as his green eyes rake across your figure.

“Take off the dress” He instructs, leaving no room for argument. Although, he wouldn't find any resistance anyway with the way your body just naturally obeys.

Your hands come up to the tiny straps, feeling nerves building as his eyes stay glued to your body. His gaze is intense, filled with lust, and you feel yourself getting wetter the longer he stares at you. You slide the straps off your shoulder, letting them fall. You pull the dress down, the stretchy fabric coming down your body until it finally drops to your feet. He keeps his eyes on you, watching the fabric fall until it pools around your feet.

“Fuck, look at you. Take off more for me, Doll”

“I want to see you, too"

He chuckles, low and deep. It had been so long since he'd been this slow, this sensual, with a woman. Clothes were normally ripped off quickly, no attachment, no flirting. But with you, he can't resist the strange tugging in his chest telling him to take it slow, to enjoy you, to savor you.

He slowly pulls his shirt off, exposing his toned body, as your gaze lingers. You hadn't seen his body, not without a shirt, and his muscles are more toned than you even imagined. He's littered with some scars, and you find yourself wondering what they're from. They don't detract from his body's beauty though, if anything they enhance it, and your eyes can't break their gaze on him.

His smirk grows as he watches the way your eyes lock onto his body. He slowly reaches to his pants, pulling them down. His cock is visible beneath his boxers, bulging against the fabric like it could rip free. Seeing it begging for release from his boxers urges you to finally remove the rest of your clothes.

Your hands reach behind you to unclasp your bra and it falls to the floor with your dress. Toji lets out a hiss when he sees it fall, and before you can doubt yourself you slide your panties down. As you're sliding your panties off, Toji quickly removes his own boxers. His aching cock springs free, twitching as he looks at your naked form, and you finally get to see him fully. His muscles ripple, his huge cock bobs and twitches a little and the sight goes straight to your aching center. Everything on him is big, toned, strong.

“Get over here” He says, grabbing your wrists and pulling you closer. He catches your lips in a heated kiss, and you feel his thick cock resting against your belly.

You kiss him back feverishly, hands coming to his chest to grab the muscles there. They travel to his shoulders, to his biceps, your delicate hands excite him despite how much he wants to resist. Toji normally wouldn't let a woman touch him like this, so sensual and soft, but his hands tangle in your hair and he deepens the kiss, tongue exploring your mouth as if he needs you like air. He wasn't needy, wasn't desperate, but he was verging on it with you.

He grabs you behind your thighs and easily picks you up while he scoots himself back on the bed more. You're straddling over him now, on your knees. Finally, Toji pulls away from the kiss, breathing heavier now, and looks at your face.

“You want this?”

“Don't make me beg”

“Oh, I'll make you beg. But not yet.” He teases, bringing a hand between your legs and dragging a finger through your soaked slit. You're already dripping after all the anticipation, but he's not exactly easy to take. He knows how big he is, and it will definitely take some prep for you to be comfortable. His finger trails from your hole, up, slowly.

Shuddering breaths escape your mouth as his finger finally slides across your clit, rubbing teasing circles. At the sound of your moan, he seems to snap, grabbing your hips and lifting you as if you're a ragdoll.

Without warning, he's flipped you around, facing away from him, hovering above his salivating mouth. His arms are strong enough to hold you easily, and you can't help but be surprised.

In a moment he has you sat on his face, tongue working expertly around your folds. A surprised gasp falls from your lips, and you lean forward to take his large cock into your mouth.

“Ohhh, that mouth of yours. Nasty girl” He groans into your cunt, the sound vibrating through you.

He circles around your clit, swirling it capably across the sensitive nub. He devours it like a man starved, spurred on by the way your mouth works around him. Instinctively, your hips buck against him, and he wastes no time slurping every last drop of juices that fall onto his face.

You take him deeper into your mouth, drool beginning to pool out of your lips and down his shaft. Taking him even deeper, you bob your head up and down, gagging when he hits the back of your throat. As you start to suck him faster, you feel him press a finger into your dripping hole. He thrusts in and out as your moans grow louder, muffled by his cock thrusting quickly in and out of your mouth. He adds another finger, never slowing his pace. The feeling in your stomach grows more and more intense, like a tightly wound spring, pressure building more by the second. Fingers grip harshly into his thighs, gagging on his length again, breathing through your nose and continuing your pace.

He pulls away from your pussy for a moment, but continues his pumping fingers in and out, curling them to stroke against your sensitive walls.

“You're getting close, aren't you? Dirty fuckin' thing, I feel your cunt grip onto my fingers every time you gag on my dick” He teases, slapping your ass with a swift swing of his large hand.

Your yelp is lost in your stuffed mouth, and he chuckles a little at the jolt of your body, the rumble vibrating through you.

You pull your mouth off of his cock for one moment, just to desperately moan out to him.

“T-Toji..’m gonna cum!!” You cry, hips bucking, bouncing back against his fingers.

“Cum, then. But Im nowhere near finished with you” He says, gripping your hips to force you to hold still as he returns his mouth to your sopping cunt. You return your mouth to his cock, sucking desperately as you feel your orgasm washing over you. The way your walls clench around him like a vice, your moans around his cock, it's all only encouraging Toji to pump faster, throwing you over the edge of your orgasm. He doesn't slow down, just slurps the juices as they drip down his face. He could drown in it, completely suffocate in your pussy and he'd be in complete bliss. As your body shakes with pleasure, your head bobbing on his dick becomes more sporadic. He pulls your mouth off, allowing you a moment to catch your breath as you cum. Once you've come down a little, Toji has flipped you onto the bed. Lying on your back, chest heaving, you look up to his face. It's shiny, your juices still glistening on his skin.

“Kiss me, so I can..taste me on you”

“Fuck, lil slut” He growls as he leans in, capturing your lips in a sloppy kiss. Your tongues dance easily, and you taste yourself on his tongue. The dirtiness of it all is so captivating. You deepen the kiss, bringing a hand up to hold his hair tightly as you feel his hands traveling across your body.

Finally, his fingers have returned between your legs, gathering some of your juices onto his large digits. He pulls away from the kiss, rising up so he's towering above your smaller body. He spreads your legs, pressing your thighs back to display your dripping, glistening cunt. He licks his lips, as if he's a fucking animal preparing to devour prey.

“ 's a big stretch, Doll. But don't worry, I'll make it fit” He teases, slowly, slowly pushing two fingers into your hole and pumping in and out, stretching your walls for him.

“You gonna do it or just talk about it?” You suddenly feel a fire growing in yourself, confidence coursing through you from the unbridled desire you felt. His fingers won't be enough, only all of him will do.

“Heh, getting cocky, baby? I won't waste any time, then” He slurs with a laugh. Pulling his fingers out, he notches his head at your entrance, feeling the resistance of your tightness, though you're so wet it's almost impossible to resist the urge to slide in. Slowly, he presses the head in, as your breath catches in your throat at the girth. It's big, the biggest you'd taken so far and you force yourself to relax so you don't tighten your muscles even more. You moan, gripping onto his large biceps and digging your nails in.

“so tight..shit. gettin wetter just because I put the tip in?” He teases, bringing his hands to your nipples so he can roll them between his fingers. Whimpers escape from your mouth at the touch, and he slowly slides more of his length in. You gasp, feeling him pushing deeper, stretching your soft walls. The sensation tingles through you, feeling the pressure building in your belly already.

"I'll try not to break ya"

“Nngh, god Toji, you're so big” you whine, breathing labored as the mix of pleasure and slight pain floods your body. He pushes deeper, and ghosts a hand over your body, down between your legs. His fingers rub your clit with just the right pressure, and you're melting into his touch within moments. He grips your hair with his other hand and forces your head to look between your legs. He's only halfway in, and youre already losing your mind. Your cheeks flush even more and your face drops into a slight surprised “o”

“Look at that, only takin half of it” He says with a tsk. “gonna take it all, slut? I know ya can”

“Y-yes, I can. Keep going”

“Thaaattt's a good fuckin’ girl” He says, before pushing further in with a groan. You gasp and close your eyes, and your head would've lolled back if it hadn't been for his grip in your hair.

“Ah ah ah, open em” He scolds, and you force your eyes open to watch him finally push himself in, bottoming out as you feel his bulge deep inside. You're sure you looked almost fucked dumb already and he hadn't even started thrusting yet. The pleasure comes through your body in waves as he pulls out, then pushes in fully. He was mean with his thrusts. Not harsh, but sharp, long and calculated. He thrusts as if he knows exactly how to hit your most sensitive spots, relentlessly prodding your walls. He releases your hair, allowing your head to fall back a little as you look at his face. His green eyes are piercing, the depth of his lust evident in them. You whine and moan, hips grinding against him and he groans, low in his throat.

“Tojiiii…oh god..it's so much” You cry out, loudly, clamping a hand over your mouth after realizing you didn't even know if anyone was home.

“Move. your. hand” He grits out, grabbing your wrist and pulling your hand off roughly. “Nobody's home. So don't hold back a fuckin’ sound.” It's a demand, not a request.

You can't resist the sounds that escape your throat. You'd be embarrassed if he wasn't thrusting so deep he was practically kissing your cervix. Ecstacy overcomes your entire being, and you're babbling out “oh” “yes” “please, toji” as if reciting a prayer.

“Fuuucckkk. Fucked dumb on my cock like my little slut already, huh?” He teases as he thrusts harshly, smirking in an almost condescending way. He's looking at you as if he could break you, as if he's entertained by the way you're beginning to blubber on his twitching length.

You nod lazily with a smile, and he slaps your thigh. Hard enough to make you jump but not do any real damage. As if electricity flowing through you, pleasure shoots straight to your sex.

“Wanna hear it. Say it.”

“I'm your slut, Toji..f-fuck” you whimper out, eyes closing as you grip the sheets tighter, back arching. “‘s so much..I'm so close”

“Dirty fuckin’ girl, gonna cum on my dick?”

“Yes!” you moan, hand coming down to try to push his hand away from your clit. The sensation is almost too much as you feel your climax building more and more. “Toji, slow down it- it's too much..” you're whining, eyes squeezing shut.

“No 's not, just feel it. Cum. Wanna feel that pretty little cunt twitch around my cock.” He says, gripping your hip with one hand, the other still continuing the relentless ministrations on your sensitive clit. With his words, you finally release, screaming out, his name fumbling out of your lips naturally. He pushes you through your orgasm, each thrust sending jolts of pleasure through your body. It's like a tsunami overcoming you and you're just drowning in it. He doesn't stop as you come down, even as you become more sensitive from your second orgasm. You're becoming a mess, absolutely fucked stupid on his cock, and he's not done yet.

“Fuck. More. Ya want more? I know ya want fuckin’ more” He's growling out, not looking at you, but down, at his cock pounding into you. As if he's not even speaking to you, but your drenched cunt itself.

“Yeaahhhh, ya want it harder” He groans, thrusting so hard and long your body is bouncing against him.

Your eyes are filling with tears from the sheer pleasure that's teetering just on the edge of overwhelming. Your hands grasp at Toji's, still playing with your too-sensitive clit and with a deep, breathy chuckle he removes it. A mercy, you think. That assumption is proven incorrect when that hand moves up to splay below your belly button, and he pushes down, towards your spine. He lets out a short moan at the sensation, the tightness, the way this allows his cock to slam into your spongy walls so perfectly. He has to slow his thrusts slightly to resist finishing right then, your walls clenching him like a vice. It's like you were made to take him, perfectly.

“T-TOJI!” You gasp out, hands clutching his thighs, digging in with such force you're surely leaving crescent indents in his skin. A few tears in your eyes fall as you feel another orgasm impending, not even knowing if you'll be able to reach it.

“Breathe. Feels fuckin’ perfect, doesn't it?”

“ohh god, Toji!” You whimper, shaking your head, squeezing your eyes shut, but remembering to breathe like he instructs. "It's so much"

“Young lil thing can't keep up?” He teases, but then allows his tone to hold a seriousness.

“Need me to take it out, sweets?” He's asking, genuinely checking, because even though he's fucking you so dirty, so mean, he doesn't actually want to harm you.

“No! I just don't know...if I can cum again” you whimper, not even thinking before the words are spilling out of your mouth.

“Oh, I know she can. C'mon. That fuckin’ cunt has more. Give it to me, pretty girl.” He demands, thrusting his hips in sharp, long strokes. The steady pace pushes you closer and closer to your edge. Your body tenses, and you almost want to try to run from the pleasure, positive you'll drown in it.

Feet planting on the bed, you push, almost pulling away when the hand on your hip tightens. He thrusts again, then once more, and suddenly you're careening over the edge of bliss. You don't even know what sort of moans, words or sounds escape you as your vision momentarily blurs and sound fades. The orgasm washes over you and Toji pulls his throbbing dick out just in time for you to release and squirt all over him. He smirks, accompanied by a deep chuckle.

“Such a little princess but you make such a mess? All for me?”

His hand moves from your lower stomach to his dick and he strokes it, steadily but quick. When your vision is clearing as you come down, you take in the sight of him. Slightly sweaty, huge frame towering over you, hand around his cock, pushing himself to his climax.

“Yes, Toji” You almost-squeak out, breathless now.

“Fuck. Again. Say it again” He commands, eyes locking onto your face.

“Tojiii” You purr, bringing a hand to cup his balls, massaging them as you coax his orgasm out of him. His eyes close and his head falls back, and for a moment he looks completely at ease. Lost in complete bliss, his sharp features soften as he finally releases. Warm ropes of his cum coat your belly, dripping onto your hand. He breathes heavily, chest heaving as his cock softens. It's still big, even soft. His eyes take in the sight of you, flushed face, mussed up hair, covered in his seed.

Toji isn't always one for aftercare, but looking at you beneath him, he feels that tug again, the one he kept pushing back. That natural pull towards you, towards being slow, softer, more of a gentleman. He gets off the bed, walking to his attached bathroom and grabbing a few wash cloths, running them under warm water before bringing them back. He cleans the cum off of your body, in silence, even pushing your hair out of your face a little. It's a comfortable silence, there are no words needed right now. He cleans himself off, then gives you one more so you can wipe the cum from your hands until you're ready to wash them.

When you're all cleaned off, he speaks up finally, while taking the cloths to a hamper.

“Didn't push ya too far, did I?” He asks, a seriousness in his voice, as if he was, maybe, even worried about it. He grabs his boxers and sweatpants.

“No, that was..really good. I would've let you know if it was really too much. Thanks, for cleaning me up” You sit up now, a little cold now being so bare in the air.

“Yeah, don't mention it. Least I could do” He says, brushing it off, not wanting to focus on the way he liked taking care of you right now. He picks up your dress, handing it to you on the bed.

He steps into his boxers, then sweatpants. You climb off the bed, looking for your bra on the floor. Toji grabs your hoodie off his dresser and tosses it at you. It lands on your head, and you can't help but laugh.

“What the hell!” you shout, throwing it to the bed.

“Oops” He says with a shrug, not an ounce of remorse on his face. He actually looks like he's smiling, for just one moment.

You locate your underwear and bra that had been discarded on the floor, slipping them on before stepping into your dress. You walk into his bathroom, washing your hands under the warm water before returning to his bed and sitting down, tucking your legs under his covers.

Toji picks up your phone from the floor, handing it to you, then points to a bedside table.

“Imma get us some water, doll. Remote, charger, blunt all over there if you want. Just don't put any dumb shit on my tv” he says before leaving the room, heading to the kitchen to grab the water.

You lean over to his bedside table, grabbing the remote and flipping through his tv, looking for something to watch. Settling on some slasher film you'd seen 1,000 times, you pick up the blunt, examining it for a moment. Expertly rolled, as if he'd done it a million times. He probably had. As he comes back through the door, holding two bottles of water, he glances at the tv.

“Really? Slasher? You keep surprising me, woman.” He says, lounging on his bed casually, trading you a water for the blunt in your hand.

“What do you mean?”

“You seem all innocent n shit. The little colorful outfits and all that. But then you choose to watch a serial killer chase girls and kill ‘em.” He says

“Well that's on you for judging a book by its cover, isn't it?” You tease, opening the water and drinking some. The cool liquid is refreshing on your parched throat, and you realize just how thirsty you are as you drink.

Toji chuckles, quietly. “Guess so. You joining?” He asks, holding up the blunt and a lighter.

“Smoking with my scary movie? How could I say no?” You say, smiling at him, warmth in your eyes. Your eyes always seemed to glisten when you smiled at people. Against every single fiber in his very being screaming ‘this isn't you, Toji’, he wanted to keep seeing that sparkle.

The way you smile, it repeatedly stoked a tiny fire deep inside him, a fire that had long been extinguished. He tears his eyes away from you, though they showed no flash outwardly of his inner turmoil. Years doing what he does, working the difficult jobs he does, had taught him to conceal that. He grabs a nearby ashtray, sitting up and turning his attention to the tv.

You watch as he lights the blunt, the smoke coiling around his face making him more handsome, before turning back to the tv as well. He passes to you, and you inhale deep into your lungs, holding for a moment before exhaling slowly. You relish in the relaxation it brings, the calming of your mind, the looseness in your body.

As you take turns hitting the slowly-shortening blunt, you share the silence. Toji seems to appreciate that, as he looks relaxed, and watches the movie. He doesn't cuddle, or even touch you, aside from his leg that's against yours and the occasional brush of his hand against yours. But he allows you to sit under his covers, and doesn't call you a ride out, something against the norm for him. You finish the blunt after a while, and he puts it out, placing the burnt end in the ashtray and off to his end table.

You're half watching the familiar movie, half trying to keep your eyes open and not fall asleep. Eventually, though, you succumb to the tiredness that the sex and the weed have brought to you. Toji doesn't notice you've fallen asleep for a few moments, but when he does, he just gets up off the bed and moves to a chair. He doesn't cuddle, doesn't lay with women in bed, none of that pillow talk shit. Not anymore. And though the tiniest piece of him wanted to just stay there, on the bed, maybe even let your body curl against him, he pushes it down even deeper.

Before the movie has ended, he's dozing off himself for awhile, until his phone rings, waking you both from your sleep. As you blink your eyes open, you notice that Toji moved to the chair. He's blinking sleep from his eyes, too as he answers the call, the movie long over.

“What's up, kid? I'm sleeping” He answers, with a yawn. “Yeah, yeah. Whatever. Be there in an hour, alright?”

He hangs up the phone and runs a hand along his face. “Brat needs a ride. Love the kid and all but damn. He's gotta get his own wheels or somethin” He groans as he sits up straighter.

“Oh, that's alright. I should get back in a bit anyway. Shower and hang with the roomie before she goes outta town.” You say, sitting up and rubbing your eyes, clicking your phone on and seeing it's already 3pm.

“Sorry I stole your whole bed, I didn't even mean to fall asleep” You add.

You have a couple texts from your best friend, so you text her to let her know that you're alive, and doing fine.

-we can question whether my decision making skills are sound later -

“Trust me, woulda woken you up if it bugged me, Doll. Just don't think I'll make it a habit.” He says, and you can tell there's walls he's trying to ensure stay up.

You aren't sure exactly what you want from him, either, though. All you know is that you're having fun, and there's something about him that makes you crave more. He stands up, stretching, and you watch his muscles flex as he does so. Toji notices, of course. It seems he catches you staring every time, and he flashes you a devilish smirk while he grabs a shirt from his dresser. He pulls it on, a tight black t-shirt, and you climb off of his bed, stretching a little. The effects from the blunt are dissipating, but you still feel sleepy. You gather your phone, bag and hoodie, as he grabs his keys.

“You don't have to drive me if you've gotta go, Toji” you offer, trying to at least show that you don't mind the bus, and he doesn't *have to be so chivalrous if he doesn't want to.

He scoffs, rolling his eyes. “Shut it.”

You don't push, it's obvious that the chivalry isn't exactly his strong suit. As you both head out the front door of his house, he unlocks the car door and you climb into the passenger seat. He climbs in, starting the ignition, and you speak up to fill the quiet.

“I had fun today. Even though I did miss half the movie”

“Yeah. Seems like you're as fun as you are pretty.” He says, sly as a fox. “I missed a lot, too. That shit really knocked me out. Was gonna make fun of your lightweight ass when you woke up until it hit me too”

“HA! I'm glad it wasn't just me. You're so rude, ya know? You were already planning your future teasing?”

“You call me rude an awful lot, princess.”

“Don't be so rude then”

“I can pull the car over and let you walk. That would be rude”

“Noo! Spare me!” You say, laughing, knowing you're being irritating, but finding it so fun to pick at him that you can't even stop.

“Lucky you're sexy cuz you're annoying” he says, rolling his eyes. Even though he looks annoyed, his free hand comes from the arm rest to sit on your thigh comfortably.

“Well now who's being rude AGAIN!!” you say, feigning offence, but leaning into his touch to your thigh.

It's like a conflicting dance. Your words teasing, picking fun at the other, while your bodies naturally connect, drawn to each other. You continue this way as he drives you home, the view of your college parking lot coming way too soon. As he pulls in, to the same place he's growing more familiar with, he takes his hand away from your thigh. You climb out, leaning back in to scoop up your hoodie from the floor, and pausing.

“I didn't forget anything this time. I hope I hear from you” you say, with a smile, but the message behind your words is clear. -will he keep this going, or disappear?- The same question Toji keeps asking himself.

He turns to you, meeting your eyes, and for a moment you see them flicker. “You will”

As you turn away from his car, you hear his music begin to play. He stays there until you're at the doors, where you turn back. You offer a wave and he slowly pulls out of the parking lot as you enter the building. You finally take a deep breath once you enter the doors.

-hes just a guy. Why is he affecting me like this?, get it together!- you will yourself. But it's no use. Against all your wishes, against your better judgement, you can't shake the light, airy feeling you're left with. Even if this is just fun, just a fling or just a few heated meetups, something about him is drawing you in. Like a moth to a flame. You only hope you won't get yourself burned.

©satosugusthirdwheel Do not translate, copy or post elsewhere without credit to @satosugusthirdwheel on Tumblr ♥️ 18+ only blog

#jjk fanfic #mdni blog #toji x you #jjk toji #toji x reader #toji smut #toji fushiguro #skyswritingroom #toji x self insert #dilf toji #toji fanfic #toji fushiguro x reader

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lbxbx · 3 days ago

Text

Ten steps to you 4 | Jjk

Pair: reader x Jungkook

Summary: A cozy movie night brings you closer, filled with laughter, quiet moments, and a growing connection that feels impossible to ignore. Sometimes, the smallest gestures say the most. Your fourth date might take a turn into something unexpected.

Genre: strangers to lovers, modern romance, slow burn.

It was a slow Tuesday and the sun felt too bright for the kind of week you were having.

You sat on the little concrete bench just outside your apartment building, half-finished lunch in your lap and your phone resting screen-down beside you like it might behave better that way.

Work had been dragging. Endless emails, half-hearted replies, back-and-forths that led nowhere. The kind of day where nothing really happened, but you still felt drained.

Then your phone buzzed—once, then again.

[ Jungkook calling… ]

You didn’t even hesitate.

“Hey,” you answered, the corners of your mouth lifting instinctively.

“Hey,” he echoed back, voice smooth and relaxed. “You sound tired.”

“I’m at the midpoint-of-the-day, midpoint-of-the-week slump,” you sighed. “I’m emotionally eating a banana muffin and pretending it’s saving me.”

He laughed, soft and warm in your ear. “I respect that. I’ve eaten protein bars for dinner three nights in a row. We’re not so different.”

You leaned back against the bench, eyes fluttering shut just to soak in the sound of him. “How’s your day going?”

“Not bad. The library was quiet this morning. One of the regulars brought me a coffee, though I’m ninety percent sure it was a bribe to waive her late fees.”

“And did it work?”

“Absolutely. I’m morally weak when espresso’s involved.”

You laughed, that warm kind that started low in your chest. “Good to know. I’ll remember that next time I need to convince you of something.”

“Oh?” he said, teasing. “And what might you need to convince me of?”

You hesitated, smiling to yourself. “I haven’t decided yet.”

A soft silence passed, one of those moments where it felt like neither of you needed to speak right away.

Then he said, “Hey. I was thinking… we haven’t hung out in a week.”

“Mm,” you said, trying not to sound too eager. “I noticed.”

He chuckled under his breath. “And I was wondering if you’re free this weekend. Saturday night? I kind of want to do something classic.”

“Classic how?”

“Movie date classic. Popcorn, overly cold cinema, arguing over what genre we’re watching—even though I already know you’re going to win.”

You grinned. “You don’t even want to fight me on it?”

“I’ve seen how passionately you talk about film trailers. I’m not risking my dignity over that.”

You laughed. “Alright. You’ve got yourself a movie date.”

There was a pause, just a heartbeat longer than necessary, before he added, “I missed hearing your voice.”

You felt your stomach twist in that fluttery way it only did around him. “I missed yours too.”

“Do I get bonus points if I bring candy?”

“Depends on the candy,” you replied, your tone light. “If it’s red licorice, I’m filing for emotional damages.”

He gasped. “I love red licorice.”

“Oh no.”

“Oh yes. See? I told you we’d argue.”

“If that was written on your profile i would’ve swiped left,” you teased.

“Not a chance.”

You smiled, eyes fluttering open again as you glanced at the time. “I should probably get back to pretending to work.”

He groaned. “Same. But hey—text me later?”

“Always.”

And just before you were about to hang up, he said, softer now, “Can’t wait to see you.”

You held onto that for a second.

Then: “Me too.”

Saturday felt like it took forever to arrive—and even when it did, the hours dragged. You were ready to start getting ready, only to check the time and realize it was still just 3 PM.

Yeah, you were this excited.

You’d already picked out your outfit—twice. One was a little too casual, the other maybe trying too hard. You’d eventually landed on something comfortably in-between: a soft knit top tucked into high-waisted jeans, the kind of outfit that said, I want to look good, but I didn’t lose sleep over this.

Your phone buzzed on the nightstand, screen lighting up with a familiar name.

[ Jungkook 🖤 ]

[ 3:07PM ]

Do you want me to pick you up later? Or are you driving over? :)

You stared at the message for a second longer than you needed to, smiling like an idiot. You didn’t know why that particular offer made your chest feel warmer than it should’ve. Maybe it was the simplicity of it—like he just wanted to take care of you in small, thoughtful ways.

You replied:

[ 3:09PM ]

You sure? I don’t want to make you go out of your way.

The response came quickly.

[ 3:10PM ]

It’s not out of my way if I want to. Besides, how else am I supposed to make sure you don’t sneak red licorice into the theatre?

You laughed under your breath, thumbs flying.

[ 3:11PM ]

You wish you could stop me. I’m chaotic and resourceful.

[ 3:12PM ]

So dramatic 😩 I’ll be there at 6.

Unless you want me earlier?

You paused.

Then typed, slowly:

[ 3:13PM ]

6 is perfect.

You didn’t dare type what you were actually thinking, which was something closer to you could come right now and I’d still be happy to see you.

Instead, you tossed your phone gently onto the bed and stood up, letting out a breath you hadn’t realized you were holding.

Still three hours to go. You could kill time. You were an adult. You were completely capable of acting normal.

You folded some laundry. Refilled your water bottle. Opened Spotify, played half a playlist, skipped five songs in a row.

Time was not on your side. It had slowed to a crawl and was now mocking you.

You gave up and showered early. Spent too long doing your hair. Changed earrings three times, stared at your reflection like it might offer you some kind of cosmic reassurance. It didn’t.

Eventually, you sat on the edge of your bed, dressed, lightly perfumed, and trying not to overthink the fact that this was technically your fourth date.

Fourth.

Somehow it felt like you’d known him longer. Like you were slipping into a rhythm you hadn’t expected to find with someone so soon.

At 5:42, your phone buzzed again.

[ Jungkook 🖤 ]

I’m downstairs. No rush. Take your time :)

You peeked through your window, just to confirm, and sure enough—his car was parked right outside, the passenger window down, his arm resting casually out the side. The sight made your stomach flip.

You grabbed your phone, keys, and your little black bag, checking it one last time: lip balm, gum, your wallet, absolutely no red licorice (yet). Then you headed out the door.

He spotted you immediately as you stepped onto the sidewalk, and even from a few feet away, you could see the way his face lit up. That soft, there you are kind of smile.

“Hey,” you said as you slid into the passenger seat, your voice already warmer than it had been all day.

“Hey yourself,” he said, leaning a little toward you without thinking, like he wanted to kiss your cheek but wasn’t sure if that line had been crossed yet. “You look…” His eyes swept over you. “Wow.”

You laughed lightly, trying not to fidget with your sleeves. “Thanks. You clean up nice yourself.”

He grinned, throwing the car into drive. “I even vacuumed the car for you.”

“Oh? Now that’s romance.”

“Right?” he said. “Next thing you know I’ll be offering you the aux cord.”

“Careful, I take music control seriously.”

“Good. So do I.”

You settled into the seat as he pulled into traffic, the late afternoon sun spilling across the dashboard. There was music playing faintly—something lowkey and upbeat—and the breeze from the open window carried the scent of his cologne, subtle but clean. You caught yourself stealing glances at him, the way one hand rested lightly on the wheel, the other drumming fingers against his thigh to the beat.

You liked this—being beside him, moving forward, even if it was just toward a movie theatre.

And now? You wish time would just hold and pause for you.

The city blurred past in warm, golden tones. Late afternoon made everything feel softer, like the day itself was rooting for you.

You glanced at the dashboard clock. “We’re kind of early.”

“Yeah,” he said, drumming his fingers on the steering wheel. “That was on purpose.”

You turned your head. “Oh?”

He shot you a quick smile, one that tugged at the corner of his mouth like he was trying not to look too proud of himself. “Thought maybe we could grab something before the movie. A pre-snack snack.”

You raised a brow. “And what exactly is a pre-snack snack?”

“It’s a critical part of the evening,” he said, mock serious. “It sets the tone. Also, I just wanted an excuse to stop by this little boba place on 8th.”

“Oh my god, do you have a boba addiction?”

“I don’t want to talk about it.”

You laughed. “You realize this makes you incredibly easy to bribe.”

He nodded solemnly. “I am a man of simple pleasures.”

A few minutes later, he was parking in front of a small corner shop, its windows fogged with condensation and a chalkboard sign out front that read: “Try our summer special: mango green tea + lychee jelly!”

“I’m treating,” he said as he unbuckled. “Don’t fight me on it.”

You held up your hands. “No complaints here. Especially if there’s lychee jelly involved.”

Inside, the shop was cool and smelled faintly of fruit syrup and steamed milk. You hovered near the counter while he ordered—one mango green tea with lychee jelly for you, and a brown sugar milk tea with extra pearls for himself.

When you went to reach for your wallet, he just shook his head and pointed a finger at you. “No. You agreed.”

“Technically, I said I wouldn’t fight you. I didn’t say I wouldn’t feel mildly guilty.”

“Live with it,” he said, handing you your drink. His hand brushed yours in the exchange, warm and brief, but enough to spark something under your skin.

You stepped outside together, leaning against the car while you sipped your drinks. The air was just starting to cool, and the sun was dipping lower behind the buildings.

“Okay,” you said after a sip. “This is actually really good.”

He gave you a smug look. “Told you.”

You took another sip, then looked at him sideways. “Is this your go-to pre-date move? Win them over with boba and charm?”

He pretended to think. “Honestly? You’re the first person I’ve shared this particular move with.”

You tried not to let your heart leap at that. “Oh? So I’m special.”

He met your eyes, suddenly quieter. “Yeah. You kind of are.”

The words hung there, not heavy, but full. Honest.

You looked down at your drink, lips curved despite yourself. “You’re kind of special too, you know.”

He bumped your shoulder lightly. “That a fact?”

You nudged him back. “It’s data-driven.”

He laughed, and for a second, the world felt impossibly light.

After a few more sips and a shared moment of debating which flavor combination was superior, you climbed back into the car. He drove a little slower now, like neither of you was in a rush to get to the next part.

As you neared the theater, he reached over and turned the music down just a notch. “Okay, I have to ask—what kind of movie are you in the mood for? Rom-com? Something that’ll wreck our emotional stability? Or like… cheesy 2000s action with bad CGI?”

You pretended to think deeply. “Well, emotionally wrecked and laughing sounds ideal, but I also have a soft spot for fake explosions and unnecessarily dramatic soundtracks.”

He grinned. “We’re going to get along just fine.”

You pulled into the movie theater parking lot just as the sky was beginning to shift into evening. Pink streaks stretched across the clouds, like the day was ending on purposefully cinematic terms.

He parked, then turned off the engine and looked at you. Not rushed. Not distracted. Just… present.

“You ready?”

You nodded. “Yeah.”

He didn’t move just yet.

Instead, he looked at you a second longer. Like he wanted to say something else. Then he reached across the console and gently, gently, tucked a strand of hair behind your ear.

Your breath caught.

“I’m really glad we’re doing this,” he said, voice low.

You met his gaze. “Me too.”

And then—like he knew it wasn’t quite the moment for a kiss, but it could’ve been—he just smiled and opened his door.

The theater was buzzing as you stepped inside—low chatter, the scent of popcorn hanging thick in the air, and a distant hum of trailers already rolling behind closed doors. Jungkook held the door for you, then leaned in just enough to murmur near your ear, “I vote we do snacks first. Priorities.”

You grinned. “Naturally. I didn’t emotionally prepare for this movie just to sit in there snack-less.”

You both fell into step toward the concession stand, the lights above casting a soft orange glow on the patterned carpet beneath your feet.

“I know this is a big question,” he said, tone mock-serious, “but what’s your ideal snack combo?”

You gave him a skeptical look. “Are we talking morally ideal, or realistically chaotic?”

“Give me the chaos.”

“Alright,” you said, counting on your fingers. “Popcorn with extra butter, a sour candy that’ll ruin my tongue for three days, and one enormous soda I absolutely can’t finish but will cry over if I don’t have it.”

He paused dramatically. “I’ve never heard anything more compatible with my soul.”

You laughed. “Okay, now you.”

“My go-to is a large popcorn I pretend we’re sharing but actually hoard, one box of peanut M&Ms that I pour into the popcorn—don’t judge me—and a soda that I also can’t finish but sip like it’s a sacred ritual.”

You blinked. “Wait. You pour M&Ms into the popcorn?”

“Yes,” he said, eyes wide, scandalized. “Sweet and salty, the perfect crime.”

“I think I love you.”

You didn’t mean to say it—not seriously, not with weight. It just slipped out in that casual, joking tone people use when they mean maybe too much by it.

Jungkook didn’t freeze. He just smiled. “Hold that thought until you try it.”

You made it to the front of the line and quickly agreed on a shared popcorn and soda—the classic oversized combo, naturally. You picked out a pack of sour belts, while Jungkook grabbed the M&Ms with a proud little flourish.

“I’m trusting you,” you warned.

“Wise choice.”

As the cashier rang everything up, he handed over a single, absurdly long straw.

You raised an eyebrow. “One straw?”

“We’re in this together now,” he said, grinning.

You carried the popcorn while he held the soda. As you walked toward your theater, he offered the drink to you first, tilting the cup slightly your way.

“Go on,” he said. “First sip’s yours.”

You rolled your eyes playfully, but took the straw. The soda was cold and fizzy and way too sweet, and you handed it back with a dramatic gasp. “This could actually revive me from the dead.”

“I aim to please.”

You stepped into the theater, and he led you up a few rows until you found two seats dead center—prime movie-watching real estate.

He held the cup between you both, propped on the armrest, and you took turns sipping from it while the previews started to play.

You leaned in a little. “This is dangerously cute. I feel like we’re going to get cast in a soda commercial.”

He smirked. “I was just thinking the same thing. Except I’d probably spill it on myself halfway through.”

“That’d make it even cuter. Relatable.”

As the lights dimmed further and the movie began, you sank back in your seat, Jungkook’s knee just barely brushing yours, the shared soda between you like some unofficial agreement—you were here together, sharing space, sharing sweetness, sharing little things that didn’t feel so little anymore.

The movie started, but for a few minutes, you barely paid attention.

Because the popcorn was warm between you, his fingers kept brushing yours in the tub, and you were both pretending it wasn’t intentional.

Because every time one of you reached for the soda, the other leaned in slightly, and you were both smiling a little more than necessary afterward.

Because none of it felt forced.

It just felt good.

Natural.

Like this was exactly where you were meant to be.

The movie had been rolling for a while now—enough time for the characters on screen to start falling for each other in all the usual ways: stolen glances, soft music cues, a near-kiss that cut off too soon.

You were watching, but not really watching.

Not when Jungkook was sitting this close.

Not when the shared popcorn tub sat between you like a stand-in for the tension neither of you had addressed head-on.

Your fingers had brushed his four times so far. Maybe five. You weren’t sure. You’d started counting, then stopped, because the number didn’t matter. What mattered was that every time it happened, neither of you moved away.

The soda sat in the cupholder between you, straw curved slightly in your direction now. He hadn’t said anything when you took another sip, and you hadn’t said anything when he did either—but the way he looked at you after made your pulse skip.

You leaned back into your seat, eyes on the screen, pretending to care deeply about a scene you didn’t even register. Out of the corner of your eye, you saw Jungkook do the same—adjusting slightly, his hand resting on his thigh now, just inches from yours.

Say something, you told yourself. Do something.

But what? You were in a dark theater, elbows almost touching, hearts hammering for no good reason.

He was quiet beside you. Too quiet.

You chanced a glance his way, catching the faint outline of his profile—lips slightly parted, jaw relaxed, eyes fixed on the movie like he wasn’t thinking about holding your hand, except… you knew he was.

Because you were too.

You shifted slightly, brushing your knee against his again, testing the waters. He didn’t pull back. He didn’t flinch.

If anything, he leaned closer.

He reached for the popcorn—at the exact same moment you did—and your hands collided, knuckles bumping, fingers overlapping.

You both froze.

Slowly, your eyes met.

You didn’t speak, didn’t need to. The flickering light from the screen danced across his face, and in that brief pause, everything else faded. It was just him. You. And the question hanging between you, louder than any movie soundtrack could be.

Then—finally—he shifted.

His hand turned gently beneath yours, until his palm was facing up. Waiting.

And you didn’t hesitate.

You slid your fingers into his, and he laced them together like he’d been waiting for this exact moment all night.

Your heart thudded in your chest, so loud you were sure he could hear it. But when you looked at him again, he was already looking at you—with that soft, slightly shy smile that made your stomach twist in the best possible way.

He gave your hand a small squeeze.

You squeezed back.

Neither of you said a word.

The movie played on, but the real story was unfolding right there, in the quiet space between your joined hands.

His hand was warm.

Not in the way hands usually are, but in the way that made you feel like you’d just been let into something quiet and important. Like the world had dimmed around the edges and left only this: the hush of the theater, the buzz in your chest, and Jungkook’s hand wrapped gently around yours.

You couldn’t believe how right it felt.

You weren’t even watching the movie anymore. The characters on the screen blurred into background noise, their lines no longer registering as anything but static, because all your focus had tunneled down to where your palm pressed against his. The skin-on-skin contact. The steady, calming weight of it.

You could feel every detail.

The roughness at the tips of his fingers, probably from guitar strings or lifting too many books. The way he didn’t hold too tight, but didn’t let go either. Like he was making space for you to be as nervous as you needed to be.

And still, he stayed there.

Solid. Gentle. Sure.

Your thumb twitched slightly, brushing against the side of his. You weren’t even sure if it was on purpose, but when you did it, his thumb shifted too—rubbing back, just once.

It did something to your heart. Made it flutter and ache and soften all at once.

Then slowly—like it was the most natural thing in the world—Jungkook lifted your joined hands from the armrest and placed them gently in your lap. His hand never leaving yours. Just… moving it closer. Closer to you.

You looked down at them together—your smaller hand tucked into his, resting now on your thigh—and you could’ve sworn the whole theater tilted a little.

You didn’t think your heart could beat any harder.

It was almost funny. For all the teasing, the flirty texting, the mutual stolen glances… this was the thing that undid you. Not a kiss. Not a confession.

Just a hand.

His hand in yours, steady and warm and here.

You took a breath—quiet, controlled, though your chest was rising a little too fast—and leaned back slowly in your seat. You let your shoulder brush his this time, not pulling away, not pretending it didn’t happen.

He didn’t flinch. He didn’t stiffen.

He just… shifted slightly. Like he was making more space for you. Like he’d been waiting.

Your eyes flicked up toward him—just a glance, just to be sure—and in the low light of the screen, you could see it: his profile still, relaxed, the corner of his mouth just barely curved. He wasn’t watching the movie either. Not really.

And that was all the invitation you needed.

You moved slowly—cautiously, like you were afraid to shatter the moment—but you let your head tilt until it touched his shoulder.

Just barely at first. A brush of hair, the soft contact of fabric on fabric. Then, when he didn’t move away, you let yourself rest there. Fully.

His shoulder was solid. Warm. Comforting.

And then there was him—the smell of his cologne curling softly around you like a secret. Something woodsy, a little sweet, like cedar and clean laundry and maybe even something citrusy underneath.

You breathed it in, slow and deep, just once.

Just to remember it.

Just because you could.

He didn’t say anything, but you felt his arm relax slightly, shifting just enough to settle in against your side. You could almost feel his heartbeat through his shoulder.

It made you smile. Not big. Not dramatic.

Just a tiny curl of your lips against the fabric of his hoodie, quiet and hidden and real.

This wasn’t what you expected when you woke up this morning—sleepy and grumpy and chewing on a banana muffin like it owed you rent. You hadn’t known this Saturday would end in something so simple and grounding. But maybe that’s what made it feel so big.

Not because of a grand gesture.

But because this meant something.

This was him letting you lean into him without asking. You letting him hold your hand like it belonged there. No words, no pressure, just presence.

You were so aware of him—of everything. His breathing. The way his chest rose and fell. The faintest tap of his fingers against your knuckles like a rhythm only the two of you could hear.

And even more than that, the warmth radiating off him—an invisible current you could feel against your cheek, in your blood.

You thought maybe you could sit there forever.

Then you felt him shift slightly, just a tilt of his head, and suddenly his mouth was closer to your ear.

You didn’t move.

“Hey,” he whispered, his voice barely there, soft and low.

A shiver ran through you—light but undeniable. The sound of his breath against your skin made your chest flutter like a caught bird.

You turned your face slightly toward him, your voice just as quiet. “Hey.”

He smiled—more in the way his cheek lifted beneath you than anything you could see—and whispered, “This is really nice.”

It was such a simple sentence. But it hit you like something important.

Because it was nice.

It was slow and gentle and safe. No performance. No overthinking. Just this easy closeness, so real you could feel it humming in your bones.

You nodded, barely. “Yeah. It really is.”

“I’ve been thinking about this all week,” he admitted. His breath brushed against the edge of your hairline, and your skin broke out in goosebumps like it was answering him before you could.

You smiled, your heart tightening in that familiar, pleasant way. “Same. I kept checking the time every ten minutes like a loser.”

He chuckled quietly. “Me too. I thought about canceling just to reschedule for earlier.”

You pulled back slightly, just enough to look at him. His eyes were already on you, dark and soft and shining in the faint light from the screen.

He looked… calm. But there was something under the surface. A nervous energy, a quiet buzz, the same thing that was dancing through your chest right now.

“You’re warm,” he whispered, eyes flicking down to where your hand still rested in his. “And you fit really well right here.”

Your breath caught in your throat.

“Yeah?” you said, a whisper of a smile on your lips.

He leaned in just the tiniest bit, his forehead brushing yours now. “Yeah.”

It was dizzying, this closeness. His scent filled your nose again—sweet and woodsy and something sharper underneath, like crushed pine—and you were suddenly very aware of how little space there was between you.

How easily you could tilt your face up and kiss him.

How badly you wanted to.

You didn’t, though.

Not yet.

Instead, you whispered, “Your voice is dangerous.”

He blinked, caught off guard. “Dangerous?”

You nodded, the smallest motion. “You keep talking that close and I might forget I’m in public.”

He laughed, soft and warm, and your heart nearly exploded with how pretty it sounded.

“You can talk, by the way,” he murmured. “That sigh earlier? When I leaned in? Nearly did me in.”

“I didn’t sigh.”

“You did. It was tiny. And it was criminally cute.”

You pressed your lips together, half-embarrassed, half-glowing. “Maybe you’re dangerous.”

He grinned. “We’re a threat to each other.”

Another breath passed between you. Shared. Close. Intimate.

You let yourself lean in again, this time just a little more, your forehead now against the side of his.

Your heart was racing, but in the best way—like something tender was unfolding, slow and certain, and you didn’t need to rush it.

“I like this,” you said softly.

Jungkook’s voice was low and sincere. “I like you.”

Your breath caught. For a moment, you forgot where you were.

Then the characters on screen kissed—finally—and the entire theater seemed to exhale in collective satisfaction.

You smiled into the darkness, still pressed against his shoulder, and whispered, “Took them long enough.”

Jungkook squeezed your hand once. “Yeah,” he said, voice just near your ear. “We’re doing better than them.”

The credits finished rolling, and the lights came up slowly. You stayed still for a moment, caught in the warmth of the closeness you’d just shared, but as the theater filled with people gathering their things, a small pang of disappointment tugged at you.

You two had to let go of each other’s hands so you could walk out the theater. It only felt appropriate to do so.

You both stood up, the buzz of the crowd around you suddenly feeling distant compared to the quiet space between you two.

Together, you walked out into the night air, side by side but not quite touching. Your fingers itched to reach for his, but something held you back—maybe shyness, maybe waiting for him.

As you reached the parking lot, Jungkook stopped in front of his car. The glow from a nearby streetlamp cast soft shadows over his face, making his eyes look even warmer than usual.

He looked at you, hesitant but steady, and then reached out his hand.

“Can I?” he asked quietly.

You nodded, your heart fluttering as you slipped your hand into his.

His fingers curled around yours like they’d been made to fit perfectly.

“I can’t get enough of this,” he murmured, thumb brushing over your knuckles.

The words hit you like a wave—simple, honest, and full of something that made your breath catch.

You squeezed his hand back, a shy smile spreading across your face.

“I’m glad,” you whispered.

He leaned just a little closer, and you could feel the warmth of him radiating through the cool night.

For a moment, the world shrank to just you two—your hands joined, the quiet hum of the city, and the unspoken promise hanging between you.

Then, with a playful grin, he opened the car door for you.

“Let me get you home,” he said.

You slid inside, still holding his hand until he gently pulled away to close the door.

As he started the engine, your fingers twined together again, like neither of you wanted to let go just yet.

The car hummed softly as Jungkook pulled out of the parking lot. The streetlights flickered past in a lazy rhythm, casting gentle shadows inside the vehicle.

Your fingers still laced with his, the warmth of his hand grounding you in a way nothing else could. You glanced sideways, catching his profile bathed in the glow of the dashboard. His jaw was relaxed, eyes focused on the road, but every now and then, his hand gave yours a slow, reassuring squeeze.

“It’s been a long week,” you said quietly, almost to yourself.

He nodded. “I could tell. You seemed… tired earlier.”

You shifted in your seat, the vulnerability you’d tried to hide slipping out in the softness of your voice. “Yeah. Days like that make you question everything. Like, am I even making any progress? Or just spinning in place?”

Jungkook stole a quick glance at you, then reached over, resting his hand lightly on your thigh—a gentle touch that made your breath hitch.

“Hey,” he murmured, “you’re not alone in that. I have days where I feel stuck too. Like the whole library is just waiting for someone to notice it.”

You smiled, eyes meeting his briefly. “I’m glad you get it.”

He squeezed your hand again, then let his fingers trail up your arm slowly.

“I don’t want to pretend with you,” he whispered. “No masks. No pressure.”

You swallowed hard, the honesty catching you off guard but feeling like the safest place you’ve been all week.

“I don’t either,” you said. “I want this to be real. Whatever ‘this’ turns into.”

The car slowed as you neared your apartment. Jungkook reached over, brushing a loose strand of hair behind your ear with a tenderness that made your heart race.

He parked and turned off the engine, the sudden quiet filling the space between you.

For a moment, neither of you moved.

Then he shifted, opening the door for you again.

As you stepped out, you felt him reach for your hand once more, holding it with a quiet desperation that mirrored your own.

“I don’t want to say goodnight yet,” he admitted softly.

You looked up at him, searching his eyes, finding the same reluctance reflected there.

“Me neither,” you whispered back.

He hesitated, then gently pulled you closer, resting his forehead against yours.

“Until next time,” he said, voice barely above a breath.

You smiled, feeling the promise in those words, and with your heart still pounding, you whispered back, “Until next time.”

21 notes · View notes

eroticallywritten · 16 hours ago

Text

──────────────────────────────────── Pairing: Javier Peña x Frankie Morales Warnings: (MDNI) power imbalance, humiliation, blowjob in public, hate fuck, sexual coercion, abuse of authority, drug references, emotional manipulation, self-loathing and internalized shame, parental guilt, and occasional explicit language with strong profanity. ────────────────────────────────────

Summary: When Javier pulls Frankie over yet again, he makes him a twisted offer to avoid arrest — one that crosses every line.

Word Count: 4.4k Italics - @berryispunk (Frankie) Normal - Me (Javier)

Notes: YES THIS IS A CROSSOVER. This story started from a silly little conversation between the two of us, and somehow it spiraled into… this. We just rolled with it. If this isn’t your thing, that’s totally okay — @berryispunk is wonderful and you should go support all her work and follow her!🤍

The engine hummed beneath him, a low, steady purr that filled the humid Florida air. Since moving down here, it felt like Javier was out on the road every other day, busting some nobody with a dime bag or two. Sometimes, in the quiet moments between calls, he found himself missing the adrenaline back in Colombia — the danger, the high-stakes chases, the electric edge of it all. But that chapter of his life was over. Retirement loomed on the horizon, and he knew he had to learn how to slow down.

Slipping off his sunglasses, he tossed them onto the dash and stepped out of the car. The thick air wrapped around him, heavy with salt and the distant scent of the ocean.

The officer who had called in the suspect was finishing up his notes when Javier approached, clapping a hand on his shoulder in a casual, practiced gesture.

“Good work, Todd. Go fight some real crime,” he said, a hint of dry amusement in his voice as he dismissed the younger officer back to his cruiser.

Javier glanced down at the scribbled notes, adjusting the hem of his shirt where it tucked into his jeans. The paper crackled slightly in his hand as he flipped through it, his brow furrowing in irritation.

Then he saw the name.

A sharp scoff escaped his lips.

Catfish.

Not him again.

—

The moment he saw Javier step out of that car, Frankie knew he was screwed.

His grip on the steering wheel tightened—knuckles whitening, the leather worn soft beneath his calloused fingers. This truck had seen better days, and so had he. The engine vibrated like it was held together with duct tape and borrowed time, the kind of rattle that made your teeth ache if you sat in it too long.

And of course, of fucking course, the damn window jammed halfway down, grinding with a pitiful groan before it gave up entirely.

“Fuck,” Frankie muttered, leaning over to shove it manually while sweat rolled down the back of his neck, sticking his t-shirt to his spine.

He could see Javier now, slow and deliberate, like he had all the time in the world. Sauntering over to him half calculated, half casual.

Javier was peering into the truck like he was about to haul him in.

“Jesus,” Frankie said, giving a bitter laugh. “What, you here to drag me in for a busted taillight now? Thought you retired.”

He ran a hand through his hair, catching on the sweat at the nape of his neck, then met Javier’s stare—steady, unflinching.

“I didn’t do anything,” Frankie said quickly, jaw tightening. “Not this time.”

But even as he said it, he heard how hollow it sounded. He knew exactly what name had set off that scoff—Catfish—and the weight it still carried. His past always found a way to swim back to shore, dragging up shit he thought he’d buried deep under the sand.

—

Javier sighed as he leaned closer to the cracked window. His hand came up to grab the jammed glass, forcing it down with a sharp shove. He knew this truck all too well. Knew the man inside even better.

With a flick of his wrist, he balled up the young officer’s scribbled notes and tossed them to the ground, letting them scatter like dead leaves.

"Frankie," he drawled, voice edged with tired snark. "Enough with the excuses, yeah? This is what — the third time this month?"

Frankie always had a way of drifting back into Javier’s path, no matter how many times he slipped through the cracks. Like a weed that refused to die or a piece of gum, stuck under your shoe.

"What is it this time, huh? Coke? Heroin?" He scoffed.

Javier’s fingers curled tighter around the metal door frame, knuckles whitening under the strain. He leaned in further, eyes narrowing as they locked onto Frankie’s.

The midday sun had already started to slide lower in the sky, throwing long shadows across the road as other cars passed by. Javier should’ve been home by now, heating up whatever sad frozen meal was left in his freezer. Instead, he was here — stuck staring into the same familiar, pathetic face that made a vein jump in his neck every damn time.

—

The heat was unbearable, clinging to his skin like regret. Sweat gathered at the hollow of his throat, his shirt sticking in all the wrong places, but none of that burned half as bad as the sight of Javier fucking Peña leaning through his window like he still had a right to judge him.

Frankie let out a slow breath through his nose, staring dead ahead as Javier leaned in, all smug authority and stinking cologne. He turned his head just enough to meet Javier’s eyes, his voice flat and cold. “You always this obsessed, or am I just your favorite charity case?”

—

Javier let out a short, humorless chuckle. God, he really couldn’t stand this guy.

Without permission or even a hint of warning — Javier reached straight into the truck and popped the lock. Lucky for him, the old rig wasn’t new enough to have fancy electronics; the simple mechanics made it easy. Poor bastard.

He yanked the door open in one sharp motion and lunged for the keys before Frankie could even form a protest. With a sharp click, he pushed them forward and ripped them from the ignition, stepping back with the bundle clenched tightly in his fist.

“Out. Now.” His voice was low, cold, final. He planted his hands on his hips, jaw set, and didn’t bother to waste another word.

The air between them thickened, a charged silence hanging heavy. These two had never seen eye to eye, and the tension coiled tight in the narrow space between them.

“Morales,” Javier snapped, his tone razor-sharp now. “OUT. NOW.”

—

It took a moment for Frankie to register what had just happened. He blinked—once, twice—then let out a long breath through his nose.

A dry, humorless laugh followed.

“Mierda. You’re really getting on my nerves, Peña.” His voice was low, edged with exhaustion and disdain. “This shit get you off?”

He paused, eyes narrowing.

“I’m not leaving this truck,” he said, calm and certain. Like a fact carved in stone.

—

There was another heavy silence. Cars sped past in a blur, their headlights slicing through the early evening haze. The sun was nearly gone now, sinking low and turning the sky a bruised orange and violet.

Javier shifted his weight, his boots grinding against the rough asphalt. He pushed his heel into the asphalt of the road, grounding himself, before leaning forward into the truck, his hands splaying across the roof, fingers drumming against the warm metal.

“Morales. I won’t ask again.”

There was no sarcasm in his voice now — no hint of the snark he usually carried like a shield. It was flat, stern, stripped bare. His gaze cut through, locking on Frankie’s face as the man stared stubbornly ahead, jaw clenched.

When Frankie still didn’t move, Javier’s patience snapped. He dropped his hands from the roof, leaned inside and grabbed Frankie hard under the arm, jerking him out in one brutal motion. With no seatbelt to hold him, Frankie tumbled easily into Javier’s grip.

A chorus of grunts and curses spilled from both of them as Javier dragged him around the truck, shoving him roughly against the passenger side door. The hollow thud echoed into the darkening road.

“You wanna know why they call you ‘Catfish,’ huh, hombre?” Javier snarled, his voice low and vibrating with anger. “It’s ’cause you got too many damn lives, and you’re too fucking slippery. Always slipping through, always wriggling out.”

He stepped back, eyes raking up and down Frankie’s frame, his teeth grit so hard his jaw twitched.

“Now here’s what’s gonna happen, bueno?” He flicked a glance toward the tree line to their right, scanning the darkening woods, then over the truck toward the nearly deserted road.

“You’re gonna get cuffed, and I’m gonna haul your sorry ass down to the station.” His hands hovered just above his belt buckle, fingers flexing.

“Or…” He leaned in slightly, a dangerous edge creeping into his voice.

“You’re gonna do me a fine fucking favor.”

—

Frankie stumbled back against the passenger door, the metal biting into his spine as he caught his balance, breath shallow and fast. He’d been roughed up before—humiliated, handcuffed, spit on in back alleys and piss-stained cells—but not like this.

Not by him.

He stared down at the asphalt for a second, jaw working, before he spat near Javier’s boots. It landed with a wet splatter, defiant.

“The fuck am I gonna do, huh?” he growled, lifting his head with fire in his eyes. “You wanna parade me through town again? Let everyone see the junkie fuck dragged out like roadkill?”

He straightened up, eyes locked on Javier like he could burn straight through him.

“You don’t know shit about me. You think this is some game—some fucking badge-wielding ego trip. You think every time you haul me in, I go home and laugh it off?” His voice cracked, not from weakness but from how hard he was holding the rest back.

“I got a kid,” he snapped, venom behind the words. “I got a family that still—somehow—lets me come through that door when I’m clean. You think I’m doing this for me?”

He took a step forward, chest almost brushing Javier’s and then Frankie saw it.

Not in the words. In the look. The way Javier’s eyes dragged over him—lingering a second too long. The twitch at the corner of his mouth, furiously smug. The way his fingers flexed at his belt like muscle memory.

It hit Frankie like ice water.

He laughed. A bitter, disbelieving thing that cracked at the edges.

“Fuck me…” he muttered, shaking his head. “That’s what the fine fucking favor is.”

Frankie looked away for half a second—shame flashing through him like heat lightning—but then he snapped his gaze back, mouth twisted, eyes burning with disgust.

“You. You want me on my knees to make your sad little life feel worth something?”

His voice dropped, sharp and scathing. “Is that it, Peña? Can’t get it up without the cuffs anymore?”

The ache of humiliation curled in his chest, thick and bitter, but he held Javier’s stare like a dare.

—

Javier let Frankie have his moment. Let him spit his usual shit — the same tired song he’d heard a thousand times before.

“Say what you want, Morales. Give me the same excuse you’ve given me a thousand fucking times.”

But when he’d finally had enough — when the words started echoing in his skull like a bad song on repeat — Javier reached for his cuffs. He grabbed Frankie’s wrist in one sharp motion, twisting it as he snapped the metal shut.

“¡Chinga tu madre, pinche pendejo…” Javier muttered under his breath, voice low and venomous. He’d never admit how deep those words cut, how they scraped at the soft, rotting parts inside him he tried so damn hard to ignore.

The loneliness. The self-loathing. The years of bending the rules, sleeping with anyone to feel something, to get what information he could, turning the law into his own personal game. He was dirty — he knew it better than anyone. But fuck if he’d let some washed-up junkie like Frankie hold that mirror up to him.

“Come on,” he snapped, the word slicing out like a whip.

He yanked at Frankie’s arm, the cuffs biting into his skin as he dragged him toward his own vehicle. The air between them was electric with tension — a mix of rage, regret, and something growing darker.

—

Frankie stumbled as Javier yanked him forward, the metal biting into his wrists again, reminding him exactly who held the leash.

His boots scraped the asphalt, every step a protest his mouth hadn’t voiced yet. But his body knew. Knew what was coming. Knew what this was.

And still, he didn’t speak. Not until Javier pulled him behind the truck, into the darkened sliver of space between rusted tailgate and the whispering woods beyond.

There, in the stale exhaust-hum and the hush of the coming night, Frankie stopped moving.

He let the silence hang, thick and heavy, clenching his jaw so hard it ached. His pulse thudded in his ears, sweat slipping down the back of his neck.

He didn’t look at Javier.

Didn’t want to see the satisfaction—or worse, the emptiness—in his face.

Then, finally, he clicked his tongue and gave a quiet, guttural sound. Something bitter. Something broken.

“Maldito seas…” he muttered, voice gravel. “Pinche cabrón.”

He dropped to his knees like the gravel was lava, like the earth itself was punishing him. The groan that left him wasn’t pain—it was fury. It was self-loathing cracking through the surface.

Javier stood there, silent.

And Frankie? Frankie lowered his head, breathing hard, wrists still cuffed behind his back, knees burning on hot pavement.

He didn’t do it for Javier or for mercy.

Not even for dignity.

He did it because he had a little girl at home who still called him Papá and if doing these dirty jobs was his only way of making money to take care of her, he'd be damned if he let Javier take that from him.

—

When Frankie finally dropped to his knees, a slow, crooked grin spread across Javier’s lips. He wouldn’t dare say it out loud, but somewhere deep in the twisted recesses of his mind, he relished this moment — seeing Frankie brought low, forced to submit.

Javier grunted and drove the toe of his boot into Frankie’s thigh. “Scoot.”

He wanted the man shifted just enough to shield them from the passing cars, the glow of headlights slicing across the road behind them. Cascading off the mirrors of each of their vehicles.

Frankie shuffled sideways, reluctant and sullen. Javier let out a sharp, breathy exhale — half relief, half pent-up frustration. His fingers dropped to his belt buckle, fumbling for a beat before he slowly undid it, the metal clinking softly in the heavy air.

The tension coiled even tighter, thick and suffocating. Disgust clashed with something darker, something Javier couldn't — wouldn't name. Their eyes locked for a fleeting second, a silent war raging between the two men, before Javier dropped his gaze and fished himself free from his briefs.

When his tip hit the humid night air, Javier let out a low, rough chuckle. Gooseflesh crawling up the skin of his arms as pre-cum glistened from the low headlights of the passing cars. He swiped his thumb against it, collecting it as he gave himself a quick stroke.

“Good thing your hands are cuffed. Don’t want you reaching for my gun…” he growled, his voice gravelly, eyes darkening with something almost feral.

He leaned closer, his words a sharp warning as he angled himself toward Frankie’s lips.

“And don’t bite it either.” he snarled, his hand wrapping firmly around the base of his cock, guiding it forward to Frankie's lips with a cruel, deliberate slowness.

—

Frankie moved only when the sharp press of Javier’s boot nudged him again—more command than suggestion.

He shifted sideways, knees scraping against the gravel, shoulders slouched forward in something that wasn’t quite defeat but sure as hell looked like it from the outside. The cuffs bit into his wrists behind him, a dull ache that grounded him, reminded him of where he was. It wasn’t the first time he’d been brought that low.

But it was the first time it had meant something. Not in the way people usually meant that word. Not in any kind of sacred, redemptive sense. No, this was a moment carved out of shame and survival. This was because some part of him still believed he deserved this. Frankie opened his mouth, the bitterness hitting his tongue like something he’d tasted before—but never quite like this. Never with purpose.

His jaw worked around his cock slowly, deliberately, cheeks hollowing as he adjusted to the size of him, keeping his movements measured. Controlled. Mechanical.

It wasn’t new. Not exactly. But this wasn’t about curiosity or chaos. This was survival—weaponized submission dressed as obedience.

Every instinct screamed at him to bite down, to reclaim something. But he didn’t.

He just glared up at Javier through dark, steady eyes—eyes that burned with hatred, defiance, and something colder than either.

Javier groaned, low and guttural, lost in the moment but Frankie didn’t blink. He just kept the pace and prayed to every god he didn't believe in to get it over with.

—

Javier groaned, his breath ragged as he leaned forward, one hand bracing against the side of Frankie’s truck bed. The other hand stayed firmly wrapped around the base of his cock, keeping it steady as he thrust in and out of Frankie’s mouth.

Was this the first time he had bent someone completely to his will, using nothing but the weight of the shiny badge on his hip? Yes.

Was this the first time his cock had been swallowed whole by a man on his knees? No — but those others had always been more willing, more eager.

Besides, who didn't want to brag about sucking a DEA agent off?

The sky deepened to a smoky purple as night crept in around them. The occasional rush of headlights cast fleeting shadows across Javier’s face, illuminating the taut line of his jaw and the glint of sweat gathering at his temples.

Every so often, Javier glanced down to find Frankie’s dark, rage-filled eyes locked on his. That look... defiance simmering under forced submission — sent a sharp, electric jolt up Javier’s spine.

A warm, familiar coil began to tighten low in his belly. Frankie’s surprisingly skillful lips, coupled with the humiliating power of the moment, made Javier’s balls draw up, his breath stuttering as a harsh “fuck” slipped past his lips.

Then, something shifted — subtle but unmistakable. A crack in the moment, a shift in energy that neither of them could ignore.

Javier’s hand slid away from the truck bed, moving to the back of Frankie’s head, fingers sliding under the damp hem of his cap. He tangled them in Frankie’s sweat-slick hair, gripping tight. A strained, almost broken whimper fell from his throat as his brows knitted together, his gaze drilling into Frankie’s.

For a split second, it was as if time stilled. A question, unspoken but heavy, lingered in the hot air.

Was he actually enjoying this?

—

Frankie felt the shift, too.

Just for a second—brief, electric—he let the reality settle in: this was beyond the law. Javier was abusing power, bending rules for something darker, something personal. And Frankie? He basked in it. Not with pride, but with that sharp, fractured sense of control he only ever found in moments like this.

He felt Javier’s cock twitch in his mouth, fingers curling tight at the nape of his neck. Close.

Frankie’s eyes slipped shut, not out of surrender but necessity—blocking out the world, letting instinct take over where logic failed. It dulled the disgust clawing at his gut. Made it easier to ignore the fact that something else was rising, too—a low, unwelcome heat winding its way up his spine.

So he leaned in.

Worked harder.

Let himself sink deeper into the void. He'd lived at the edge of that abyss for years—what was one more step?

Running dumb jobs. Coming home with nothing but bruises and bad memories. And now this.

Sucking off a DEA agent to keep the route clear?

Honestly, it wasn't even the worst thing he’d done.

—

Javier’s grip in Frankie’s hair tightened, his fingers digging into the damp strands as he drove him forward, forcing his nose to mash against Javier’s pubic bone.

A guttural groan tore from his chest, his whole body shuddering as Frankie took him deeper.

No protest, no mercy. Just the wet, choking sounds of him swallowing Javier’s cock.

Panting, Javier snapped his hips forward, sharp and desperate. He was close — so fucking close. That familiar, animal heat coiled at the base of his spine, his head tipping back as he let out a ragged gasp into the night sky.

He gave in completely, surrendering to the primal rhythm of his hips moving against Frankie’s mouth, feeling the drag of his jaw, the heat of his throat.

Once. Twice. And on the third thrust, he came without warning.

A raw, broken cry ripped from his lips as he spilled deep — hot pulses of cum shooting down Frankie’s throat, coating the back of his throat, and his tongue.

“Fuuuuck,” Javier groaned, his voice strangled and low, nails digging so hard into Frankie’s scalp he nearly broke at his skin.

Then, in a sudden, violent motion, he jerked Frankie back, making his teeth scrape along the sensitive length on the way out, ending with a loud, obscene pop.

Javier knew better than to let it linger — the feeling, the rush, the ghost of connection.

Pulling him off so abruptly was his own twisted act of mercy, the only way he could live with himself after. To never let him idle there, to never grant him the softness of an aftertaste. Of shame.

This was how Javier justified it. How he tucked it all away into the dark corners of his mind and pretended it wasn’t there. All of his bullshit, all his illicit actions.

—

Frankie’s eyes widened for a split second as Javier came without warning, the sudden flood catching him off guard. He nearly choked—but once the strange flicker of heat beneath the surface vanished, all that remain was the cold burn of disgust.

So he did the only thing that felt right.

With a string of spit the only thing tethering them, Frankie turned and spat it all out—right between Javier’s boots, laced with nothing but contempt.

The cuffs dug into his wrists as he shifted, metal biting deep. He lifted his glare again, sharp and unwavering, meeting Javier’s with equal hatred as the man zipped himself up in silence.

“You gonna unlock me now,” Frankie growled, “or just leave me here like fucking garbage?”

The clink of the cuffs rang out—too loud in the cooling night, too sharp in the silence between them.

—

Javier took a moment. His eyes slipped shut, head still tilted toward the night sky as he sucked in a shaky breath.

Slowly, he let go of the base of his now-softening cock, his hand falling limply to his side before he started to adjust himself.

“Yeah, yeah… gimme a second,” he muttered, his voice low and ragged, answering Frankie’s muffled, furious plea without even looking at him.

After a moment — once he was tucked away and his belt buckled back into place, he reached into the front pocket of his jeans and pulled out the small bundle of keys. With a tired flick of his chin, he motioned for Frankie to stand.

By now, night had fully swallowed the sky. Crickets thrilled from the shadows, their song slicing through the thick, dreary silence.

Javier moved forward, his fingers deft as he worked the cuffs that still bit into Frankie’s wrists.

Once free, he stepped back, giving Frankie space as he slipped the handcuffs back onto his belt holster. He cleared his throat, his gaze drifting down to the dark, spit-slick cum cooling on the hot asphalt below them.

After the small brief moment of silence, Javier cleared his throat.

“Don’t do this shit again, Morales,” he sneered, his words sharp and cruel, meant to cut deep.

“Get a real job.”

And with that, he turned, striding toward his vehicle with no hesitation, no final glance.But when he reached the car door, his hand hovering on the handle. Something tugged at him — something he wasn't so sure of.

He turned, his eyes catching Frankie’s form one last time across the shadows of the tree line.

“You’re better than all of this, Frankie.”

It was, by far, the kindest thing Javier had ever said — even kinder than anything he’d ever dared to say to himself.

—

He stood there, wrists aching, the skin beneath them raw and red. Every muscle in his body screamed to move, to do something—throw a punch, scream into the woods, walk until his legs gave out. But instead, he just stood.

The asphalt radiated heat under his boots. The taste still clung to the back of his throat, bitter and humiliating. The night pressed down like a weight, stars hidden behind thick, coastal clouds.

Javier turned his back, walking away like it meant nothing. Frankie let out a dry, humorless laugh—just air and spite.

“Yeah,” he muttered under his breath, low and sharp. “Fuck you too.”

But then Javier stopped.

Frankie didn’t look up. He didn’t need to.

The words hung there in the air behind him, heavy and uninvited—echoing through his skull, wedging themselves somewhere between disbelief and the aching part of him that still wanted to believe he could be more than this.

Frankie didn’t move. Didn’t speak.

He just stared at him from across that strange, jagged distance—too wide to cross, too close to ignore. He could’ve said a thousand things. Could’ve reminded him that “better” doesn’t mean shit when the whole system’s designed to chew you up and spit you out, same as the last guy. Could’ve asked if that line made him feel any cleaner.

But he didn’t.

Instead, he turned away. Walked back to the truck like his boots weighed a hundred pounds each. The cuffs were off, but he still felt chained and dirty.

He climbed into the driver’s seat, fingers trembling as he gripped the wheel. The key slid into the ignition. The engine didn’t turn right away.

He exhaled slowly, resting his forehead against the steering wheel for a long, silent moment.

Then—on the second try—the truck rumbled to life.

It was a shitty, reluctant sound but it started.

And somehow, that felt like enough for tonight. ────────────────────────────────────

Thanks for reading!

Hope you enjoyed! Don't forget to like and reblog! ♡

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0samu4 · 1 day ago

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Love the way you write, so I would love to request some Sakadays headcanons

'In what way do they handle a breakup.' with Nagumo, Shin, Gaku, Shishiba, Tenkyu, Tanabata and Uzuki. Could you detail a lot about Gaku? He's my favorite.

Feel free to think about how each of them would behave, it's your choice!

—🐶

I'm back with tons of mosquito bites on my arms

「 Break ups 」

TW(s): ooc, break up stuff, angst, angst w/o comfort? , reader is a civilian except in Uzuki's part.

Characters: Nagumo, Shishiba, Gaku, Tanabata, Uzuki.

not doing shin and tenkyu because idk how to write them. Especially tenkyu

───────────────────────

Nagumo

– he somewhat accepts it and also doesn't accept it.

– he knew that you were upset with him for whatever reason so he really berates himself for being an idiot and not trying to fix the problem

– he hopes you will give him a second chance, he knows its unlikely since you had cut off all contact with him.

– despite knowing you've blocked him, Nagumo will constantly try to call you. That or he rereads the old messages during his free time.

– honestly wonders if he even deserved you from the get go.

Shishiba

– as usual, he has his aloof look. But in the inside, Shishiba wonders what he could've done to be a better boyfriend for you.

– anything you've left behind in Shishiba's house will be given back to you in a box. But he keeps one item, a hair tie you got for him ages ago.

– sometimes he'll visit the restaurant you urged him to go to but never did due to his work. He ponders on all the dates you two could've gone if it weren't for his work.

– he doesn't want a second chance from you or any forgiveness. He wants you to be happy and away from him.

– It hurts him. But you don't deserve to be apart of the assassin world.

Gaku

– he kind of expected you to break up with him. He just wished it was sooner so that he didn't grow an attachment to you.

– he's literally a terrorist, someone who doesn't have good social norms, an assassin. What else should be added on the list?

– really, really, REALLY, ends up being more moody. He doesn't even play games for a few days.

– and when Gaku does return to playing games? He misses you. Terribly so. He's so used to playing with you that he'd say, "Good job, (name)." when he finishes a level. Only for him to turn his head and realise you're not next to him.

– he's so used to you sitting next to him and playing with his earing. (Or stud, idk.) that he'll randomly feel your touch out of no where.

– he hopes to see you again. Even if his brain tells him he shouldn't.

Tanabata

– he actually stops playing his guitar for a day.

– he knows he wasn't a good boyfriend, but he actually wished you stayed with him a bit longer.

– his songs do end up becoming "gloomy" and "sad" . It's not even intentional. His brain and hands just keeps making the song vibe like this.

– he makes a song about his feelings during the break up. (sorrow) It's weirdly more heavy this time around.

– he doesn't want any more inspiration for his songs. He wants you back. Perhaps he wanted you because he felt this feeling with you and only you. Or maybe because he felt true peace with you.

– He misses you. But he knows he can't get back the inspiration he lost. After all, each inspiration is different in its own way.

Uzuki (JCC)

– he's emotional.

– he probably broke up with you because of his brother (Asaki)

– he misses you so much, he didn't want to break up with you. It's all because of his brother.

– everytime he returns back to the orphanage, he rants to Kumanomi. Which, just enrages Kumanomi more.

– he cries. You were the first person who showed him care and affection in a way he has never felt.

– YOU filled the hole in his heart. He can't let you go, ever. So he's devastated when he talked to you, making up lies that he didn't have feelings for you anymore.

– Uzuki still admires you from afar. Whether you notice and decide to do something about it is your choice. But he'll keep admiring then.

───────────────────────

Now I disappear for a week or so

#sakamoto days #sakamoto days nagumo #nagumo yoichi x reader #shishiba sakamoto days #shishiba x reader #gaku sakamoto days #gaku x reader #tanabata sakamoto days #tanabata x reader #kei uzuki sakamoto days #uzuki sakamoto days #kei uzuki x reader #uzuki kei x reader #ooc #angst

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salamadersaurus-rex · 12 hours ago

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Plenty of Phish

Every room she trains in smells like old carpet.

Sometimes she wonders if it's a clause in her contract. Must give training in crappy store room where old copiers go to die. Minimum number of sharpie penises applies.

As she puts out worksheets on the desks, Jane wonders how many more dicks will be scratched into the wood today.

She's glad she's in IT and not HR.

In the corner the janky old radiator gurgles to life. Jane tugs at the neckline of her shirt. She's already starting to sweat.

The clock (fast, by ten minutes) ticks sluggishly towards 8:30. Maybe she can swing an early finish today.

"Gooood morning Mary-Jane!”

Or maybe not.

“Just Jane is fine, Sue.”

Sue, bright smile underlined by bright, sharp laughter, wags a finger at her. “Jane should be better than fine. It's phishing day on the fifth floor, you know what that means?”

“We spend ten minutes on spam emails and four hours removing bloatware from Jerry's laptop?” Jane sighs. “That man has got to stop trying to watch tentacle porn on company time.”

“No, silly!" Sue leans against the door frame, peering conspiratorially out into the corridor. She turns back to Jane and grins wickedly. “It means Hot Dan with the tight shirt is going to be gazing soulfully at you all morning.”

“That's it. I'm signing you up for sexual harassment training.”

Sue cackles, ducking her head out the door again to check for incoming trainees. “Come on, I heard the way you told him to turn it off and on again last week. You practically purred.”

Only because you were running cables under your desk at the time and your arse in that tight skirt was-

“Eyes front, here they come!” Sue darts away from the door, rummaging in her laptop case for her laser pointer.

“You might want to drop the cardie Jane. Give Dan something to look at. He's pretty, but there's not a lot else going on up there, god love him.”

Jane sighs. “Dan's not really my type.”

Sue shrugs. “Fifth floor is riddled with hot guys. And you know what they say - plenty more fish in the sea!”

she’s the serious yet eager-to-help mary jane with an innocent air. she’s the playful diva looking for the spotlight and the last word (laugh). they’re the ladies in my training module teaching me how to look watch out for phishing schemes and i’ve decided they’re made for each other.

#This is what gets rid of my writers block?!#Corporate training video fic??#Anyway please enjoy my new high octane office romance novel #Plenty of Phish #Coming never to a bookshop near you

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mrs-luigi-vargas · 2 years ago

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Lately during work I've been playing Backyardigans episodes in the background and its been really fun — I've gotten through most of season one so far — but also I've had to restrain myself multiple times from making a spreadsheet about it, lmao. It would be pretty cool, though! I have quite a few ideas for what data to collect…

Regardless, its been a nice trip down memory lane! This show was one of the first things i remember really being "obsessed" with; it might have been late elementary school/early middle school, maybe? I used to scour the library for DVDs all the time, determined to watch all 80 episodes of it even though I'd been pretty sure I was too old for the show, haha

#for context in 2018/2019 i made a spreadsheet for a different kids show (Bubble Guppies)#that was 44 columns wide and 66 out of 80 (pre-season 5) episodes deep #sometimes i wonder if i should go back and finish it...#but then i'd have to start the necessary rewatch from the beginning because i was adding columns as i was collecting data lmao #(loved making the associated graphs and charts tho ngl)#anyway making a Backyardigans spreadsheet is too time consuming and i have other things to do #i have a lot of thoughts though. like how season one is very cute and delightful. and how season four is weirdly hit-or-miss for me #and how all these kids are adorable and how i'm pretty sure this show is where most of my humor comes from whoopsies #mlv.txt

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ask-nikolaorsinov · 11 days ago

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MODDDDD

2 things

1, what should we call you (unless we should just say mod)

2, what’s your art fight thing (if you’re good sharing) I’m going to hit you with an art sledgehammer /pos /lh

{{EHEHEHEHEHEHEHHH.... HELLOOOO THERE !!!! heheheheheh....

{{1. !!!!!!!! You can call me mod but my name is abbey if u rlly want :3c

{{2. !!!!!! my art fight is plushielover heheheheh..... AND CAREFUL NOW..... I'LL BE SURE TO REVENGE U WITH AN ART SLEDGEHAMMER OF MY OWN!!!!!!! (or i'll try to at least. it's a matter of WHEN not IF!!!!!)

#“🧸back yard🧸”#{{i dont mind revealing abt myself ive just found it a little amusing to be a mystery thus far #{{ooooooh im a mysteryyyyyyy!!!!#{{NAME REVEAL....#{{im thinking im also ok with the name plush??? idk #{{like im perfectly content with my own normal name. but sometimes im like #{{hm. maybe itd be cool to be called plush as another name. or have plush/plushie pronouns or something #{{but im perfectly comfortable with my cis stuff so i dont rlly care too much abt it haha #{{im a little slow with my artfight i get distracted easy #{{wondering if i should be a little messier on purpose. maybe trying to do neat sharp lineart is slowing me down #{{who knows. we'll see #{{oh yeah i use she/her pronouns those're my default strikes a pose #{{i dont rlly mind though #{{lalalallalaaaaa #{{namedrop only on my 190th post. kind of funny.#{{they call it artfight because im fighting to finish these drawings #{{i'll get there. im so excited to draw peoples characters i need to make a bajillion new canvases THIS instant!!!!#{{sorry for the rambling i explode now RTDSHESDHBESDTRHBTESRH #{{going to be real. did consider putting my nikola design on my artfight for a moment #{{'ooh im a spooky scary mystery heehee i will only drop my name when someone asks hehehehehehehehheh so mysteriouuuus' i say and then ramb #{{ramble for twelve million hours in the tags HELP ME hiding my face and running away #{{kind of funny though. hell yeaaah

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divinedomainn · 4 months ago

Text

Stream and Scream | reader x multiple men

play previous song? || ◁ PART 2 ▷ || play next song?

summary : Your inbox has turned into a horny battlefield—six familiar usernames, six neck-down thirst traps, all hard and very, very eager.

No faces. Just bodies. Dicks. Bold lighting choices. Questionable bedsheets.

You sit cross-legged in your underwear like you’re judging Olympic figure skating, except everyone’s naked and begging to be picked.

Time to start scoring.

contains : camgirl!reader x a whole ass roster, rotating cast, university AU, smut, porn with kinda a crack plot, casual sex, anonymous sex, exhibitionism, recording, oral sex, piv sex, rough kinky sex, everyone wants to fuck reader, horny simp men, sukuna being sukuna, reader being willfully ignorant for her own sanity.

A/N : time to make your first choice for the first week by voting in the poll at the end, i'll be doing this all in descending order based on who was the most voted to the least - so vote well >:) goodluck reader ! (i wonder who the mystery man could POSSIBLY be)

You sat back for a few hours, letting it really settle in for yourself and your viewers. You had hundreds of messages and you hadn’t even finished scrolling through the first wave of submissions when the familiar usernames started sliding into your inbox—like wolves answering the call. And it was obvious, immediately, which messages you were actually going to open.

These weren’t just horny randos with messy lighting and desperate angles.

These were your regulars.

The six you already knew by username. The six who tipped with the intensity of men bidding for real estate inside your body. And now they were showing themselves to you. You hoped to whatever deity was listening that these guys were hot with huge cocks. What? It was fun to be a little superficial sometimes. First up:

EmoWithaBoner.

His message was soft-spoken, despite the picture attached being the exact opposite of that, just like always. No emojis. No bravado.

“Didn’t know how to pose,” it read. “But I thought about how you’d look on top of me, and it kind of just happened.”

It was soft, unfiltered, and a little shaky. The photo was reflected from his mirror and showed him stretched out across gray sheets, pale skin dusted with faint freckles. He looked like he went to the gym often with how built he was. Narrow hips. His cock sat flushed against his stomach, long and lean—at least seven inches, maybe more—and wait.. was that? You looked closer towards the image, inspecting it like you were trying to solve a case. Yep. It was pierced at the frenulum with a delicate curved barbell. A glint of silver. Great heavens. Saved.

TempleOfSin.

His body was art. Broad chest, warm tan skin like satin, sculpted muscle that looked carved. His torso was tapered, lean and strong, with a small trail of black hair leading down to a thick, curved cock—seven inches minimum, hand loosely resting at the base like he was showing it off without trying too hard. He was neatly trimmed. It looked like there was a bunch of robes beside him haphazardly taken off for the photo. “Consider this a formal offering,” the message read. “You could worship every inch of me truly, my loyal little follower.” Odd as always, but hot. Saved. You could hear your prayers being answered, two down and so far all was good - in fact, perfect. You were surprised these were the guys paying you, and for a second or two you felt like you should be paying them for the photos.

SixEyesOnly’s submission hit next—and of course, it came with a $500 tip before you even clicked on the message. The sight that hit your eyes made you choke a little on your own spit.

Of course he sent multiple angles—three, actually. You picked your favorite: a half-reclined shot on luxurious navy bedding, torso lit with just the right amount of golden light. He was toned, lean muscle over abnormally long limbs, subtle abs. A soft trail of white hair led down to a perfectly girthy cock, mid-stroke—maybe just under eight inches, thick enough to stretch you open. His other hand was holding a handwritten sign: “Good enough for you?” “Oh, SixEyesOnly, absolutely.” You spoke to yourself whilst your eyes remained glued to your laptop screen. Saved. Then—unsurprisingly unhinged—daddyissuez.

“i jerked off right before i took this and got hard again just thinking about fucking you.”

And the photo… Jesus. The photo was taken in low lighting, like a scene from a noir porno. He was sitting wide-legged on a leather couch that looked like it needed replacing, legs thick and powerful, thighs dusted with black hair. His chest was solid, scars faintly visible across his abs and ribs. You closed your eyes for a second and tilted your head up to your ceiling in a silent ‘thank you’ before looking back down at the image. His cock was huge, just like the rest of him. Probably just shy of nine inches, you couldn’t keep your eyes off it. Balls heavy. Tip already glossy with precum. One hand gripped the base. The other rested lazily on his thigh like he was used to being admired. With a cock like that you couldn’t blame him. Saved. OfficeAfterHours was, predictably, meticulous. His message read like an email you’d get from someone managing your retirement plan, if that person also wanted to bend you over a desk.

“Apologies for the delay. Here’s my formal submission. Discretion guaranteed. Let me know if you'd like a second angle.”

Shot in high-resolution against crisp black sheets, his body was a symphony of intention. Broad shoulders, narrow waist, abs that looked like they’d been sculpted from marble. Not huge, but built like someone who took care of himself for discipline, not vanity. A thin trail of blonde hair led down to a cock that was gorgeous—perfect shape, thick but not excessive, probably seven inches on the dot, with veins that begged for attention. Trimmed. Clean. You could almost imagine his voice saying something like, “Breathe through it, sweetheart. You’re doing so well.” A weird sound came out of your mouth in excitement from your own fantasy. Saved.

You were already overstimulated and halfway folded into your sheets when the final message hit.

KingOfRot.

You hovered over it for a second like it might bite. Which was ironic, considering he probably would. He was always the most feral in chat—filthy, relentless, tipping like his wallet had a death wish.

You clicked.

Instant regret. Instant need.

The photo looked like it had been taken during a crime.

Bathroom mirror. Harsh yellow light. Shirt pushed up to his collarbones, muscles tensed like he’d been fucking someone just before he snapped the photo. Chest broad. Arms thick. Veins roped down to his forearms. Stomach lined with clean muscle. Ink everywhere—heavy black bands around his biceps, tattoos sharp and ceremonial-looking across his chest and stomach like a ritual.

And then his cock.

You actually flinched at the offensive monster staring right back at you through the screen. Long. Thick. Too thick. Heavy. Veins running down the shaft like it had a pulse, flushed red like it had been hard for too long. The kind of cock you’d have to apologize to your body after taking. You didn’t even want to hazard a guess at the size.

He wasn’t even touching it. It was just there holding its own weight up like a pole rather than a piece of actual flesh.

But what got you, what really made your stomach drop, was the tattoos.

They were familiar.

You’d seen them before.

There was a guy on campus—tall, smug, terrifyingly hot in the way that sent your libido into a frenzy—who had tattoos just like that. You’d seen him walking out of the athletics building once, sweatpants slung low and his shirt mysteriously missing, laughing like he knew every secret in the world. He had loudly shouted “What!?” at you when you had stared for a little longer than needed. Embarrassingly seared into your memory for that exact reason.

You squinted.

“Nope,” you muttered. “No. Not connecting the dots. That’s above my pay grade.” Surely it couldn’t be the same guy, right? The tattoos were probably, like, one of those trends that everyone was getting. That's what you were telling yourself at least.

You were about to save the photo when you finally looked at the caption.

“Pick me. I’ll fuck you so hard your ancestors will feel it. You’ll be a fucking shrine by the time I’m done.” Was that a death threat? Probably. Should you block him? Probably. “Ancestors. Okaaaaay.” You nodded your head slowly as if he was across from you saying it with a gun pointing at you.

And then you saved it. Of course you did. Then flopped onto your back, one arm flung over your face, trying to mentally prepare for the chaos you had just invited into your life. All at the right price of course. “Thank you to whoever is listening for blessing me with viewers that are hotter than the guys I have wilfully hooked up with for free.” You spoke to your ceiling, a common theme nowadays. Seven men. Seven bodies. Seven chances to let your subscribers watch you get absolutely wrecked on camera.

Your legs were trembling from what you decided was mostly horniness.. and a little bit of fear for your own pussy by the time you shut your laptop fully. Friday couldn't come soon enough.

Now, the real question was - who would you choose first?

taglist : @syubseokie @frozenmallows @90s-belladonna @moncher-ire @kunareads @blublublubby @grignardsreagent @soozeu @mochiivqi @sweetsformysoul @killak9mi @celloccino @gurlhere4fluff @gorouenjoyer @linaaeatsfamilies @lov3-ly @des-todoroki @aiicpansion @lazylunarlover @kentoslvr @cherry-berry-21 @cure-alexandrite @yourname-exee @pinkyogoart @sillymortalblob @kyvyes @xxxieli @swoozleee @augustineyukimura @uniquecutie-puff @ayepitita @luna-v-roiya @kill-your-darling274 @babiestarrcandy @b3bybunny @midnightwriter21 @miizuzu

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bookshelfpassageway · 1 year ago

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wish i could beam ALL the fallen london lore into my brain so i can proceed to play with my ocs in it

#my posts #the fact i am constantly discovering more about this world and to do so you have to go digging into a very esoteric text game #is its greatest strength and i both love and hate it #i LOVE mystery and discovery but i also LOATHE missing or losing things which is the inherent risk of the thing #i should get back into it and i SAY that i dont play because its grindy #but in truth i think i dont play because of the ephemerality #if i play i will crave to screenshot every little corner to save on a hard drive somewhere in case it ever disappears. to revisit someday #and thats so much responsibility #especially the exceptional stories #but not to play at all fails to recognize memory as a recorder too #and ill have missed out on ALL of it rather than just some #anyway the tags got deeper than expected #i just sometimes wonder what will happen to it when the online-only game goes down someday yknow?#also i love the setting and want to play blorbos in it but i dont roleplay well in video games #so fanfic is the recourse #i need to finish playing mask of the rose

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cherrysinner · 3 months ago

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─── YOU'VE GOT MAIL .ᐟ

...or reader going to a football game.

★ pairing.ᐟ frat!rafe x nerd!reader

★ summary.ᐟ rafe cameron is the golden boy of kildare university; certified frat boy, captain of the football team, relentless party animal with lines of girls to sleep with.

reader couldn't be more different; while she has the best grades in the whole school, she suffers from social anxiety disorder, and her social life is limited to her three best friends and the cat she secretly snuck into her dorm room.

both of them decide to join the anonymous chatroom for their campus, and start talking to one another, a friendship starting to form between the two; but neither of them know how different the other is.

★ author's note.ᐟ and we’re back!! hi hi hi. sorry for no new part last week, i was busy as hell. ANYWAY we’re finally meeting reader’s friends !! also guess who managed to finish three different fics today… whew.

YOU'VE GOT MAIL!

for the next two weeks, not a day went by that you didn't talk to MalachiConstant; the screen time on your phone almost having doubled. most of the time it was just surface-level stuff; talking about your days, about your interests... but at night, it... changed. it became genuine. real. like you were sitting under the stars together, talking about things that actually mattered.

MalachiConstant: y'know MalachiConstant: sometimes i kinda worry that i'm disappointing everyone around me

YOU: how come?

MalachiConstant: idk MalachiConstant: i feel like i'm fucking shit up all the time MalachiConstant: like i'm a screw up and disappoint everyone

YOU: well, i don't know if it helps, but.. YOU: you haven't disappointed me :).

MalachiConstant: knocking on wood

now, you were sitting with your friends at lunch, occasionally glancing down at your phone screen as if beckoning for the stranger to message you, your lips pursed in thought as the group around you kept chatting, wondering why the boy hadn't texted you all day.

"hey, everything okay?" one of your friends, zainab, asked, looking at you with widened eyes, startling you out of your little reverie. you turned to the girl sitting next to you, feigning a small smile, "yeah, everything's okay."

"she's being ghoooosteed." vivian teased you, causing you to roll your eyes.

"ghosted? by who?" emilia asked with excitement, vivian's statement clearly having piqued both her and zainab's interest.

"it's no one."

"she's lying." vivian grinned, drinking some of her iced latte, "she met someone on that website i recommended. kildareuchats. she told me they've been talking for a few weeks now."

"viv, i told you not to say anything." you groaned, hiding your face in your hand, feeling your cheeks warming up, your next words coming out in an awkward mutter, "only reason i told you was because you saw me text him in the first place..."

"whatever. the important thing is," vivian grinned widely, "our friend here thinks that he's a member of the football team."

"how do you figure that?" zainab asked, and you threw your hands up in slight frustration, "well, i don't know it for sure!" you said, "but he keeps talking about how he has practice, and... he does know a lot about football."

"hot. you're e-dating a football player. who would've thought?" emilia snorted, making you throw a singular fry her way. "i'm pretty sure they have a game tonight."

"oooh, we should go support your boyfriend." zainab squeezed your shoulder and you could feel your face turn warm with embarrassment, "we're not going. and he's not my boyfriend..."

"i can't believe i let you three talk me into this..." you grumbled under your breath, pulling your coat closer to your body, feeling the chilly autumn air in your bones as you sat on the bleachers, watching the game you understood nothing about; when you were younger, your father tried to get you into sports, but most of the time you simply snuck in a book so you wouldn't actually have to focus on it.

"don't try to play pretend." vivian nudged your shoulder and drank out of her slushie, "we all know you're dying to see your cyber-boyfriend."

"again, he's not my boyfriend."

"but you wish he was. bet you've already made him in the sims, and you two have a brood of pixel-kids."

"i don't even know what he looks like."

"well, if it is someone from the football team, he's gotta be at least semi-attractive. have you seen their group picture?" emilia snorted, "everyone is somewhere between seven and ten."

"it's definitely not thornton." vivian snorted, "dude has the emotional capacity of a slinky."

"viv, you do know that that's a dig on yourself?" you raised your brows, "don't think any of us forgot what happened between you two."

"jokes on you." the pink-haired girl stuck her tongue out at you, "i've already forgotten all about it."

"that's what happens when you spike your slushie with vodka."

"don't act like you could focus on this shit sober. besides, this is not about who i've slept with. this is about who you're dying to sleep with." vivian winked and took another sip of her slushie.

"well," you pursed your lips in thought, "he's in a fraternity."'

"that does narrow it a little bit..." zainab mumbled, "maybe maybank? i mean, you did have a crush on him for like, the entirety of freshman year."

"it wasn't a crush!" you held your hands up, "it was... a mere fascination. he had nice hair."

"ah, yes. you were having wet dreams about his hair." vivian snorted, and you smacked her forearm, pursing your lips into a pout as you looked at the field, "how about... mason? he's got that whole broody, mysterious smart guy vibe going for him. he definitely reads vonnegut."

"dodge is a pretty valid option. though, i don't know if chatrooms are his style." emilia tsked, "what about the captain? cameron?"

that suggestion caused vivian to snort and smack the other girl's shoulder, "rafe cameron? yeah, he definitely isn't the type to do that. i think his longest relationship was when a girl accidentally fell asleep in his bed after they hooked up, and he was too drunk to kick her out."

your eyes went to number 9, the name 'cameron' written above his number, making you shake your head and look away before you spoke quietly, "this is stupid. i don't need to know who he is. i don't want to know who he is." vivian wrapped her arm around your shoulder, tugging you close in a comforting gesture; you knew there was truth to your words, but you also knew that the reason you didn't want to know the identity of MalachiConstant was that you knew he'd be disappointed to know who you truly are. to know, that the girl he'd called witty and funny several times actually couldn't tell a joke without stuttering.

after the football game ended with your team winning, the four of you were making your way away from the field, only to hear someone calling out behind you

"viv! vivian, wait up!"

you turned your head to look at who was so eager to talk to your friend, a small snort leaving your lips, nudging vivian's side, "viv, it's your slinky." your friend looked at you with furrowed brows, following your line of sight to topper, the girl letting out an exasperated groan, "is it too late to hide?"

"hey, viv." topper gave the girl a lopsided grin that he surely thought was charming, his face slightly red from the game, "you came."

"most of the school came." vivian gave the boy a narrow, feigned smile before taking another slurp out of her slushie, "whatcha want, thornton?"

"well," the blonde scratched the back of his head while emilia, zainab and you grinned at one another, a strange contrast to the unamused expression on the pink-haired girl's face, "we're having a party, at our frat house. you should come if you feel like it."

"i'll think about it."

"you can bring your friends." topper glanced at the three of you briefly before his focus was fully on vivian once again, "hope to see you there."

"maybe." vivian said, turning around and continuing to walk away, the three of you following behind her, trying your best to control your laughter, "don't say a thing." she warned.

"come on, you've gotta come with me." vivian pouted, spinning around in your office chair, "i can't go alone, z doesn't do parties and em has an essay to finish."

"you know i don't do parties either." you mumbled, absentmindedly stroking angel's soft fur while shopping online for a birthday gift for vivian, "i think i'd suffer a stroke if i even tried to go to a frat party, of all things."

"please! i can't go alone, because then i'll end up hooking up with topper again."

"then just don't go."

"but then i'll have fomo! you know i love parties, i live for-"

YOU HAVE RECEIVED A MESSAGE ON KILDAREUCHATS FROM MalachiConstant. CLICK HERE TO OPEN.

you tuned out everything vivian was saying, instantly clicking the pop-up.

MalachiConstant: whatcha up to?

YOU: nothing much. YOU: trying to stop this annoying wasp from buzzing in my ear

MalachiConstant: a... wasp?

YOU: my friend. YOU: she's trying to get me to go to a party with her. YOU: it's essentially a babysitting gig, though.

MalachiConstant: one party won't hurt you MalachiConstant: wallflower

YOU: how do you know? YOU: what if i have a stroke the moment i step foot into that place?

MalachiConstant: c'mon MalachiConstant: what do you have to lose?

YOU: my dignity.

MalachiConstant: ah, yes. the dignified grandma. MalachiConstant: hey, if the party sucks you can just stand in some corner and send me messages MalachiConstant: might not answer immediately cause i also have a party

YOU: oooh, another frat party?

MalachiConstant: you know me so well MalachiConstant: i dare you to go, poe girl

YOU: this isn't elementary school.

MalachiConstant: i triple-dog dare you

you pursed your lips in thought, looking to vivian and narrowing your eyes at the girl, a pleading look on her face. you groaned, shaking your head in defeat and rolling your eyes, "fine, i'll come with you. but i have nothing to wear."

"don't worry." vivian jumped up from her seat with a victorious smile, ruffling your hair, "you're lucky i'm your fairy slut-mother. with piles and piles of slutty dresses and skirts. i'll go get us something to wear!"

you watched as the girl made her way out of your dorm, her long hair bouncing along with her "nothing too slutty!" you called out after her, before turning back to your computer.

YOU: if i die, i'm blaming you.

TAGLIST: @yktayy9669 @tinythebunni @dywho @melalsworld @akobx @samwinchesterisawhore @st8rkey @jjasmiineee @ltristessedureratoujours @a-lovers-card @uselessnewt @lunaleah @letstryagaintomorrow @cinnamqnnlatte @papapoy @kay133sposts @wtfisastiles @butterfly1c @emmiesummers @melodyyybubbles @toomanywhitelies @littl3loveydovey @scne-vampire @alwaysmaybank @mysticbby2009 @luna443 @drewstarkeyswife-7 @flowerluvr

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bananayuyu · 10 months ago

Text

Lust is in the Air

Pairing: Hongjoong x f reader

Genre: smut

Word count: 6.4k

Summary: Your best friend drags you along to a family wedding, wanting to add some fun to your all too serious life. Turns out her uncle is the one who really provides the distraction.

Warnings: smut, MDNI, age gap (Hongjoong is 40 reader is 23), some talk during sex about the age gap so really don't read this if you don't like that, some dom/sub dynamics, throat fucking, degradation and praise, bratty y/n, use of pet names (baby, doll), ass eating, anal, unprotected sex

A/n: Sometimes I see a random video of him and I'm reminded all over again how hot I think a very mature Hongjoong would be. Especially if he was mocking me and making me feel pathetic. Yeah this was pure horny, quite filthy for me. This isn't as proofread as my normal stuff so apologies for any mistakes

Read it on ao3

------

Well, maybe it was a good idea. You had been staying in every weekend since the breakup, and maybe being forced out of the house would be good for you. Force you to interact with a few people, to actually put some effort into your appearance. Maybe put on a little makeup, or actually brush your hair.

"Please don't say no," Beatrice says through the phone. "My family would love it if you came, and I'd love it if you came. And we haven't had a chance to spend a weekend like this in forever. There will be free food and free booze!"

"I know you're worried about me, Bea," you respond, sighing.

"I'm not inviting you out of pity," she says.

"I know, I know. Just, give me some time to think it over. I've got an assignment I need to finish for one of my classes, I think it's due this Sunday night. So if I can't finish it this week I'll need to do it this weekend," you reply.

"Okay, just text me. I'm not gonna invite anyone else as my plus one, if you don't end up coming. So no rush, take your time," she says.

"Thank you. You know I appreciate you so much," you say, sighing into the cushion of your couch.

"You know I feel the same," she says, sighing too. You'd both been through breakups recently. It seemed like your hardships always occurred on nearly the same timeline, making you both able to rely on each other for understanding. And she knew getting you out of the house, especially for a weekend wedding, would be good for you. Her cousin's family was rich and hadn't held back in their planning, booking the fanciest hotel in town for everyone. They were paying for everything; the food and drinks of course, and everyone's hotel expenses. You'd knew you'd go. You'd try to finish the assignment beforehand. But even if you didn't, you'd still go.

Driving up to the front of the hotel together felt surreal. Beatrice had asked to take your car, as it wasn't the bright purple color that her's was. This place was fancy, and though neither of your cars were deluxe, at least your's was black.

"Miss McArthur?" the valet asked once you rolled your window down.

"Yeah, that's me," Beatrice said from the passenger seat, reaching over you to hand him her ID. "This is my plus one, y/n. She should be on the list."

After a brief look at his clipboard the man gave you both a satisfied nod. "Do you ladies have any bags we can carry up for you?" he asked.

"Yes, in the trunk," Beatrice answered for you, which you were grateful for. You'd never interacted with a valet before, never been in such a fancy situation in your life. You stumbled out of the car a bit awkwardly, your jean shorts and t-shirt looking ridiculous next to the suit and tie of the man in front of you. He held out his hand to you and for a moment you paused, wondering if he was offering to take your hand. But then you realized he was actually offering to take your keys. Duh.

"Thank you," you said quickly, heading around the car to meet Bea as you walked behind the man carrying your bags.

On the sixth floor you entered your shared room, a spacious and beautifully decorated space with a huge window covering the far wall. It was a sliding glass door, that led out to a balcony overlooking the river below. In the afternoon sun the water glittered, but you knew the view at night would be the real show, absolutely magical.

"Everyone is meeting in the restaurant at 7," Bea tells you, glancing at her family's group chat.

"Well then I've got a little over two hours to make myself look at least a little bit nice. Like maybe I actually belong here," you laugh, opening your bag to grab the casual dress you'd packed.

"Oh dinner tonight won't be fancy, wear whatever," Bea replies, kicking off her sandals.

"Okay but, with your cousins family not fancy would still probably be a little fancy, right?" you ask.

"You don't need to worry about fitting in, dude. No one will care," Bea replies.

"I just don't want to look like an idiot," you say, eyeing her.

"Y/n, you really need to stop worrying. This weekend is about us having fun. I'm not even that close with my cousin Amana, to be honest. We'll probably barely interact with her family. But we get to attend this fancy wedding, all expenses paid. Just wear whatever you feel like, do whatever you want to. Just promise me you'll have some fun," she says.

"Okay, fine," you respond, rolling your eyes jokingly. "I guess I'll try to enjoy this super nice luxury hotel for the weekend."

Bea laughs in relief, at hearing you joke around. It was what you both needed more of; you both had serious work and school lives already to contend with. And seriously disappointing dating lives, too.

As seven approaches you both make your way to the elevator, pausing at you exit the door to inspect the slight amount of makeup you'd put on. You hadn't worn any in weeks and it made you feel really pretty, along with the flowly sundress and sandals you'd decided to wear. You weren't always one for such feminine clothing but today it felt right, and you both bounced down the hall, spirits high. Bea led the way through the lobby to a long hallway, past what looked like a bar and some other room that had a bouncer, to the large restaurant at the end. Immediately you saw the long tables lined up, clearly set up for the wedding party. This wasn't the dress rehearsal, just the welcome dinner. It was only Friday, and the wedding wasn't until Sunday. Immediately you spotted the wine and appetizers filling the table, scanning the tables to try to find your seats.

"I can't find us Bea," you laugh, awkwardly walking past family members you'd never met before.

"Y/n, you're at our table," you hear a familiar female voice say, and turn to see Bea's mom.

"Oh, hi! Thank you!" you say as you walk over to her, giving her a quick hug.

"So glad you could join us sweetie," she says, gesturing to your seats. "See, you and Beatrice are near the end there, across from Nathan. Oh and have you met Beatrice's uncle Hongjoong before?" she asks, gesturing down the table.

You look down to see Beatrice sitting, pulling her chair under her and smiling wide. Across from her, in a casual but fitted grey t-shirt, a man smiles back, handing her a glass of wine he's just poured. He is striking, with jet black hair and tattoos, piercings donning his right ear. His jaw is sharp, his teeth perfect when he smiles. He looks maybe 27, 28. He's wearing an expensive watch, or at least a watch that looks expensive to your eyes, and a small simple chain necklace. His hair is cropped short at the sides; he looks so put together, so professional. So mature. So fucking attractive.

"That's Bea's uncle?" you ask her. It's not just his age that makes you ask. It's the fact that he's basically your dream come true. You see the muscles in his arm flex as he pours Nathan a glass too, and it makes your eyes cross for a moment.

"Well technically I think he's a second cousin, once removed, or something like that. He's a part of Wooyoung's family." Wooyoung was her husband, Bea's dad. You'd met her parents, and her brother Nathan, but never anyone else in her extended family. And you struggled to recall ever hearing about a Hongjoong before. You stared at him a moment before he moved his eyes over to you, catching you off guard. His look was mischievous, like he wants to play or mess with you. It made it hard to believe this was someone Bea called 'uncle.'

"Do you want to sit?" Bea's mom asked you.

"Yeah, sorry," you smiled at her, making you way down.

"Y/n! This is my uncle Hongjoong, and Hongjoong, this is y/n," Beatrice says as you pull out your seat next to her.

"Very nice to meet you," he says with an outstretched hand, his handshake strong and confident in a way that makes your body tingle.

"You as well," you reply, with a bashful smile. Immediately Bea asks you a question and you respond on auto-pilot, not even really hearing. Because your head is swimming in water just from being in this man's presence, and you can't focus. You don't even notice the glass of wine he'd poured you until he sets it down by your appetizer plate, gently bumping the stem on the rim of the plate to make a gentle clink. The sound makes your eyes snap up, and for some reason he looks amused.

"Oh, thank you," you say to him, bowing your head slightly. That mischievous smirk is back on his face when you lock eyes again, like he's trying to tell you something, but you can't be sure what it is. You certainly hope he's thinking what you're thinking. God, he's fucking stunning.

Those are the only words you speak to each other for the entirety of dinner. With so many people in attendance the restaurant is loud, louder still as everyone becomes tipsy, and then outright drunk on the unlimited wine.

"Hey, my parents want me a Nathan to go take pictures with them on the golf course nearby. They booked a photo shoot or something," Bea tells you, rolling her eyes slightly. "I'm not sure when we'll be back but feel free to like, go to the hot tub or do whatever around the hotel," she says.

"Okay, sounds good. Thank you, seriously," you say as you hug her. "I hope it's fun."

"Oh, I'm sure it will be," she laughs. "My parents and their family photos," she shakes her head, making you giggle, as she slowly makes her way to meet her brother at the front door of the restaurant.

You take stock of yourself for a moment, making sure you have your phone and your wallet in your purse, making sure your room key is still in your wallet. You take the last swig of your second glass of wine, patting yourself on the back for not overdoing it this first night when basically everyone around you did. You start sipping on your nearly empty glass of water too, knowing you don't want to wake up hungover tomorrow. The table is basically empty, with everyone slowly clearing out or making their last requests at the bar. You decide you'll go explore in a moment, go scope out the pool and hot tub situation, and maybe see if you can figure out what room is behind that bouncer. But just as you start standing up, Hongjoong approaches the table.

"I got some more waters for the table, but it looks like they've all left," he chuckles, his arms full.

"They went to do a family photo, Bea said," you reply, stuck for a moment awkwardly between sitting and standing. Hongjoong nods, like he already knew.

"Oh, were you about to leave too? Don't let me keep you," he says, the glint back in his eye again.

"I was thinking I'd go take a look at the pool and hot tub, maybe explore a bit," you say. It sort of takes you by surprise that you're sharing this with a total stranger, given your usual instinct to not share anything with people you don't know. You easily could have excused yourself, and been exploring the hotel alone. But deep down you know why you're sharing it. You hope he picks up on that reason, too.

"That's a great idea," he says, gently setting the waters down. "Mind if I join you? I was thinking of exploring the hotel some myself."

Bingo. You smile, eyes fluttering at him for a second. You truly don't even mean to do it, but the way he looks at you has you feeling shameless.

"Sure, I wouldn't mind," you reply, stepping out from your chair and gently pushing it into the table.

"Want to take a water with you?" he asks, holding one out.

"I don't think we can just take the glass with us," you reply, narrowing your eyes at him.

"Oh, who cares," he says glancing over his shoulder, seeing all of the wait staff occupied at the bar with everyone's last minute orders. "I'll carry it out, if you're that worried," he says, cocking his head slightly to the side and eyeing you with what must be mock pity.

"Fine," you roll your eyes at him, trying to fight the smile forming on your face from betraying how much his tone and facial expression are affecting you. You turn around and start strolling out of the restaurant, not even waiting for him. Once you're exiting he's already caught up, two water glasses in hand. You turn to your right, heading for the lobby.

"Wrong way, y/n," Hongjoong says lowly from behind you, making you stop in your tracks. "The pool is out those doors at the end of the hall."

"The sign in the lobby says the door to the pool is by the front desk," you reply, looking over your shoulder at him. The hallway is dimly lit, and the shadows on his face make his jaw look even sharper.

"Well that door also leads to the pool," he says, gesturing to the end of the hall. You just stare at him a moment, not sure why you feel the instinct to argue. "You don't believe me?" he asks, chuckling and looking you dead in the eye, before obviously snaking his gaze down the entirety of your body. Now that he's standing you see the fitted black pants and black dress shoes he's wearing, making his outfit look even more professional. His thighs look strong, and his stance is one of confidence, his entire demeanor cool and collected. You want to come up with a witty retort but can't think of anything, so you just start walking the way he's said to, again passing him by without slowing down to meet him. You open the doors gently but don't stop to hold them for him, brattiness taking ahold of you. Maybe it's the fancy hotel, or the wine, but you feel like a princess who deserves whatever she wants. And right now that's to piss Hongjoong off a bit, and see the pool.

"I thought nice girls hold doors open for the elderly," he says once he's exited too, sidling up to you. You stand by the long edge of the pool, taking in the lights below the surface that dance through the water. You turn to him and roll your eyes, taking the water glass he offers you immediately. "So, what do you do?" he asks.

"I'm still in school, I'm in my senior year," you say, turning back to the water. "And I work part time as an administrative assistant in the Dean's office, to help cover some of my tuition."

"College senior," he says, like he's mulling it over. "So that makes you how old?"

"Guess," you say, turning to him again, this time with your whole body.

"22," he replies. His voice low, like he's hesitant to say it.

"Close, 23," you say, not lowering your voice to meet his.

"And how old do you think I am?" he asks you, crossing his arms over his chest.

"Mmm, like, 38?" you joke, squinting your eyes as you look intently at his face. The feeling of wanting to piss him off still hadn't left you.

"How astute," he replies, nodding. "People usually think I'm younger."

"You're actually 38?" you ask, bewildered.

"Actually, 40," Hongjoong replies, making your eyebrows shoot up.

"You're lying," you say, rolling your eyes and shaking your head at him.

"Wow, second time tonight you've thought that. I don't know what I've done to make you think so poorly of me," he replies, that mischievous look again painting his face.

"Oh, shut up," you say, rolling your eyes harder this time, wanting to reach out and playfully punch him. Or maybe not so playfully. He's looking more and more perfect by the second, and his attitude, the way he's just so confident and calm, is making you hot and bothered. You know it maybe it's wrong, but now that you know his real age you find this whole scenario even hotter. If you were honest with yourself you'd always dreamed of fucking an older man, but the few you'd gone on dates with or had the chance to talk to had always been so immature, insecure, and underwhelming. Just like all the other guys you'd dated. It was a massive disappointment to learn that age didn't often give people that self-assured demeanor that you so desired. But clearly it did sometimes; the proof was standing in front of you.

"That wasn't very nice," Hongjoong replies, fixing you with a look of disapproval that makes your thighs clench involuntarily, as the two of you stare each other down merely feet apart. You hold his gaze as long as you can before you look down at your feet, his stoic demeanor feeling like a brick wall you can't break through.

"You're very pretty, y/n," he says, stepping forward to lift your face up to his.

"Really?" you ask him, eyes wide. Playing it just the way he likes.

"I know you know how pretty you are, you've been giving me those eyes all night," he says, looking like he disapproves. "You're a bit of brat, too, aren't you?" he asks, his hand moving to the side of your cheek.

"No comment," you giggle, and he grabs your hand, bringing it to his upper arm. You grab onto his bicep as he moves his hand to your waist pulling you two closer.

"Dance with me," he says, pulling you slightly into his chest.

"There isn't any music playing," you say, laughing. And it's the way that he doesn't just automatically laugh at your little comments that really gets you going.

"If I didn't know better, I'd think you didn't like me very much," he says seriously, pulling you in and starting to rock you back and forth. You dance together for a few minutes, no words being exchanged as your bodies get used to the proximity, as your mind begins to swim again, even more so now that his hands are on you. You want him to kiss you, do anything, now, but he keeps his hands where they are, still leading you around in slow circles. Fuck it, you think. You lift your hands to his face and pull him in, your lips meeting in a perfect kiss, his hand on your waist moving up your back as he holds you to him, leaning you back as he deepens it. You hold steadily onto his bicep for balance, your breathing fast as you stick your tongue in his mouth, not hiding your desperation. You don't care to, not when you've spent two months without this feeling, tortured over the idea that no one at your school would ever consider you an option after your last relationship ended the way it did.

And just when it seems like you're the only desperate one, Hongjoong moves his hands down, running them up your thighs and under your dress to find your panties. He finds none, much to his surprise, which makes his dick harden even further. He gropes your ass, deepening the kiss more, making you arch your back in neediness. And then he snakes his hand around, slowly moving to your core, before suddenly running a finger over your slit, making you gasp. You've forgotten where you are, totally engrossed in the feelings he's giving you. You buck your hips against his hand, moaning pathetically into his mouth, your legs feeling like they might give out on you. He starts circling your entrance, finally pushing one finger in maybe an inch, when you finally remember where you are.

"Wait, fuck, not out here," you say, pulling back from him. He pulls his hand away immediately, his fingers glistening in the lights of the night.

"You don't want everyone to see?" he asks, a smirk on his face.

"Not when the people paying for me to be here could see," you say. Your lips look swollen and wet from the kiss, and it makes him want to grab you again.

"You're the one who kissed me," he says, his voice low. And you know there's more he's implying, that you weren't just the one who kissed him but that you had rocked against his hand, had wanted his touch. That you'd kissed him desperately, making him unable to stop himself. The implication is inappropriate, the accusation he's laid on you not fair in the slightest. He has no way of knowing what you were trying to make him do, or what you wanted to happen. You hadn't said a word. And yet, he's totally right, making it hard for you to respond.

"That's-," you sigh, your pussy still throbbing from your proximity.

"My room is on the 7th floor," he says.

"Okay," you reply. It's all you can say. You stand completely still, stuck to the spot, waiting for him to move. Instead he puts his wet fingers in his mouth, sucking off your slick in one smooth motion, humming in satisfaction. Your mouth gapes at his lewdness, struck now by just how visible you both obviously are.

"Let's go," he says, motioning his head towards the door.

Your legs move automatically, your mind playing over and over the visual of him licking his fingers, the look of utter bliss on his face. As you walk the hallway he comes behind you, putting a hand on the small of your back, making your body melt into him slightly. It feels good but you gently remove his hand, not wanting anyone to see. You pray that neither Bea nor any of her family are in the lobby when you enter, and thankfully, your prayers are answered. Nor does anyone join you two on the elevator, which makes you willing to stand closer to Hongjoong than you would any other stranger. But still, you don't touch him. As you both exit you walk behind him, almost enough space between you that you could believably look like two total strangers, walking to separate rooms. Until he unlocks his door, holding it open as you slip inside, like you're really not supposed to be in here.

As soon as he closes the door he's pulled you to him, his back slamming into the wall as you nearly crash together, the air between you thick with lust.

"I'm almost twice as old as you, y/n," he whispers in your ear, feeling your pussy clench against his thigh that you're straddling, your mouth on his neck. "You like that," he states, not even asking you anymore. "You like that I'm way too old for you. Too old to be touching you like this."

It's wrong, so wrong and you know it, but the further he pushes it the more you're surrendering to what's happening, to what your body truly craves.

"You've never been fucked right by those stupid boys at your college, have you? You need me to fuck you right, to show you how good you can feel. That's why you were bratty with me, you wanted me to be riled up. Want me to fuck you hard, like I'm mad. Like I'm punishing you," he growls, his breathing heavy as you bite down on his neck, sending sparks of pain and pleasure through his head. "Fuck, you really want me mad, don't you?" he asks and you whine in response, your whole body tingly with anticipation.

"Get on your knees," he says, pulling you back from him, your hair already a mess from his hands, the straps of your dress falling down your shoulders and nearly making your tits spill out. "Open your mouth," he commands, and you follow immediately, your wide eyes looking up at him in desire, his thumb running over your bottom lip. "I like when you do what I say," he says, pinching your cheek and making you blush, the praise making your insides turn to jelly. He unzips his pants smoothly, undoing the button and swiftly pulling out his hard cock, the tip a slight shade of red and already leaking slightly.

"Look what you did to me," he says, palming himself, your tongue nearly falling out of your mouth as you salivate over his beautiful cock. "I thought for a moment I'd have to come up here and deal with this all on my own, after you eye-fucked me all dinner," he continues, slowly stroking his length, moving closer to your open and waiting lips. "I should have known you weren't wearing any panties from the way you were acting," he says, gently running his tip along your outstretched tongue, spreading your spit around your face with it and making a mess of you. "No bra, no panties. You wanted to be fucked tonight." Slowly he enters your mouth, gently holding your head as he pushes further in, gently tapping the back of your throat and making you gag. You moan, your pussy clenching around nothing, wanting him to fill all of your holes at once. "That feels good, doesn't it. Gagging on my cock," he smirks, your eyes fluttering closed as he pushes in again, this time a little harder. "Eyes on me baby, don't look away," he says, slowly beginning to fuck your throat, gently enough not to choke you but deep enough to make you repeatedly gag, your spit covering his cock and running down your chin, your face a complete mess. "Fuck, your mouth feels good," he groans, his face scrunching up in pleasure for a moment, before he looks down to meet your eyes again, which are now glued to him, glued to every change in his expression, every flick of his tongue across his bottom lip. "I'm gonna go harder baby, I know you can take it," he warns you before picking up his pace, his cock nearly bottoming out in your mouth as he holds your head in place, repeatedly fucking into your throat. You're automatically swallowing around him, your body's reflexive actions taking over. "Fuck, so good," Hongjoong sighs, your head feeling light from the lack of oxygen and your body swimming in pleasure. You could let him use your throat all night if he wanted to, especially if he keeps talking to you like that. Like you're dumb and you don't even know what you want. Like he has to tell you or you'll never figure it out.

Finally you choke hard, your body instinctively pulling you back, and he pulls out of your mouth letting you catch you breath, stroking a hand through your hair. You run a hand across your mouth, trying in vain to clean yourself up a bit, wiping the saliva on your dress and staring up at him open mouthed, your entire body covered in a sheen of sweat.

"Hey, don't ruin this," he says pulling at your dress, moving behind you to help take it off. He slowly undoes the zipper, gently pulling the straps down and off your arms before helping you stand to step out of it. Completely bare, you stand in front of him, his hand coming up to spank you, grabbing your ass hungrily in his hand. You yelp at the impact, like you weren't expecting it. Like you hadn't been sticking your ass out ever so slightly, arching your back to add to the affect. "Don't write checks you can't cash, doll," he says, making you giggle and turn your head to face him, a look of utter delight on your face. "It really makes you happy when I scold you, doesn't it," he says, staring you down.

"Why are you so clothed?" you ask, finding your words.

"You want to see me naked?" he teases.

"Just seems like you're hiding something. Maybe under all that nice clothing you're really not that built," you laugh, knowing it would strike a nerve. It wasn't hard to tell that he cared about his figure.

"Go sit on your hands on the bed," he retorts, his eyes narrowing, as he starts taking off his watch, undoing the clasp on his chain. He sets both down on the table gently, pulling his shirt over his head next, revealing that most of his abdomen is also covered in tattoos, his broad shoulders and broad chest. Slowly he sits on the side of the bed to untie his shoes, periodically looking up at you to make sure you haven't moved, moving almost comically slow. You wriggle in anticipation, watching him slowly reveal himself, his muscular thighs finally on display to you as he pulls down his pants and boxers, his cock hard and a deeper shade of red now, still glistening from your spit.

"Lay on your stomach," he says, moving over you when you oblige, raking the hair out of your face so he can see you. "This is what you get for sticking your ass out," he says, swiftly moving down to lick over your hole, making you gasp at the coldness of his tongue. Immediately the feeling runs to your clit, your entire crotch alive with pleasure, your back arching instinctively to meet his movements. He spreads your cheeks to get better access, moving his tongue in quick circles around your tight entrance, your body slowly relaxing from the pleasure he's providing.

And suddenly he's off of you, reaching into his bedside drawer and pulling out a bottle, swiftly lubing the fingers of his right hand and moving them to your waiting hole, gently pushing one in. You groan, the tight muscles stretching already, your body arching even further to give him the perfect angle as he gently starts pumping in and out of you.

"You like getting your ass eaten, I knew you would. So dirty," he says, making you whine in agreement, your brows scrunched together in pleasure. Soon he adds another finger, the stretch again making you groan, your body instinctively tightening up at the intrusion. "I know you can take it," he says, not even attempting to comfort you. "Don't brats like getting their asses fucked?" he asks, his words making your clit ache, your body finally releasing again as he works you open with two fingers, taking the opportunity to quickly add another. "I knew it," he says, satisfied with how quickly he's stretched you open, how pliant your body is in his hands, how he's getting exactly what he wants from you. Still fucking you with his fingers, he opens the lube bottle again with his other hand, generously dousing his achingly hard cock. Gently he pulls his fingers out of you, frozen for a moment staring at the way your hole has opened up, nearly drooling from the visual.

"Spread you legs," he says, pushing your knees apart himself, pulling you ass up towards him, just where he wants you. Lining himself up, he slowly pushes in, the stretch even more severe this time, making you whine in pain, your breaths short and stifled with your head now shoved into his pillows. "What, you can't take it? Is it too big?" he asks, his tone dripping with sarcasm. "My little brat can't take my cock in her ass?"

Tears start forming in your eyes from how turned on you are, the pain a secondary feeling as it all starts to feel just right, as it starts morphing into only pleasure as your muscles finally relent. You feel like you're being split open, like you're opened up more than ever before, like he's gutting you from the inside. Finally he bottoms out, reaching into you further than you thought you could feel, your clit throbbing painfully with need.

"Fuck, you're so tight," he groans from above you, brushing a hand along your cheek in an almost sweet gesture, seeing the single tear stain on your cheek. He waits a moment, waiting to feel if your body is ready, and suddenly your hips are moving into his like your body is begging him to move. He slowly pulls out, almost all the way, then thrusts back in, making you gasp at the intense pleasure, your breath nearly getting caught in your throat. Grabbing your hips he starts forcefully thrusting, chasing his own pleasure as he's sucked into your ass, the tight muscles threatening to make him come in an instant. Desperate for some relief you move your hand to your clit, desperately trying to circle it as he rocks you hard with the force of his thrusts. His eyes are glued to your ass, glued to the way his cock looks buried inside you, and your face, the way your mouth hangs permanently open as you moan in earnest, clearly not controlling a single sound that is coming out. The raw sounds make him fuck into you even harder, the way you sound so pathetically fucked out, like you can't believe this feels so good. Eventually his eyes roam down again and spot your hand, swatting it away in an instant, his anger boiling up again.

"Is my cock not enough?" he scolds, his voice gravelly from breathing so raggedly, the air in the room stiflingly hot. In this position it's hard, but quickly he finds a good angle and lands a sharp smack on your clit, the pain lancing through your core like lightning, and suddenly your whole body is shaking, your nerves completely on fire. "Even with my cock buried in your ass you want to piss me off, don't you?" His voice is raised, nearly to the point of losing control, but still very calculated. He lands another sharp slap on your clit, this time not as hard, but in an instant your orgasm washes over you, your whole body shaking hard as you squeeze down around his cock making it hard for him to keep moving.

"Fuck, baby, shit," Hongjoong curses, his climax hitting him by surprise, his cock milked by your tight walls squeezing down on him, your body taught with just how hard you came. His orgasm crashes over him fast and hard, his body going limp just after yours does, as you both collapse in a pile on the bed, his cum coating the walls of your ass in silky wetness. Your legs are still shaking, tucked up underneath you, his cock still buried deep inside. The position is awkward but you don't even feel it, the pleasure still rippling through you as you breath hard into the soft pillow. Hongjoong crashes onto your back, his arms instinctively wrapping around you, his chest and stomach rapidly rising and falling from his heavy breathing. His skin feels sticky and hot against yours, his hot breath fanning over your cheek as he plants a kiss there, intently watching your face as you come down.

"I'm gonna pull out now, okay?" he asks, eliciting a hum of agreement from you. Slowly he pulls backwards, his cum spilling out of you the moment he's pulled out entirely, spilling down your ass cheek onto the bedsheets. Hongjoong makes his way to the bathroom, quickly cleaning himself up before grabbing a washcloth for you, dousing it in luke warm water. Coming back to the bed he gently moves you onto your back, to the side of the pool of cum. He gently wipes you down, making you moan when he brushes over your clit, making himself chuckle.

Glancing over at the clock beside his bed you see it's nearly 11pm, your mind spinning. Quickly you move to the ground to rummage through your purse, glancing at your phone to see a text from Beatrice reading 'I'm back now, don't stay out too late miss.'

Be back soon, you write back.

"I should be going," you say, trying to stand up, your wobbly legs making it difficult. Hongjoong is at your side in a moment, stabilizing you, helping you to sit down on the bed while he grabs your dress off the floor. You hastily pull it over your head, running your fingers through your hair and feeling the knots that have formed. Quickly you zip the back of your dress, shove your phone in your purse and stand to slip on your sandals, not wanting to keep her waiting. The sudden quietness of Hongjoong also has you feeling slightly on edge, and really your head is just spinning, from every unexpected thing that happened.

"I'm not still mad, you know," he says gently, grabbing your hand as you move to breeze past him.

"Yeah?" you ask, looking at him with confusion.

"You don't need to still be acting like a kid who is in trouble," he says, kissing your hand. "That was just, that. You can talk to me like anyone else, now."

You eye him, swallowing thickly. What does one even say, now? Could he tell how inexperienced you were with hookups?

"I'm not sure what's going on in that pretty head of yours. I hope it's happy thoughts."

You nod, a smirk playing on your lips. You're speechless, unable to think a complete thought. It all just plays in your head, his tongue on your ass, his fingers stretching you out, his cock pounding into you so hard. And the smack on your clit, the way it made you come so fast, the ghost of the feeling still present in your core.

"Not those thoughts. You're gonna jump me again," he laughs, and finally you smack him, punching his arm soon afterwards. Pushing past him you walk fast, opening his door and spinning around, your eyes piercing as you meet his.

"What, you can't take my teasing?" he asks, but suddenly his door swings shut, your face gone in a flash.

As you saunter down the hall to the elevator you feel fucking amazing, swinging your purse over your shoulder and flipping your hair to the side, your sleepy eyes boring holes into the metal doors.

Well, she did tell you to have some fun. You just hoped Beatrice wouldn't be too mad you fucked her uncle.

#ateez smut #hongjoong smut #hongjoong x reader #ateez x reader

2K notes · View notes

redrage71890 · 13 days ago

Text

Backing Voice (Yan! KPDH x Fem! MC) Part 3

Synopsis: A cancelled live performance and a wave of demonic energy, pushes our girl to her breaking point. All the while her new acquaintance wishes to hear that voice sing once again.

Genre: Fluff, Angst, Slow Burn, Yandere

CW: Medicated Drug, Panic/Anxiety Attack

Prologue, Part 1, Part 2, Part 3, Part 4, Part 5

Word Count: 3.2k A/N: Quite literally thank you guys enough for your support for reading this fic. Also this is just my interpretation of the Saja Boys bc they're basically just their stereotypes in the movie. The interpretations are based off on how other fics write them.

————————————————————

A couple days have passed since (Y/N)‘s encounter with Jinu, she’s had plenty of work to fill her time. Too much in her opinion. The busy schedules and organising interviews and shows for the girls to appear in, not to mention preparing for the live performance coming. Golden featured more of her singing which is a problem for her at the moment.

Her hands won’t stop shaking. The bags under her eyes were deeper than before. Faint red pink lines were forming on her neck and arms from her constant scratching nails. Her eyes twitched whenever she’s met with a bright screen.

She’s at her breaking point.

Tonight is the first live performance and she’s been working nonstop. Bobby was nothing like her current state, though he’s been doing this longer than her. He’s much more relaxed and significantly less stressed than her. But he’s not the one who also does the live backing vocals.

Ever since meeting Jinu, she felt her nerves like usual when talking, but she was happy in the moment for an unknown reason. Maybe it’s because someone acknowledged her singing outside of her space. Perhaps it was a chance of meeting someone new who isn’t familiar as her being a manager for HUNTR/X.

Who knows.

(Y/N) just knows that she wants outside of her bubble.

Interrupting her thoughts was Bobby who came to her side, with a water bottle in hand. “You don’t seem to be going well (Y/N). Are you sure you’re feeling alright?” Bobby worriedly questions.

Time was moving way too fast. It was already rehearsing time for the show.

“Y-Yeah! I’m fine Bobby! Thanks for the water, I’ll tell the girls their on in five!” Quickly grabbing them water and speed walking away as fast as she can.

Pulling along her collared shirt trying to free up more air in her lungs. All the air she was breathing escaped way too quickly. Her chest was hurting like she was hit by a truck.

‘It’s fine it’s fine it’s fine! Just one performance.’

(Y/N) knows they’re eager to turn the honmoon gold, but the world isn't ending anytime soon. A break should be reasonable enough as it is! For gods sake they JUST finished a tour literally a couple DAYS ago.

Take. A. Break.

‘Please….for me I beg…’

Reaching their changing rooms she gently knocks on the door. Hearing a small noise coming and the rattles of the handle, she’s met with the wondering familiar eyes of Zoey and Mira.

“(Y/N)! What’s up!” Zoey greets her as she lunges herself at her body. Encasing her in a tight hug. Thrusted to wake up with her being crushed by the ever sweet hunter. “Zoey! You’re crushing her!” Mira thankfully ushers Zoey to let go. Taking deep breathes to regain her lost oxygen, she glared at the sweet girl, only to be unseen by her.

"*Huff* You're on in five *huff.* Can you relay that to Rumi? *huff* I need to prepare myself."

"Okay. But are you alright? You haven't spoken to us in a while. Since the tour ended. We've been thinking that we should go to dinner sometime, if you're up for it." Mira questions, picking up on the beads of sweat on her forehead.

"We're just worried about you. You kinda avoiding us. W-We just want you to be okay! We can watch some turtle videos if you'd like? Something for us to unwind to. You don't have to worry about singing for a while once this is over."

"Yeah sure sure. Yeah. I'm fine. Just, get ready for the show. Don't worry about me. My voice is fine."

Staggering out immediately after, their worried comments falling on deaf ears.

Hurriedly speed walking towards one of the sound guys and taking a microphone for herself. Digging into one of her pockets and pulling out a container with small individual capsules. Popping one open and picking out a pill inside before throwing it in her mouth. Snapping the water open and chugging half of the bottle to push down the medication.

Her breathing began to calm and her mind felt clearer. But her hands wouldn't stop shaking. A strange mix of calm and nerves waring in her mind and body. Pushing through those feelings and thoughts, her ears pick up the instrumental beginning to play, she puts the mic near her lips.

"I was a ghost, I was alone (Hah)"

"Eoduwojin (Hah) abgilsog-e (Ah)"

"Given the throne I didn't know (Hah) how to believe (Hah)"

"I was the queen that I'm meant to be (Ah)"

Rumi's voice unnerving and only building up to more for later. (Y/N) breathily adding to her words and adlibbing along.

"I lived two lives, tried to play both sides"

"But I couldn't find my own place"

"Called a problem child 'cause I got too wild"

"But now that's how I'm getting paid, kkeut-eobs-psi on stage"

Layering her voice to harmonise with the girls like usual. Holding back until later.

"I'm done hidin', now I'm shinin'"

"Like I'm born to be"

"We're dreamin' hard, we came so far"

"Now I believe"

Dragging her voice along for the build up, but it more vocal in volume than usual.

"We're goin' up, up, up"

"It's our moment"

"You know together we're glowing"

"Gonna be, gonna bе golden"

"Oh, up, up, up"

"With our voices"

"Yeong-wonhi kkaеjil su eobsneun"

"Gonna be, gonna be golden"

Echoing the words of Rumi and her voice. She continues to push.

"Oh, I'm done hidin' now I'm shinin'"

"Like I'm born to be~"

"Oh, our time, no fear, no lies"

"That's who we're born to be~!"

Raising her voice high to match Rumi but ends up subtly going higher than her. Quickly realising her mistake and at the same speed pushing down her loaded hurls of self-deprecation.

"Waited so long to break these walls down"

"To wake up and feel like me"

"Put these patterns all in the past now"

"And finally live like the girl they all see"

Her silence in the verse made her vulnerable to her deprecating voices in her head. Just enough for a burning sensation to tingle at the sides of her mouth and neck.

Whispering a stream of pleas to quiet her mind.

"No more hiding, I'll be shining"

"Like I'm born to be"

"'Cause we are hunters, voices strong"

"And I know I believe~"

Collecting herself again with continuously shaking hands.

"We're goin' up, up, up!"

"It's our moment"

"You know together we're glowing"

"Gonna be, gonna be golden"

"Oh, up, up, up"

"With our voices"

"Yeong-wonhi kkaejil su eobsneun"

"Gonna be, gonna be golden"

'When does this end....'

"Oh, I'm done hidin', now I'm shining"

"Like I'm born to be~!"

"Oh, our time, no fears, no lies"

"That's who we're born to b-"

'Huh?'

The music suddenly stops as she abruptly ends her note to avoid being heard. Collapsing to her knees and clawing at her neck as the burning turned into an itching sensation.

She can hear Bobby and Mira worrying about Rumi, while she dismisses and tells them to restart the part.

Scrambling up to her feet and halts her scratching with the mic at her lips again.

"I'm done hiding"

"Now I'm shining"

"Like I'm born to b- (cough)"

Stopping her voice and falling to her knees again. A whirling nauseating pain flows through her head. Gripping her temples and clawing down her face to the added pressure.

Just picking up that Rumi wanted to take five, her heart raced even faster.

She couldn't hear anything around her. A white ringing noise filling her ears. Clawing at her ears with her breathing hastening in speed.

"Stop stop stop stop stop stop stop stop stop stop stop stop stop! Shut up be quiet. Shut up. Be quiet. Shut up. Be quiet. Go away. Go away... (hick)"

A waterfall of tears pour down her face as she quietly sobs, while hyperventilating through her tight chest. Her clawing actions stop at her neck, feeling the sweat sticking to her skin like slime.

The space was unnaturally empty for a busy stage trying to ready for a live performance.

Nobody to see the jagged patterns clawing at her neck. Reaching its way over her mouth.

Scratching and scratching at the patterns while her tears begin to extinguish the burning feeling every time it drips down her chin.

But she suddenly stops.

A silencing sensation abruptly halts her breakdown.

Something demonic was sent through the honmoon.

————————————————————

Her prays were finally met when she heard that Bobby cancelled the performance that night. Visualising her appearance was enough for her to text Bobby about leaving early. She felt horrible to leave everything for Bobby to handle.

But she was in absolutely no condition to help.

Making her own way back to the HUNTR/X tower, she sped her way towards her bathroom. Finally taking a look at herself in the mirror.

'Its still you. At least...'

Chuckling to herself and tracing her lips and along the lightning like patterns. Her usually shaggy short (f/c) hair being an absolute mess with baby hairs sticking to her face around her eyes and cheeks. Peaking through her bangs, staring back at her was a prominent gold and (f/c) tired gaze. The red veins on her sclera being bright and obvious to her crying fit earlier. The faint purple patterns reaching down to her neck, wrapping around the area were her vocal cords are.

Unbuttoning her top and disrobing her wrinkled clothes, discarding them in on the floor. Ruffling her hair and switching on her shower. Dowsing her body with cold water and washing away her tear stained cheeks.

Her first moment of silence since her time at the park.

'I wonder how Jinu is doing...'

(Y/N) has been thinking of the demon, why he was on the surface in the first place. If she considered demons nature, it wouldn't be anything good.

But she had a feeling that's not the only reason being here.

Granted she has no explanation for her reason. And additionally, she knows nothing about Jinu. He just awkwardly complimented her voice and she's the one who left early and brushed off his want for conversation.

'Damn it all! Stupid anxiety!'

Mentally cursing herself aside, she turns off her shower and steps out to wrap her body in a towel.

*Ping!*

She heard her phone alert go off. Drying off her body and stepping into her bedroom, she checked her messages and wasn't sure what to really do.

Zoey: Hey (Y/N)! We're going out for dinner since Rumi came back :D We'll save you a seat don't worry! Zoey: XXX-XXX-XXXX

(Y/N) felt no energy to go out with the girls. But she'll admit, she is worried for Rumi.

Her voice cracking pretty recently is probably making her even more stressed. Perhaps the honmoon turning gold is more important to her than she thought.

But she isn't sure if she's fit to go comfort Rumi.

Her body just feels drained.

"(sigh) What I do for these girls."

Rummaging through her cupboard and lazily throwing on a hoodie and pants. Roughly brushing her hair to to seem less messy and throwing on a pair of sneakers. Grabbing nothing else but her phone.

Entering the streets of Seoul and ignoring the slide comments of some about the cancelled show.

She felt reallllly bad for Bobby.

She's supposed to be one of the managers, but here she is wandering through the night streets and making her way to the girls. Not even bothering throwing her hoodie on because she was just tired.

Not able to pay attention to her surroundings.

*Bump!*

“Oof!” Staggering on her feet she turns around to meet the eyes of the other.

But a gentle smile meets her tiresome face, belonging to the familiar demon and his dreamy brown eyes.

”Jinu.”

”(Y/N)…”

Said demon felt relief to see her again. Her voice has been living in his mind rent free. It made him feel like a person again. Like he wasn’t a being that feeds of the souls and the shame he too feels from his previous actions.

He wants to hear her sing again.

“What are you doing here?” (Y/N) questions tiredly rubbing her temples. “I wanted to see you again.“ Jinu answers without a doubt. Though he can’t exactly be honest with her. He doesn’t even know if she’s a hunter, or whether once she knows his plan, if she’ll just slice him without hesitation.

But whether she’s a hunter or not, he still wants to see her.

”That’s a bit strange, don’t you think? W-We just met a couple days ago.” (Y/N) blankly states. Even though she wanted to see him again, it was still weird in her head. Jinu on the other hand sweat dropped at her statement.

”One can say that, but I don’t see it that way.” His response wasn’t what she imagined. But to be fair, she wasn’t sure what to think of him. “Ever since I heard you sing, I couldn’t get your voice out of my head. It’s made me…. want to see you again…” Jinu tried to describe how he felt, but even he couldn’t explain it using words.

He just felt comforted yet haunted by her tone and song.

It made him forget.

And it made him curiously want more.

”Hmm…if that’s how you feel.” (Y/N) shrugs her shoulders while muttering to herself. It feels weird to hear someone compliment her, or at least try to.

“But to be fair myself, I liked our little chat before. Even if it wasn’t much.” Her anxiety was subsiding unnaturally. She really did like being in Jinu’s presence.

That little statement was enough for Jinu to look at her like an excited puppy. "Perhaps.....maybe...we could talk more?" The words felt foreign from her mouth, her anxiety still present that just makes her second guess what to say. Nervously scratching the back of her neck.

Jinu gleams at her. "Then, why don't we go now?"

(Y/N) whips her head at him again with a widened expression.

Now? She can't. The girls are waiting for her, she has to know what happened. Something spread a demonic energy through the honmoon. And last she checked, demons don't do that. A tare feels different than what that was.

Whether she likes it or not...

She's considered a hunter.

"Sorry Jinu, I actually have som-"

"Jinu! Buddy, where have you been?"

Cutting her off was the sound of a deeper voice coming from behind Jinu.

Glancing up she catches four figures gathering behind the dreamboat. Two of them had pink hair but in different cuts and hairstyles, while the another had bright cyan underneath a yellow hat and the last having long silver grey with bangs that covered his eyes.

Their faces were alluring. Sculpted by the gods with unfair favouritism. Going all the way down to their bodies and from the sound of it, their voices too. Though even for (Y/N), they seemed way too perfect to be human.

'A group of demons? This can't be for a good reason...'

In the back of her mind, (Y/N) didn't want to fully trust Jinu. His random purpose on the surface is enough to justify her lingering doubts. But she pushed them aside just because she genuinely enjoyed the short time they had talking. Even if it was mainly him trying to talk to her.

The group of boys seemed to rag on Jinu about something like 'dancing' and 'practice.' Which only brought one answer to her mind.

"Are you guys dance training for something?"

Her voice bringing on five sets of eyes on herself. The one with the longer pink hair smirked upon meeting her questioning gaze, unnoting her own flinching back into herself.

"Why yes, are you curious?" He approached closer into her space, shivering at his invasion and taking a small step back to create distance. Jinu notices her uncomfortable expression, coming up to the pink headed demon to prevent going forward.

"Romance, you're making her uncomfortable." Halting his friends actions made the now named 'Romance' stare at him with a bit of surprise. Before Jinu turns his attention back on (Y/N) with a confident smile.

"We are actually practicing. We're debuting as a new boy group tomorrow." His answer brought more surprise to (Y/N)'s face.

"A boy band? I mean....you have the looks for it, can't say anything about everything else." She was just muttering to herself at this point. But Jinu heard what she was saying, taking it as a good sign for him.

"How about you come watch us perform tomorrow."

"Hmm? You sure?"

"Of course, we'll save a special spot just for you."

Well....considering that the girls are probably gonna have the day off tomorrow because of the cancelled show, it'll be good to keep an eye on these demon boys.

As long as they aren't hurting people, she has no reason to send them back.

But another reason popped into her head.

Sighing to herself she just hums and nods her head. "Sure. Why not?"

Jinu's eyes lighted up like fireworks at her response, internally pumping his fist in succession.

"Great! Here's a flyer for tomorrow." Handing her a pretty pastel flyer with the name 'Saja Boys' on the front with a logo of a lion plastered on the centre.

"Thanks. I'll see you tomorrow then." Gently smiling at them before waving a hand and continuing her walk.

Unbeknownst to her, the Saja Boys had differentiating reactions and thoughts.

They were quite intrigued by her. Jinu hasn't been fully present since his meeting with this girl, which got the others curious. He said he couldn't describe the feelings that ignited inside when he heard the girl sing.

Baby and Mystery mainly brushed it off and paid no mind to it. While Abby and Romance were slightly interested but never thought about it further.

That is until they did meet.

And my oh my...

They kinda understood?

(Y/N) from a first glance appeared quite pretty if Romance said so himself. Her baggy attire making her more relaxed and casual than the dolled up girls that he saw around before. But even that extenuated her natural beauty. But her speaking voice seemed to make Romance understand Jinu's fixation just a little bit more. Something melodic about her undertone drew his mind to a strange white noise. It wasn't anything mind numbing or dreadfully empty, it was calming.

Mystery isn't one for speaking but his heart skipped a beat hearing her casually talk. That haunting tone in her voice peaked his interest out of curiosity. But what caught him most was her eyes. A (f/c) gaze with a rim of gold around her iris. How come Jinu didn't mention that?

Abby was curious for sure about this (Y/N) chick. Wondering what the deal is with her said voice. But he was quite intrigued upon meeting the quietly shy girl. How can such a beautifully described voice come out of her?

Baby wasn't listening majority of the time Jinu was yapping about this girl. What was so important that it took that much brain space in that head of his, to the point that it looked like he was in a trance. But even meeting the girl herself, he'd rather see how things play out now that he himself has caught a glimpse of what is so intriguing.

Oh what will happen indeed...

————————————————————

Edit: Fun fact, the whole panic attack part is based of one that happened to me. My whole anxiety back when I was in school basically inspired this idea in the first place. Also I have no idea why I gave Romance more time than the others, it just happened |(￣3￣)|

Tags: @kitsune-05, @the-bookish-artist, @apelepikozume, @shoopershtar, @ravvilicous, @valeriele3, @vikc, @lasa27, @chipster-321, @greensunflowerjuna, @napbatata, @that-one-girl2020, @tagmepls, @thoughtfulbananaduckcroissant, @minepugs, @crescent-z, @colorfulgardenerduck, @poem-bee, @deityofprocastinating, @0-undead-0, @gremlinartstudio, @jessica-mcd, @strayharmony943, @fruityg0rl, @cherryblossomfox, @aominehaven, @kyxmlii, @ssaischilling, @sweaterkitty-fluff, @historygeekqueen, @satansdaughter123, @theall-seeingone, @nvmkyuu, @amenabii, @julianne1024, @doggyteam2028, @nisarelle, @theall-seeingone, @hi-itsmee28, @celesteelysia, @maritheillusion, @levifiance, @kangsae-byeokfan, @hornehlittleweeblet12, @scara-simp69, @fancyhawk45, @shqyou, @enerofairy, @futuristicdefendorfart, @scentwombatarcade, @eliengoddes, @irethepotato, @sra7riddle-malfoy, @jessica-mcd

#kpop demon hunters #kpop demon hunters x reader #yandere kpop demon hunters #huntrix #huntrix x reader #yandere huntrix #saja boys #saja boys x reader #yandere saja boys #kpdh #rumi kpdh #mira kpdh #zoey kpdh #jinu kpdh #abs kpdh #baby kpdh #mystery kpdh #romance kpdh

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hyuckiefluff · 3 months ago

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MOONSTRUCK | p. jisung

pairing: werewolf!hufflepuff! jisung x hufflepuff!fem. reader genre: best friends to lovers, hogwarts/supernatural au, angst, smut. wc: 18.3k+ summary: after a cruel prank leaves jisung cursed, he withdraws from everyone—including you, his closest friend. but secrets can't stay hidden forever, and when a full moon pulls you into the darkness he's tried so desperately to conceal, there's no going back. content warnings: werewolf lore & transformation, drug usage, rut/mating behavior, rough sex, biting/marking, mild breeding kink, oral (f receiving), multiple orgasms, knotting, bulge kink, mentions of bruising & blood, mild body horror, brief medical talk (contraceptive), aftercare. lmk if i missed any! a/n: nearly a month in the making and i can finally say i’m satisfied enough to post this lol. i’m actually really happy with how it turned out—and i finally got to write about werewolves, which has been on my list forever. canonically, werewolves in the HP universe (and most lore tbh) are dangerous nocturnal creatures and primarily bloodthirsty. but for this fic, i took a step away from that and leaned into the rut aspect instead because why not ;) pls don’t judge the cover, i had picsart and a dream lol. btw moonstruck by enhypen and nda by billie eilish are two songs u should listen to while reading this!

ps: i don’t know why i was under the assumption that everyone knows hp terms but i realized that is not the case after my mark fic 😭 so even though i didn’t use too many obscure ones here, here’s a little reference guide just in case: legilimens– someone who can read minds or emotions squib– a non-magical person born into a magical family (in this fic, it’s thrown around more like calling someone useless/coward) wolfsbane– a potion that allows werewolves to keep their mind during a full moon; in hp lore they still transform, but in this fic it's not a full transformation. feel free to message me if anything else was confusing! happy reading<3

You didn’t expect your seventh year at Hogwarts to feel like grieving someone who was still alive.

Three months ago, Park Jisung was still your best friend. Now, he can’t even stand being near you.

The suddenness of this change was something you couldn’t wrap around your head. But things don’t always fall apart all at once. Sometimes they drift until you’re left staring across a room at someone who used to know everything about you and wondering when they became a stranger.

He was the very first friend you made at Hogwarts. You remember how he barely spoke to anyone, and you sat next to him in Transfiguration class just because there was an empty seat. You charmed your quill into a frog that wouldn’t stop croaking, and when he finally cracked a smile, it felt like you’d won something important.

He was awkward and soft-spoken, unsure of himself in the way most boys are before they grow into their limbs. But you liked him instantly. Probably because he liked the same books as you, or because he never made fun of you for being nervous on a broom.

He even held your hand during your first flying lesson, hovering near you the whole time so you wouldn’t be scared. Years later, you found out he was just as scared of heights as you were and only pretended not to be to make you feel safe.

By fifth year, you spent so much time together that you could finish each other’s sentences. By sixth, you were bringing blankets to the highest tower in the castle and naming stars until you both fell asleep mid conversation. There wasn’t a single version of your life in Hogwarts that didn’t include him.

You thought seventh year would be just like that….

You were wrong.

After a summer of sending each other daily letters, pages and pages of thoughts, jokes, and half-sincere promises to never grow up, you returned to school thinking nothing could change.

And at first, it didn’t.

You walked to classes together, fell asleep with your legs tangled on the same couch, pretending not to hear the way people whispered about it the next morning, and snuck out of the common room after curfew not caring that you’d get caught.

The Astronomy Tower was your favorite place, you discovered how pretty it looked at night in your third year.

It was quiet that evening, the wind tugging at your robes as you leaned over the battlement. Jisung set down the little paper packet he’d smuggled from the kitchens—honey biscuits, still warm—and nudged it toward you.

“Payment for helping with my Potions homework,” he said, trying to be casual, though the tips of his ears were already pink.

You laughed and took one, bumping his shoulder with yours. “You’d owe me a whole bakery if this were the price.”

He smiled softly. The moonlight caught in his hair, and for a second you forgot the chill entirely.

“Close your eyes,” he said suddenly.

You arched an eyebrow but obeyed. Something light, wool‑soft, was placed around your shoulders. You opened your eyes to find a black‑and‑yellow scarf wrapped there, smelling faintly of cedarwood soap and parchment ink—purely, unmistakably Jisung.

“Did you make this?” you asked, caressing the soft fabric.

“Erm… yeah, you lost yours and it’s starting to get cold outside.” He mumbled, eyes on his shoes. “I couldn’t have my star‑chart partner freeze.”

You swallowed a reply that felt too big, and instead reached for his hand where it rested on the stone ledge. Your fingers threaded with his, easy as blinking. He stiffened for a second then squeezed back. When you looked up, his gaze was already fixed on you, wide and bright, as though the whole sky were reflected there instead of above your heads.

Neither of you moved for a long while. Orion wheeled overhead, the biscuits cooled, and the castle bells tolled curfew far below. But the only thing you really noticed was the warmth of his palm against yours, and the way your heart tripped every time he glanced your way and smiled shyly.

You learned just how soft‑hearted Jisung was that day on the Astronomy Tower.

Which is why, a few weeks into seventh year, it struck you as utterly wrong when rumors reached you that he’d been seen tagging along behind Lee Seungmin. Seungmin was everything Jisung wasn’t—loud, sharp‑tongued, the sort of Slytherin who thought shoving first‑years into suits of armor was a hobby and swapping curse ingredients under the table was a joke. He hexed quills to peck at classmates and bragged about detentions like they were trophies.

Jisung, by contrast, apologized when he bumped into someone and brought extra quills for anyone who forgot theirs. He flinched at raised voices and fed the barn owls after hours because he worried they were lonely.

So hearing his name linked with Seungmin’s felt like hearing that rain was falling upward. At first you laughed it off, because surely someone must have mixed him up with another quiet Hufflepuff. But then Jisung started arriving late to meals, dodging your study sessions, mumbling vague excuses you’d never heard from him before.

That was when you realized the rumor wasn’t a mistake—and that something was very, very wrong.

Seventh Year

September settled over the castle in a bright rush of golden leaves and new parchment, and for a while everything felt the way it always had. You and Jisung were crossing the courtyard—still laughing about his theory that Professor Lockhart polished his hair with Mrs. Skower’s Extra‑Shine—when a voice cut through the chatter behind you.

“Oi, Park!”

You both turned. Lee Seungmin jogged toward you, grinning widelys. You didn’t bother hiding your sigh.

“Still on for tonight?” he asked, dropping his voice as he leaned in toward Jisung.

“I’m not sure. I’ve got a Potions essay to finish.” Jisung shifted akwardly.

Seungmin smacked him on the back, too hard to be friendly. “Come on, you’ve bailed twice already.”

You stepped forward, folding your arms. “Don’t you have that same essay, Seungmin? It’s half the term grade.”

He turned, as if noticing you for the first time and smirked “Why bother? Snape’s going to fail me anyway.”

“Typical,” you muttered.

“I’ll let you know later,” Jisung said quickly, cutting between you before another jab could leave your mouth.

Seungmin’s gaze lingered on you, faintly mocking, before he turned away with a humorless laugh. “Sure thing, Park.”

The moment he was out of earshot you exhaled. “Since when are you and Seungmin… close?”

“We’re not,” Jisung said, scratching at the back of his neck. “He just hangs around sometimes.”

You searched his face. “You two have nothing in common.”

“It isn’t a big deal,” he insisted, but the laugh that followed sounded fake.

“It is if you’re sneaking off with someone like him,” you said, sharper than you meant to, but the worry was too much to hide.

Jisung’s gaze dropped to his shoes. “I didn’t think it was worth mentioning.”

You didn’t say anything after that. You just walked the rest of the way to class in silence with a sense of unease settling on your chest.

That was when the distance began to show.

First, he started seating two rows over in Charms, smiling apologetically whenever you glanced his way but never moving back. He stopped leaving crooked little jokes on the margins of your Transfiguration notes or looking at you and trying not to laugh whenever Professor Lockhart messed up a spell.

He still spoke to you, yet every conversation felt stitched together, as if he were acting out a script. One afternoon you finally asked, “Are we all right?” He nodded so quickly you had a hard time believing it.

The next time you saw him with Seungmin it was well past curfew.

You had just left the library after wrestling Arithmancy proofs and stopped short as soon as you rounded the corner near the dungeon stairs. There was Seungmin leaning against the wall and Jisung half‑turned away, both speaking in low murmurs. You caught only fragments of Seungmin’s lazy drawl and Jisung’s tight replies. Then Seungmin laughed sharply, and your best friend flinched as though struck.

Your loud footsteps made both of their heads snap up.

“Y/N,” Jisung blurted, striding toward you as if to block your view. “Why are you out so late?”

“I could ask you the same.” You said arching a brow.

Behind him, Seungmin offered a thin grin before slipping down the stairs into the darkness of the dungeons.

Jisung pressed a hand to his eyes. “I was heading back to the dorm.”

“What did he want?”

“He—” Jisung’s voice faltered and for a heartbeat you saw the words gather behind his lips but he swallowed them down. “It’s nothing.”

“Nothing?” Your voice cracked on the word. “Come on, Ji.”

“I’m just tired,” he whispered. “Can we talk tomorrow?”

Silence pooled between you, at last you forced a smile neither of you believed. “All right. Tomorrow.”

But tomorrow never arrived—at least, not the kind where he told you what was wrong.

Because the next day Jisung never came to class at all.

Two whole days slid by without a glimpse of him and you were so on edge you kept glancing over your shoulder, half‑expecting his soft voice behind you. Or hoping he might walk into the library with that shy lopsided smile, asking if you had spare parchment which he always ran out of because his handwriting was too big and messy.

But he wasn’t anywhere, and no one seemed willing to notice besides you.

By lunch on the second day you couldn’t keep silent. Renjun was halfway through a Honeydukes bar, mumbling that chocolate boosted cognitive function, when you leaned across the table and murmured, “Do you know what’s going on with Jisung?”

He froze mid‑bite. “What?”

“Renjun,” you said, low and tight, “you know he hasn’t been to class, or in the common room. He isn’t anywhere.”

“I thought he was sick,” Renjun offered with a shrug that felt rehearsed.

“He isn’t in the hospital wing, and he hasn’t answered any of my owls.”

A flicker of something, maybe guilt, crossed his face. “Maybe he just… needs space?”

Your gaze sharpened. “Did something happen?”

“No,” he blurted too fast. “No, not that I know of.”

“Renjun.”

“I swear, I don’t know.” He wouldn’t meet your eyes. That was answer enough, but you let it drop for now.

That evening, heading back from a prefect meeting, you passed the hidden entrance to the Slytherin common room and heard voices up the corridor.

You weren’t trying to eavesdrop—until one word snapped you still.

“Jisung.”

“Snape got to him before—”

“—thought he was going to die, mate—”

“—Seungmin won’t shut up, keeps saying it wasn’t meant to go that far—”

A rush of blood pounded in your ears as you picked up bits of the hushed conversation. You edged closer and caught sight of Jay and Niki—Seungmin’s friends—half hidden in the shadows, whispering behind cupped hands.

Your fingers curled into fists at your sides. Your thoughts finally being confirmed; Something happened to Jisung and Seungmin was at the heart of it.

You didn’t sleep a minute that night. Every time you shut your eyes, the conversation replayed in your head until dawn bled through the curtains and you were already out of bed, fury keeping you upright.

You found Seungmin loitering outside the Great Hall, laughing too loudly at something Jay and Niki had said. You crossed the marble floor without a second thought.

“Where is he?”

The smile slipped from Seungmin’s face. He cocked his head, all polite confusion. “Sorry, where’s who?”

“Drop the act,” you said, stepping close enough that he had to tilt his chin to keep eye contact. “I heard your lackeys talking last night. Where’s Jisung?”

Jay and Niki exchanged a look but said nothing..

Seungmin gave a thin, brittle laugh. “You’re hearing ghosts, sweetheart. Why would I bother with Park?”

“A better question,” you started, voice cold, “is why you’ve been so attached to him lately. You don’t exactly run in the same circles, so what did you talk him into?”

Something sharpened in Seungmin’s eyes and he leaned in by a fraction. “Careful with what you’re accusing me of.”

“Or what?” You didn’t move. “You’ll do to me what you did to him?”

For a heartbeat his mask slipped, just long enough to confirm you’d scored a direct hit.

“I didn’t touch him,” he said, almost gently. “Whatever mess Park’s in? He walked into it himself”

“Liar.”

He dipped his head, a mock‑sympathetic smile curling at his mouth. “You think you know him so well, huh? Ever think that maybe he finally got tired of you shadowing him like a needy bitc—”

Your wand was at his throat before the last word finished leaving his lips. The corridor went silent except for your breathing.

“You know nothing about us,” you said, voice shaking with contained fury. “If he’s hurt, I’ll make sure everyone here knows exactly whose fault it is.”

Seungmin’s gaze flicked to the tip of your wand, then back to your face. A slow, poisonous smile spread. “Ask too many questions, Y/N, and you might choke on the answers.”

He stepped back with his hands raised in surrender, and strolled away. Jay and Niki followed in uneasy silence. You lowered your wand, fingers trembling with adrenaline.

His parting smile told you everything about his involvement. But you still didn’t have clear answers.

So you went to seek the other person allegedly involved. Snape.

When you descended into the dungeons, the silence was immediate and unnatural. No one ever came this far during free periods; only Professor Snape’s office existed at the end of this corridor, buried deep in the coldest, most isolated part of the castle.

Faint green flames floated midair along the walls, suspended in enchanted sconces that made no sound and cast no warmth. They pulsed gently, like breathing, and their glow warped the stone around them, making the shadows twist in ways that defied logic.

You hated it down here. Even now, in your seventh year, walking this corridor alone made your heart thud against your ribs like it wanted you to turn back.

But you were desperate.

Snape looked up slowly when you stepped into his office without knocking, his quill pausing mid-sentence on the parchment. His expression went from mildly irritated to coldly displeased in an instant.

“Is knocking a forgotten concept these days?” he said dryly.

“Professor,” you began quickly, not even trying to hide the urgency in your voice. “I need to talk to you.”

Snape set down his quill, arching a single eyebrow. “Then I suggest you start talking, and make it quick.”

You swallowed. “It’s about Jisung… Park Jisung. He’s been missing for days, and no one seems to know anything. Or at least, they’re pretending they don’t.”

His gaze sharpened and for a second, you thought you saw a flicker of caution behind his eyes before he quickly masked it.

“I fail to see why you’re bringing this to me,” he said coolly, leaning back in his chair. “Missing students are a matter for the headmaster.”

“Don’t,” you snapped before you could stop yourself. Snape’s eyes narrowed dangerously, but you pressed forward anyway. “I overheard some students talking. They mentioned your name…said you found Jisung somewhere. Something happened to him, didn’t it?”

Snape’s eyes flashed briefly. “And you believe the idle gossip of students because…?”

“Jisung wouldn’t just disappear on his own like that. I know something happened to him,” you shot back, voice shaking. “And I believe you know exactly what.”

He watched you silently for a moment. You could feel him weighing something behind his guarded stare. Finally, he exhaled sharply.

“Miss Y/N,” he began slowly, voice heavy with thinly veiled warning, “there are things within these castle walls and beyond them that you are better off not knowing.”

“That’s not your choice to make,” you said immediately.

“On the contrary,” he replied calmly. “It is precisely my choice. And you will do well to remember that.”

Your fists clenched at your sides, frustration prickling hot behind your eyes. “Professor, please. Jisung’s my best friend. If he’s hurt… if something’s happened… I need to know.”

Something shifted in Snape’s expression at your words, almost looked like regret. When he spoke, his voice was almost gentle, which frightened you more than his scorn.

“Sometimes the worst harm you can do to someone is to keep prying.”

He paused, holding your gaze steadily. “Park is alive. That is all you need to know. Now leave.”

You stood frozen for a second, his words sinking in painfully. Jisung was alive—yet somehow, that felt worse. It meant something had happened… Something terrible.

Your jaw tightened. “You can’t keep this hidden forever,” you whispered fiercely.

He leaned forward, eyes piercing yours in the darkness of the room.

“We’ll see.”

You turned away, storming from his office without looking back. Snape hadn’t denied anything which meant there’d definitely been an incident and it was serious enough that Jisung couldn’t be seen right now. He was alive, but he was hurt, and whatever happened to him was being deliberately hidden.

A few days later

The day started like any other.

You pushed cold eggs across your plate, half listening to Renjun’s gentle attempts at conversation while the Great Hall hummed as if a student hadn’t been missing for a week. But suddenly, a hush rolled through the room.

You felt Renjun touch your arm.

“Y/N.”

You looked up, and followed his gaze toward the doors. The breath caught in your throat.

Jisung was standing just inside the oak doors.

He was bent at the shoulders, eyes flicking over the Hall as if he didn’t remember ever being there before. His robes hung wrinkled and loose and there were red scratches carved along his neck and cheek. He was paler than before and the shadows beneath his eyes made him look years older than when you’d last seen him.

Without greeting anyone, he drifted to the far end of the Hufflepuff table nowhere near his usual seat beside you.

You were on your feet before the thought finished forming.

Renjun caught your wrist. “Y/N, maybe wait—”

You shook him off and crossed the hall, every step echoing in the sudden quiet.

“Jisung?”

He flinched but kept his gaze on the empty plate. “Not now, Y/N.”

“You’ve been gone a week,” you whispered, voice trembling. “I was so worried—”

“I said not now.” The snap in his voice was sharp enough to cut. He glanced up and the terror in his eyes chilled you to the bone.

You reached for him, but he stood so abruptly your balance faltered. Without another word he strode the length of the hall and disappeared through the doors, leaving a silence that seemed to bend the rafters.

You stood frozen, heat flushing your face as dozens of eyes slid away. Renjun appeared at your elbow and talked softly. “Let him breathe.”

You nodded, though the emptiness in your chest insisted otherwise.

Jisung returned to lessons, but only in body. He answered professors in one‑word murmurs and offered classmates strained smiles that meant please don’t talk to me. At meals he sat alone, two yards of empty bench marking the space where laughter used to live.

He moved faster when he saw you in the corridors. He no longer waited outside classrooms or drifted toward your chair in the library. His robes hung loose as if he’d lost weight along with sleep, and his hands shook whenever he raised his wand. Sometimes you caught him staring through stone walls at something only he could see.

You tried with soft hellos in the common room, and owls folded with careful questions but every attempt slid off the wall he’d built overnight. The harder you reached, the farther he retreated, until all that remained between you was silence and the memory of how easily you’d once shared the same breath.

2 days later

Jisung sat on the edge of his bed, head buried in his shaking hands. His palms were marked with crescent-shaped indentations from how hard he was clenching his fists.

He kept hearing it.

The snap of branches in pitch-black darkness. The sickening crunch of claws sinking into damp earth. The guttural snarl vibrating through his bones moments before razor-sharp teeth pierced his shoulder. The thick warmth of blood soaking through his robes.

Sometimes it came to him in dreams. Other times, he’d be awake, in class, or walking down the corridor. A sound, or a smell and he was back in the forest.

Snape had said the wolfsbane would help and it had in a way. At least, it kept the full transformation at bay. But it didn’t stop the memories, it didn’t quiet the noise in his head.

His senses were too sharp now, every creak of the floorboards, every flicker of candlelight, every rustle of parchment felt louder. Sometimes he thought he could hear people’s heartbeats, smell their sweat before they entered a room. His insides constantly felt overwhelmed with unbearable energy. He felt trapped in his own skin, moments away from tearing free of himself. Sometimes he felt too much, and other times… he felt nothing at all.

Worst of all, though, was you.

He couldn't stand to be near you anymore. Not because he didn't want to, but because your scent now stirred something dangerous within him. It made his chest ache unbearably, tightened his throat with longing and thirst.

A part of him urged him to get far away from you. But another darker, more primal part whispered the opposite… to scent you, to sink into you, to lose control entirely. But he refused to drag you into his nightmare. He wouldn't allow it, no matter how much it tore at him.

He could remember most of what led him into the forest, up to a certain point.

He remembers Seungmin saying he wanted to hang out and they met near the edge of the Forbidden Forest, where one of the slytherins handed out something called shadeleaf. It was an iridescent petal folded into itself like a capsule. Illegal, of course. Banned by the ministry for its hallucinogenic properties and its tendency to react differently based on magical affinity.

Jisung didn't even know why he was there. This wasn’t his scene at all. The guys were drinking something out of a flask that smelled like burnt sugar and smoke. Jay was lighting up a rolled spell-scroll with charmed embers. Niki already looked half out of it, eyes glazed.

When Seungmin started showing an interest in him a few weeks ago, Jisung had been flattered. He'd only ever made two close friends at Hogwarts, so someone new noticing him felt good. That was the only reason he went along with him. He wanted to be accepted.

“Is it safe?” Jisung asked nervously.

“Come on, park,” Niki chuckled, placing a shimmering petal on his tongue. “Don’t be a Squib.”

“What's the worst that could happen?” Seungmin grinned, handing one to him. “You trip a bit? See some weird shit? Wake up with a headache?”

Jisung hesitated, staring at the thing in his palm. It pulsed faintly with a color he didn’t have a name for.

He didn't want to do it, but they were all watching him. So he took it.

The effects hit almost instantly. His vision went fuzzy first; he could only see edges warping and light bending at impossible angles. Then his tongue tingled and throbbed, and his body felt too hot.

“Shit, this is strong,” Jay laughed.

“It’s not that bad,” Seungmin said, puffing from the smoldering scroll between his fingers.

None of them looked as affected as Jisung.

"Come on, Park," Seungmin said, draping an arm casually yet firmly around Jisung’s shoulders. "There’s a spot a little deeper in. We hang out there all the time."

Jisung couldn’t hear properly anymore, everything sounded underwater. He followed anyway.

He couldn’t say how long they walked. It felt like hours, though in reality it was probably mere minutes before his knees gave out, sending him sprawling onto the cold forest floor. His head spun violently, vision fractured.

He tried to speak, to call out but his voice didn't work, the forest blurring darker and darker until only silence and blackness swallowed him whole. He didn’t know when they left him. Just that at some point, he was alone.

The last thing he remembers was seeing bright, yellow eyes and feeling immense pain…

He woke up choking on his own blood.

His body jerked violently, lungs burning as he struggled to take in air. He felt strong hands grip his shoulders, pulling him upright with urgency. Through blurry, half-open eyes, he caught the outline of a wand glowing faintly in the dark. He barely recognized the familiar cadence of Professor Snape’s voice echoing through the haze.

“Park… Can you hear me?” Snape’s voice was clipped, edged with tension he’d never heard before.

Jisung managed only a strangled groan. He couldn’t speak, his throat was raw, filled with the metallic tang of blood. Breathing felt impossible, each gasp shallow and painful, as if his lungs were full of lead. He felt wetness soaking through his clothes and pooling beneath him. He didn't know if it was sweat or blood. Probably both, his clouded mind whispered darkly.

He was certain of only one thing—he was going to die here.

“You’ve been attacked,” Snape explained urgently, casting quick charms that rippled warmly across Jisung’s battered body. “I need you to remain as still as possible while I attempt to slow the bleeding.”

The word attacked echoed faintly in Jisung’s mind. Attacked by what? His thoughts swirled sluggishly. He couldn’t focus enough to piece anything together.

Snape pressed a small vial to his lips. The Hufflepuff hesitated, eyes flickering up weakly, his question dying soundlessly on cracked lips.

Snape seemed to understand instantly. “It’s Wolfsbane.”

The word crashed over Jisung with crushing weight, his mind snapping painfully back to clarity. Wolfsbane. A potion for…

His stomach twisted violently, nausea gripping him as realization cut sharply through the fog in his mind.

He’d been attacked by a werewolf.

It felt impossible. He wanted to deny it, wanted to believe it was just some twisted nightmare brought on by the drugs he’d foolishly taken. But the pain burning through his shoulder and the dark, grim expression on Snape’s face all made denial impossible.

With trembling lips, Jisung allowed Snape to tip the bitter potion into his mouth, grimacing weakly as he forced himself to swallow it down. It tasted vile but he had no energy left to protest.

He collapsed back against the cold forest floor, limbs heavy, vision fading once more as Snape continued muttering charms, trying to keep him tethered to consciousness.

“Stay with me, Park,” Snape’s voice commanded, sharp but oddly comforting. “You’re not going to die tonight.”

But Jisung wasn’t sure he believed him.

The darkness rushed back in, heavy and thick, pulling him under again as Snape’s frantic movements blurred and faded away.

His memory is fuzzy from then on.

One moment he was lying in the dirt, blood soaking the ground beneath him. The next, he was being levitated through narrow hallways, his body wrapped in magic and warding charms.

The room was dark, except for a wandlight hovering near the ceiling. He was placed on a dusty mattress on the floor. His skin felt stiff with blood, every muscle felt like it had been peeled apart and sewn back together with barbed wire.

He recognized the Shrieking Shack from an article he’d read once about the most haunted places on Earth. That’s where they were right now.

The shack was colder than he imagined. This was the place they used to tell ghost stories about in the common room. The place kids dared each other to peek into on Hogsmeade weekends. It smelled like old wood and dust. Snape moved through it like he’d been here before—like this was routine.

He cast a dozen silent spells before even speaking. Layers of enchantments wrapped around the rotting floorboards, the shattered furniture, the warped windows.

“You must take this Wolfsbane every day,” Snape said curtly, setting a tray on the floor beside the creaking mattress. “Or I’ll force it down your throat.”

Jisung didn’t answer. Snape paused, studying him with that unreadable stare.

“You’ll stay here until the full moon passes,” he said. “You’ll say nothing when you return.”

Jisung blinked slowly, the weight of it sinking into his bones. ‘When you return… or If’.

Then Snape turned to go but he stopped in the doorway.

“You are not the first,” he said, voice low. “It will be painful but you’ll survive.”

And with that, he was gone.

The silence was the most unbearable part of being in the Shack. Not even the pain or the way Jisung’s bones ached like they were preparing to snap apart. It was the silence that made him feel like he’d go crazy any minute.

He tried to sleep, but whenever he tried he’d blink awake to phantom sensations of fur brushing his skin, fangs pushing against his teeth, and a sweet scent of honey curling through the cracks in the floorboards.

It wasn’t the full moon yet but his body was already responding to it. The Wolfsbane kept him from changing completely, but it didn’t stop everything. His skin itched as if it was being stretched and he realized he’d grown a few inches taller overnight. His eyes were also becoming sensitive to even the faintest flickers of light, and they were a dark shade of yellow that glowed whenever the moonlight hit them.

It might’ve been on the second night or the third, he couldn’t remember well, but Snape came in and told him that the full moon would be at its peak and he would feel the effects more despite the potion.

Jisung lasted about two hours before the pain began. It wasn’t sudden. It crept in slowly, like frostbite, numbing his fingers first. Then his wrists and his legs. He thought maybe this was it—maybe he’d just fade out before anything happened. Then it spread up his spine and into his skull, where it bloomed behind his eyes like fire.

The pain was so much bigger than his body. It burned and it shredded him, as if his bones were being broken and rebuilt at the same time, like his skin wasn’t big enough to hold him anymore. He scratched at his own arms until his nails cracked and bled. It got so unbearable he slammed his head against the wall hoping he would knock himself out but he couldn’t.

He clawed at the walls, tore at the floorboards and bit into the wood until his mouth filled with splinters and blood. He howled until his throat tore raw. And still, it didn’t stop

He lost count of how many times his limbs broke and reformed. His jaw cracked open so wide he thought it might dislocate, teeth pushing through bloody gums. He was sobbing or at least, he thought he was. It was hard to tell over the sound of his own growling.

The transformation stopped halfway and started again the next day. He never fully transformed but he felt the pain of his body trying to fight against it every single time.

He stopped counting days after that.

Hunger and exhaustion tangled with grief and fear until all that was left was the throb of his body and the steady hum of magic in his blood. He didn’t think about the pain anymore. Or the bite. Or Seungmin. Or the forest.

Mostly, he thought about you.

He tried not to, but you wouldn’t leave him. Your face, your laugh, your voice, it all circled him like the moonlight through the slats in the wall.

The way the thought of you made his body burn now.The way your honeyed scent used to be comforting but now made his lungs tighten and his mouth water. He didn’t understand why he was feeling this way.

On the seventh day he woke up soaked in sweat, shivering uncontrollably. The moon had passed. He could feel it in the way the ache in his bones was retreating and his mind was clearer.

Snape arrived at dawn.

He said nothing about the mess of blood and broken furniture in the room. He just studied Jisung who was sitting slumped against the wall. He pulled out his wand and started casting diagnostic spells over his body.

“You’ll return to class tomorrow,” he said. “If anyone asks, you were ill.”

Jisung didn’t move.

Snape continued impassively. “You are not to mention the Wolfsbane, the forest, or what you’ve become. Do you understand?”

Jisung finally looked at him, barely able to lift his head properly. “That’s it? Just… go back like nothing happened?” His voice came out hoarse.

Snape’s eyes narrowed faintly. “No. That is not it.”

He stepped closer.

“You will take your potion every cycle, no matter what. And you will not seek out the other boys involved, nor will you retaliate.”

Jisung’s jaw clenched. He wanted nothing more than to rip Seungmin’s throat apart, but he knew that was just the wolf thinking.

“And most importantly, you will stay away from her.” Snape said, his voice dropping at the last word.

Jisung sat up sharply, knowing exactly who he was referring to. “Why?”

The professor’s expression didn’t soften. “Because the wolf doesn’t care that she’s your friend. It doesn’t care about boundaries or guilt or decency. It responds to need.”

Jisung’s chest tightened, throat dry.

“The first few transformations are the worst,” Snape continued, pacing slowly now. “Your body hasn’t adjusted. Your instincts haven’t aligned with your mind. You will feel urges…violent, territorial, carnal urges that you can’t control. Those urges will turn into fixations... Especially for someone you already had feelings for”

“I don’t–” Jisung started.

“You don’t need to lie, Mr. Park.” Snape cut him off, “I am a very skilled Legilimens, you know? I can see your mind and I see how it’s filled with thoughts of her.”

Jisung looked away, jaw trembling slightly. Snape stopped in front of him.

“Her scent” he said quietly. “It already triggers you, doesn’t it?”

Jisung didn’t answer. That sweet scent of honey and parchment that he kept smelling through the rotting floors and the dried blood, he figured out it was you. It reminded him of that night at the Astronomy tower.The Shrieking Shack might be a few miles away from Hogwarts castle but he could still somehow smell you.

“You feel it in your chest, in your teeth, in your gut” Snape said, voice like a scalpel. “You want her.”

Jisung’s breathing picked up.

“That is the beginning of your rut.”

“Rut?” he repeated, barely above a whisper.

Snape nodded. “It’s a biological response. Wolves enter a heightened state after the full moon cycle. Some experience it more than others, especially younger ones who’ve recently turned”

Jisung’s heart was pounding now, nauseatingly fast.

“You may feel sudden impulses or worse you might want to act on those impulses.”

He felt sick. “I’m not— I would never hurt her.”

“I’m not concerned about your intentions,” Snape said coldly. “I’m concerned about your self control. A werewolf’s instincts are hard to resist and if you lose control, Mr. Park… She will pay the price.”

“So stay away from her,” Snape said with finality. “It’s the only way to keep you both safe.”

Jisung sat there shaking, the weight of what he’d become pressing down on his spine like a second body.

He couldn’t go back. Not like this.

“I’m not ready,” he said hoarsely.

Snape didn’t turn. He stood by the window, watching the last of the night dissolve into grey morning.

“You won’t ever be,” he said simply.

Jisung clenched his jaw. “I don’t want to see her. Or anyone. I—I can’t trust myself.”

“You must learn to live with your current situation.”

“Why can’t I just… stay here?”

Snape turned at that. His eyes were cold and calculating.

“Because people are already asking questions,” he said. “Students, staff. Your friend.”

Jisung’s heart stuttered at that.

“She’s worried,” Snape continued. “Rightfully so. You disappeared without warning. She’s been to my office several times. She’s even confronted the student who got you into this predicament, pulled out a wand at him. I don’t know how much longer I can keep her from endangering herself trying to find you.”

Jisung lowered his head, guilt flooding every nerve.

“Rumors are spreading, too.” Snape added. “A few students are saying they saw you with Mr. Lee that night. Some think you were injured, others that you’re in trouble. You’ve already been gone too long.”

Jisung swallowed hard. “So I just walk into the Great Hall acting like I’m normal?”

Snape didn’t blink. “Yes.”

His stomach turned. “And if someone sees the scars?”

“You’ll say you had an accident in the forest.”

“And you’ll back me up?” he asked bitterly.

“If I must.”

Jisung exhaled shakily. “And Y/N? We—we’re always together, she’ll find it weird if I suddenly cut her off”

“You’ll keep your distance regardless. If she asks questions, you deflect. If she pushes, you walk away. You’re not safe around her”

He bit his lip hard, so hard it almost bled. “She’ll know something’s wrong.”

“Then hope she’s smart enough not to get too close.”

The doors to the Great Hall had never felt so heavy. Jisung stood in front of them for nearly five minutes, staring at the carved wood. Behind them, he heard laughter, casual conversation, normalcy.

He wasn’t ready.

But Snape’s words echoed in his skull.

"You’ve already been gone too long."

He took a breath and pushed them open.

All the noise overcame him like a wave, the plates clinking, voices overlapping, owls fluttering through the rafters. It all felt loud in a way it hadn’t before, as if someone had turned the world’s volume up just to punish him.

He kept his head low and his pace steady. One foot in front of the other. Just like Snape said. Act like nothing happened.

He could feel all eyes on him almost instantly. First years stopping mid-bite and a few seventh-years whispering across the Gryffindor table. Someone, he thought maybe Jay, froze with a goblet halfway to his lips.

And then you. He didn’t have to loo, he felt the second your eyes landed on him, making something twist deep in his chest. That same unbearable tightness he’d felt in the shack whenever he let himself think about you. About your laugh echoing across the common room. About your fingers brushing his when you passed him a quill and how it used to mean nothing, and now it meant everything.

He knew you’d notice the hollow look in his eyes, the bruises blooming like violets on his neck and the bandage peeking out from beneath the collar of his robes. You’d find it weird that he didn’t sit near you, didn’t even glance your way. But he tried to ignore those thoughts and just focus on the plate in front of him even though his stomach turned at the smell of food.

You stared at him from your seat. It took you several long, painful seconds to process what you were seeing.

Jisung—your best friend, who’d been missing a week without a word—just walked into breakfast looking like he’d seen hell and barely made it back out.

His robes were loose like he’d lost weight and his eyes were ringed with dark circles, exhaustion written clearly in every line of his face. There were cuts visible, thin red marks down his jaw, a deeper scar stretching beneath his collar, fading bruises on the backs of his hands. His hair was tangled, his posture painfully tense.

You felt a sick sense of relief after seeing him, despite his appearance. But most of all you felt angry. You felt everything all at once, a hot rush of emotions almost too intense to handle.

Jisung avoided your gaze completely. He picked at the food in front of him, not really eating, just pushing it around his plate.

He felt you approaching before you spoke. Your scent hit him first, warm and familiar, yet unbearably intense. His jaw clenched tight, fingers curling into fists beneath the table. He didn’t look up even when you stood near him. He simply couldn’t trust himself to see your face and not fall apart.

You called his name quietly and he almost cried at the sound of your voice. But he didn’t move, not even when you stepped closer.

Slowly, he raised his head, gaze finally meeting yours You went still, eyes widening just slightly. He knew instantly what you saw—the darkness in his stare, the shadowed bruises, the fresh scars. The way he looked wrong.

He couldn’t bear your pained eyes, so he snapped at you. Something he’d never do before, but Snape told him to deflect. So he yelled and walked away, trying to ignore how hurt you looked.

This was what Snape meant. You’re not safe around her.

You couldn’t eat after that. Not with the way he’d looked at you.

Jisung had always been soft-spoken, a little awkward, a little shy—but never cold. And you didn’t need a Healer to tell you that whatever he’d gone through wasn’t some stomach bug or routine cold. You weren’t stupid.

You saw the tremble in his fingers when he reached for his fork. You saw the way he flinched when someone behind him dropped their goblet. You saw the bruises just under his collar and the bandages.

Something happened to him.

You sat back down but your heart was still up at the other end of the table with him.

“I need to know,” you murmured, more to yourself than to Renjun.

He sighed. “Y/N…”

“Don’t say it,” you snapped quietly. “Don’t say I should give him time. Don’t say he’ll come around. I know him, Renjun. He’s scared. You don’t just disappear for a week and come back with claw marks on you neck.”

Renjun went quiet.

That silence told you more than anything else.

“Okay, I’m tired of this… You know something, don’t you?”

He avoided your gaze. “It’s not my place to say.”

That hurt. “Is it mine to not know?”

You stood abruptly, grabbing your bag. “If no one’s going to tell me the truth, I’ll figure it out myself.”

Over the next few days, you tried to get close to Jisung in every way you could think of. You waited for him outside the greenhouses after Herbology, hoping to catch him alone. You switched seats in Charms just to be nearer, and sometimes you even loitered in the corridor after Potions, telling yourself you’d walk him back to the common room.

Despite your best efforts, he continually slipped away.

He offered awkward excuses about having somewhere to be, or sometimes said nothing at all and just walked past. Most of the time, he barely managed to look at you, as if doing so caused him physical pain. This wasn’t an icy kind of avoidance, nor was it tinged with anger. It felt worse than either of those possibilities—it was as though he found everything about you unbearable, but still couldn’t muster the energy to explain why.

Once, you nearly cornered him after lunch. He was leaning against the corridor wall outside the Great Hall, head tipped back, looking utterly exhausted. In that unguarded moment, your eyes met his, and you thought you glimpsed your old friend beneath the tension he carried. Summoning the nerve you’d been collecting all day, you stepped forward.

“Can we talk?” you asked softly.

For a split second, it seemed like he might say yes. His mouth opened as though he wanted to form the words but then Professor Snape’s voice echoed from behind you.

“Miss Y/N.”

You turned around to find Snape standing there, unruffled as always, robes hanging in sharp lines. He inclined his head in an almost polite manner yet still carried the weight of an order.

“I need you to come to the dungeons,” he said in a measured tone. “There are ingredients that require sorting. I trust your handwriting is still legible.”

You tried to protest, but as soon as you turned back, Jisung had vanished. From that moment on, it became a pattern: every time you got too close to him, Snape appeared with some new task for you—an extended office hour to discuss a mistake in an essay, a request to reorganize outdated potions, or a perfectly timed interruption just as you were about to speak with Jisung privately.

On a rational level, you knew it was ridiculous to think Snape was orchestrating this on purpose; however, it was impossible to ignore how consistently he managed to swoop in whenever you finally had a chance to approach Jisung alone. You didn’t know why your professor was so intent on calling you away, and truthfully it wasn’t the main issue gripping your mind.

All you could focus on was Jisung.

He looked so different—worn down, scared, ashamed, like he was carrying a secret that weighed on his shoulders every moment of the day. Every time you tried to reach him, he withdrew further. It broke your heart, because you weren’t trying to fix him or make him talk if he didn’t want to. You just wanted to be there, to stand by him instead of watching from a distance.

Yet no matter how hard you tried, the boy who used to seek you out for study breaks and late-night jokes now seemed determined to avoid you. And the more distance he forced, the more you wanted to find out what had really happened, because this Jisung—the one who flinched when you spoke and looked away when you caught his eye—felt like a stranger wearing your best friend’s face.

It was late, far too late for anyone else to be out of bed. So when you heard commotion up in the Astronomy Tower during one of your prefect rounds, you instinctively climbed the stairs to inspect, your wand held loosely in your fingertips.

The castle had felt too quiet lately. Ever since Jisung came back, everything had been off balance. You’d even taken extra patrols just to keep your mind busy. You weren’t expecting to find anything up there except maybe a few rowdy owls.

But when you pushed open the heavy wooden door to the Astronomy Tower, you froze at the sight.

Jisung was there, hunched against the railing, his robes half-open, hands gripping the stone balustrade so tightly you saw his knuckles pale even from across the room.

"Jisung?" you said softly, hesitant.

His head snapped up instantly, and your breath caught in your throat.

His eyes were wild, pupils blown wide, irises shimmering unnaturally gold beneath the moonlight. Sweat gleamed across his pale forehead, his hair was messy and damp, sticking to his face. His breathing came harsh and fast, almost feral.

You took a cautious step forward. "Jisung, are you okay?"

"Stay back," he choked out, voice strained and rough. "Don't come closer."

But you saw the tremble in his arms, the feverish brightness in his eyes. He looked sick. He looked scared.

"What’s wrong? Let me help—"

"No." He shook his head violently, squeezing his eyes shut as if fighting himself. "You can't—I'm not—"

He trailed off, stumbling forward as if pulled by some invisible force toward you. He was breathing heavily, lips parted as he seemed to taste the air between you.

"Jisung—"

Your voice cut off as his gaze snapped sharply to yours again, something raw and dangerous flaring in his eyes. It sent a shiver racing down your spine, and you instinctively backed away half a step.

"Leave," he hissed, the word barely recognizable through his clenched teeth. His whole body seemed rigid with tension. "Please, leave before—"

He broke off with a gasp, doubling over as though a wave of pain had just wracked through him.

You rushed forward instinctively, panic clouding your caution. "Jisung!"

He moved faster than your eyes could track. One moment he was curled into himself and the next he had you pinned against the cold stone floor, wrists pressed tightly beside your head, his face inches from yours, breath hot and erratic against your neck.

"Ji—" Your voice cracked. "What are you—"

He inhaled deeply against your throat, his body trembling against yours. "God, you smell so—" His voice was ragged and broken, almost a sob. "I can't—I can't stop it, I—"

He pressed closer instinctively, hips pinning you hard against the floor. His lips grazed roughly against your neck, sharp teeth skimming dangerously along your pulse point. Your heart slammed against your ribs, fear tangled confusingly with something hot in your lower belly.

"Jisung, please," you whispered, half plea, half gasp. "You're scaring me."

Those words seemed to pierce through whatever haze had overtaken him. He jerked back, eyes wide, suddenly horrified at himself. His gaze flicked down to your wrists, already bruising beneath his grip, and he stumbled away as if burned.

"No," he whispered, horror and guilt bleeding openly into his expression. "I didn't—I wouldn't—"

You stayed frozen on the floor, chest heaving as you watched the agony twist across his face.

"What’s happening to you?" you breathed, sitting up slowly.

He stared at you, anguished, hands still trembling at his sides.

"I'm sorry," he whispered brokenly. "I—I'm so sorry."

Before you could say another word, he turned sharply and bolted down the stairs, leaving you alone, shaking, and terrified.

The Hufflepuff common room was quiet when you walked in. Most students had gone to bed, but Renjun sat alone on the couch.

You didn’t give him a chance to pretend he didn’t see you coming.

“You’re going to tell me what happened.”

Renjun sighed, not looking away from the fire. “Y/N…”

“No,” you said, standing in front of him. “No more deflecting. You’ve known something since the day he came back.”

He rubbed his hands over his face. “I don’t know the whole story.”

“Then tell me what you know.”

Silence.

You crossed your arms. “Do you really think I’m going to stop asking? You’ve seen him. You know he’s not okay. And no one’s saying anything, and I’m losing my mind because—” your voice cracked, just slightly— “because that’s my best friend.”

Renjun’s shoulders slumped. He looked like he aged ten years in a second.

“Seungmin and his friends... they planned something,” he said quietly.

Your chest went still.

“I only heard a conversation between Professor Sprout and Professor Snape,” he continued. “But apparently they were hanging out near the edge of the Forbidden Forest. Seungmin gave Jisung something. A potion or… some kind of enchanted hallucinogen.”

Renjun looked up at you, guilt heavy in his eyes even though he hadn’t been there. “They led him into the forest, Y/N… And something attacked him.”

You stared at him, voice thick with dread. “Something?”

Renjun hesitated. “Snape... Snape was the one who found him.”

You felt cold all over. “What was it?”

He looked away.

“Renjun. What was it.”

His voice dropped to a whisper.

“A werewolf.”

A gasp got stuck in your throat.

“I don’t know how bad it was,” Renjun said softly. “But apparently Professor Snape had to lock him up for a week while he went through the transformation.”

Tears stung behind your eyes. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

“Because I didn’t want to believe it myself….”

You sank into the chair across from him, everything too heavy to stand.

“A werewolf,” you whispered.

He nodded and suddenly, so many things clicked at once. Suddenly it all made sense.

After Renjun told you, you couldn’t sleep.

You sat in your bed staring at the ceiling until the sun started bleeding through the windows, and then you slipped out of the dorms without a word. You went straight to the library and stayed there all morning.

Madam Pince gave you a curious glance when you asked to go into the Restricted Section after looking through every other possible book in the regular shelves and finding nothing of value. You dropped Professor Babbling’s name as your excuse—said you were doing independent research for an Arithmancy paper. She didn’t ask further, just handed you a list of approved titles and waved you through.

You didn’t touch a single one of them. Instead, you searched for everything you could find on werewolves.

They were mostly old, dusty books with creaking spines and brittle pages. Most seemed to be more folklore than facts but you found a text buried near the bottom of a shelf, half its title burned off the spine.

Lycanthropy and Lunar Madness: A Clinical Compendium.

The chapters were brutal. You read about the first changes, the muscle pain, the sensory overload. The way magic in the blood would flare, fight back, burn from the inside out. You read about the violence, how the mind slips away when the full moon peaks, how instincts override everything else.

But what caught your atention the most was this:

“In cases of recent infection, the afflicted may experience an attraction fixation, often triggered by proximity to a familiar person. This response is especially common in individuals whose first transformation occurs during adolescence or early adulthood.

The instinct is not always sexual, but it is always possessive. The werewolf’s senses recognize the person as a source of comfort or danger. When comfort, the fixation can lead to obsessive behavior, rut-like symptoms, and irrational aggression if the person is perceived as threatened or unattainable. When danger, it can lead to avoidance or attack. Scent is the most common anchor. Once imprinted, it is nearly impossible for the werewolf to ignore.”

Your throat tightened. You re-read the paragraph five times.

It made sense, too much sense. His distance, his flinching, the way he couldn’t look at you anymore.

Your scent.

You remembered how he looked at you that morning in the Great Hall. How he barely breathed when you stood too close and how he wouldn’t meet your eyes when you asked what happened. And last night in the Atronomy Tower, he said you smelled good and it looked like he wanted to eat you alive.

You closed the book with shaky hands and then checked out four more. You didn’t stop reading until your eyes blurred. You didn’t eat or go to class.

By the time the sky outside the window started darkening, you were sitting at a corner table, surrounded by open tomes and loose parchment covered in frantic notes—everything you could find about Wolfsbane, Snape’s potion-making reputation, the legal status of werewolves in magical Britain, and every known case of student infection in the last fifty years.

You turned the page again.

Magical Intervention

“Wolfsbane Potion, taken daily during the week of the full moon, prevents transformation but does not erase the instinctual response. It is crucial that young werewolves are supervised during their first year of turning, especially if they experience early signs of rut.

If left unmonitored, the werewolf may become a threat not only to others—but to themselves.”

You found another book next. Not on lycanthropy, but on magical trauma. It mentioned Professor Snape by name.

“A known expert in dark creatures and cursed bloodlines, Professor Severus Snape has played a role in the treatment and monitoring of several underage werewolf cases, particularly after the war.”

You sat there for a long time, staring at the page, your mind buzzing. Snape knew, he was involved and he wasn’t just keeping the secret, he was managing it.

Which meant whatever happened to Jisung—Snape had seen it before. And he’d chosen not to tell you a thing.

You sat there in silence, your hands numb on the table. Snape had told him to stay away from you, that much was obvious now. But no one had told you what being near him could do.

You weren’t afraid of him. But for the first time, you understood why he was of you.

You left the library as the sky was starting to pale with early morning light, the forbidden books still echoing in your thoughts. You didn’t bother going to class again. You went directly to Snape’s office instead and waited there. When he finally arrived, he paused mid-step at the sight of you.

“Miss Y/N,” he said flatly. “You are not scheduled to meet with me.”

“No,” you said, stepping forward. “But I’m not leaving until you tell me the truth, sir.”

His eyes narrowed. “I beg your par—”

“Did you know?” you cut in, voice trembling with restrained rage. “Did you know what would happen to him?”

“I’m not sure what you’re referring to.”

“I know that Jisung got attacked by a werewolf.”

Snape stilled.

“I went to the restricted section,” you continued. “I know what werewolves go through. I know about the rut cycle. The way someone can trigger it just by being close… Did you know it would be me?”

He didn’t speak, and that silence was an answer.

You took another step toward him. “You told him to stay away, didn’t you?”

Still silent.

You laughed bitterly. “What, were you going to wait until I ended up on the courtyard floor with his teeth in my neck before you decided to warn me?”

“Lower your voice,” Snape said sharply, eyes flicking toward the empty corridor.

“No,” you snapped. “You don’t get to tell me what to do now when you left me in the dark about everything.”

“He is alive and you’re safe because of me,” he said sharply. “Do not mistake silence for neglect.”

“He’s barely alive,” you fired back. “He’s walking around like a ghost and you expect me to believe that’s your idea of help?”

“You think you want the truth but the truth is messy and dangerous. And the truth, Miss Y/N…” he stalked closer to you, almost menacingly “… is that your friend is not who he was anymore.”

“I know that!” you shouted, voice cracking. “But you made him think he was dangerous.”

“He is.”

“No,” you said fiercely. “He’s just scared and you’re feeding it.”

Snape’s eyes narrowed. “You have no idea what a werewolf in rut is capable of.”

“I do now.” You stepped closer again, voice trembling. “I’m not stupid or fragile. And I’m not going to stay away just because you think it’s better that way.”

“Miss Y/N—”

“No,” you snapped. “You can’t “protect me” by locking him away like some creature. He’s not a danger to me. What’s dangerous is isolating him, making him ashamed of something he didn’t choose.”

Snape’s mouth pressed into a thin line.

“And what will you do, then?” he asked. “If he loses control?”

“I’ll help him.” You exhaled, hands trembling. “I’m not afraid of him and he needs someone who isn’t.”

There was a long pause. Snape looked at you with something like pitty. Then he spoke, carefully.

“Then you’d better learn how to handle what’s coming.”

Knowing about Jisung’s condition didn’t bring the relief you thought it would. If anything, it made everything worse. Because now you understood that there was almost nothing you could do to save him from himself. And, like Professor Snape said, the safest option was to stay far away.

And you tried, but it was so hard.

You'd find yourself turning to complain about Professor Binns's endless lectures, only to realize it wasn't Jisung beside you, but Renjun—quiet, studious Renjun who never dared utter a complaint in class.

Or when you walked toward the kitchens out of habit, thinking maybe you'd sweet-talk the elves into some pumpkin tarts, only to remember it was Jisung who always did the charming.

Or when the night sky looked especially clear and you found yourself wanting to stargaze but realizing no one else knew how to trace constellations on your palm with their fingertip. And you couldn’t even remember their names without Jisung pointing them out to you.

Renjun tried. He filled the empty seat at meals, nodded at the right moments when you rambled, even agreed to sneak out once or twice. But he wasn’t Jisung. He didn’t know your weird inside jokes, didn’t lean his head on your shoulder when he got sleepy, didn’t touch your wrist when you got nervous.

You missed him so deeply it ached.

So, when you saw him slipping out of the common room one night you followed him without a second thought.

He moved quickly across the grounds, his hooded shape skimming the moonlit grass. You jogged to keep up, keeping low behind hedges and statues until he stopped beside the Whomping Willow. Your breath caught as he pressed a knot at the roots and the tree froze mid‑sway, its branches locking in eerie stillness. Then, an entrance yawned open.

You hesitated. Every instinct screamed that going after him was a terrible idea. But the thought of him hurting or worse, hurting alone was too much to bear.

So you followed.

The tunnel led you into the Shrieking Shack. A chill raced down your spine the moment you stepped inside. Rot and mildew clung to the walls, the floorboards seemed like they would give way with each step, and it smelled like old nightmares in there. You had to bite down on your lip to keep from gagging but you kept going, following the sounds of his ragged breathing upstairs into a dusty room.

You opened the door cautiously, barely an inch—but before you could fully register what was happening, Jisung lunged. He grabbed your arm, yanking you roughly inside and pinning you to the sagging mattress with a strength that startled you.

"Jisung—!" you gasped.

He loomed over you, eyes wild, glowing gold in the darkness. His expression was pained, almost feral.

"What—are you doing here?" he growled through gritted teeth. His voice was deep and barely recognizable.

You stared up at him, wide-eyed. “I—I was worried. You missed all your classes…”

Something dark flared in his gaze, and he dropped his head, panting harshly against your throat. He inhaled deeply, shuddering as he pressed closer instinctively. Your breath hitched sharply, your body reacting involuntarily to his closeness.

"You shouldn't have come," he whispered brokenly, hands trembling where they gripped your wrists.

You swallowed, feeling his hips press involuntarily against yours and realizing exactly what was happening.

"Your rut," you whispered breathlessly, realization flooding you. "It's started, hasn't it?"

A helpless whimper slid from his throat as his hips rocked against you once more, his erection pressing unmistakably through his trousers. The desperate sound he made sent heat pooling in your stomach, despite the fear and confusion swirling inside you.

“You smell so fucking… good” He let out another ragged noise, and you reached out instinctively, resting a trembling hand against his cheek. His skin burned under your palm. He looked almost delirious, golden eyes flickering between human fear and something more feral.

You’d spent the past week reading about werewolves and their ruts, absorbing every detail you could from hidden texts and restricted tomes. You knew that once the rut hit, the urge for physical intimacy would become nearly unbearable. You also knew it was dangerous for you to be near him like this.

But as you stared at your best friend, trembling and half-broken with need, your heart clenched. You couldn’t just walk away.

“Jisung,” you said carefully, your voice shaking. “Did you take the Wolfsbane?”

He shook his head, eyes squeezing shut. “I don’t know… I think I didn’t—” He broke off, a pained groan tearing from his throat as he rocked forward, hips searching for contact.

Swallowing hard, you remembered the passage in the book. How an afflicted werewolf needed a trusted partner to help ease the rut’s consuming effects.

It felt like your heart was in your mouth.

“You—” he gasped, voice faint. “You can’t stay. I—if I hurt you—”

You cupped his other cheek, forcing his gaze to meet yours. “You won’t,” you promised, though a part of you wasn’t entirely sure.

“Y/N,” he groaned, hips rutting forward again. “Don’t. Don’t touch me right now, I swear—”

“I want to help you,” you said softly. “Please let me.”

His pupils dilated immediately and he let out a shaky breath, leaning into your touch. The heat radiating from him was overwhelming but despite your own hammering pulse, you didn’t draw away.

Because somewhere deep inside, you knew this was the only way to help him.

His grip on your waist was bruising, claws just barely retracted. His body was sweat-slicked and trembling, panting through gritted teeth as he pressed himself flush against you.

“I warned you,” he growled, voice shaky with restraint. “I told you to leave.”

You pulled him closer up and felt how he shook under your touch. “You can have me”

He didn’t wait another second. Your clothes were suddenly nothing, the fabric ripped under his desperate hands. Your skin was bare before you had time to register the sound of seams tearing. His mouth found your throat instinctively, tongue tasting your pulse before he bit.

You winced at the pain and his hips rutted against your thigh, hard and frantic, his cock felt thick and straining through his trousers. He was whining soft, broken sounds between gritted teeth, like each second without you wrapped around him was tearing him open from the inside.

“You smell—fuck, you smell so good,” he gasped into your skin, humping against you harder. “I need—i need to be inside, I need—”

You spread your legs, breathless, head spinning from the force of it all. “I’m here, Sungie.”

He didn’t prep you, didn’t pause for a second—just spit on his fingers and shoved them inside you hard and fast. Stretching you wide while whispering obscenities you couldn’t even make sense of.

“So fucking tight—fuck—gonna ruin you—fill you up, knot you, make sure no one else ever gets to—”

You didn’t even realize he’d taken his cock out until you felt him line himself up with shaking hands, barely getting the tip in before he snapped his hips forward, burying himself inside you in one brutal thrust.

You cried out and Jisung growled, slamming his hand beside your head, forehead pressed to yours, golden eyes glazed over.

“Mine,” he gasped. “Fuck… Mine. Mine. Mine—”

Suddenly, he shoved your knees up, pressing them tightly to your chest as his hips snapped forward, rough and desperate. You cried out sharply, feeling stretched too wide, overwhelmed by the rawness of him filling you again and again. His teeth dragged harshly against your throat, marking you repeatedly, as if he couldn't bear the thought of anyone mistaking you for anything but his.

You sobbed beneath him, your body caught between pain and a pleasure that blurred into something unbearable. Part of you wondered numbly if it would have changed anything if you'd told Jisung it was your first time—if it would've made him pause, slow down, be gentler. But you knew it wouldn't have mattered. He wasn't fully himself, and even if some part of him wanted to stop, he couldn't.

You felt it then, the swelling at his base. His knot beginning to expand, stretching your entrance wider with every punishing thrust. Panic mixed with need, your mind spinning as your walls spasmed around him.

“Gonna knot you,” he panted desperately, voice breaking as he slammed into you harder. “Can’t stop—fuck, you feel so perfect—gonna keep you like this forever—”

He thrust deeply one last time and locked himself inside, his knot catching and sealing him within you. You screamed, body jolting at the sudden fullness, the pressure almost too much. He shuddered violently above you, his cum flooding hot and deep, twitching through aftershocks that made your thighs quake and your vision blur.

You barely had time to gasp a breath before his knot began to soften, still pulsing faintly inside you. But Jisung didn’t stop, not even for a moment.

Before you could recover, he flipped you roughly onto your stomach, the mattress creaking sharply beneath you. He pressed into you again slowly, his breathing ragged and hot against your sweat-damp back. You trembled uncontrollably beneath him, arms shaking, barely able to keep yourself upright.

“Jisung, wait—” your voice broke, a thin plea lost beneath the rasp of his breath.

But he didn’t acknowledge your begging. One hand pinned your hip firmly, the other flattened between your shoulders, forcing you down into the sheets until you couldn’t move. You felt the ache building again as he pushed inside you once more, pushing mercilessly against your walls. Your thighs burned, your body instinctively arching to escape the overstimulation, but he wouldn’t allow you to shift away.

The moment he felt how wet and open you still were, the last shred of his restraint shattered. His rhythm turned frantic, his hips slamming into yours so fiercely the air was knocked from your lungs with every brutal stroke.

You moaned helplessly into the sheets, fingers clawing at the mattress as your body surrendered. He wasn’t speaking now, wasn’t asking if you were okay—all you heard were harsh, ragged sounds torn from his throat, desperate noises so primal and raw they made your skin burn hot with shameful need.

His movements grew rougher, your bodies locked in a rhythm that erased any remaining thought from your mind. Your senses narrowed until all you knew was the brutal heat between your thighs and the ache of him stretching you. You took every thrust, helpless to stop, unable to do anything but accept the ruthless force of his body on yours.

His teeth bit sharply into the back of your shoulder, fangs scraping against your skin until you gasped in pain. His grip tightened, fingers bruising your hips as he pounded into you without mercy, branding you with every brutal snap of his hips.

With one final thrust, he buried himself impossibly deep, and you felt the knot swell again—filling you, stretching you beyond limits as he locked himself inside with a guttural growl.

His whole body jerked, cock throbbing violently as he spilled into you again. It was so much cum it leaked around the thick swell of his knot, your walls clenching tight, helpless to hold it all in. He held still, panting, hands trembling as he stayed buried in you, locked and pulsing.

He stayed inside you for what felt like forever, body trembling from release, your muscles fluttering weakly around him. His breath came in uneven bursts against your skin.

But even then, you could feel that he wasn’t finished.

He rutted again and let out a feral sound low in his throat, one that sounded more like a growl than a moan. And then he was moving just enough to slip free with a wet sound that made both of you shiver.

His hands moved to your waist, lifting you. He dragged you onto your back again, spread your thighs wide, and settled between them with a single-minded hunger that made your whole body pulse with anticipation.

His gaze dropped the moment he pushed back in and he groaned, eyes locked between your legs with an obsessive intensity. Your walls clenched around him as his cock slid in with zero resistance. His breath hitched, and he stopped for just a second.

His mouth parted when he saw the shape of him pushing inside you, deep enough to press against your belly, the bulge rising with every brutal thrust. He pressed his palm against it and let out a wrecked moan. The sight of his cock inside your belly driving him halfway mad.

“Fuck,” he choked. “That's me? inside you?”

You tried to answer, but all that came out was a gasp as he rocked into you harder.

He watched your stomach move with every stroke, how your cunt took all of him, again and again, walls fluttering around his cock like your body was desperate to keep him.

He was mesmerized. Staring with wide, hungry eyes as hips snapped forward with more force. One of his hands grabbed your thigh, the other pressing to your lower belly as he kept thrusting, rougher this time, watching the bulge disappear and return with every movement.

“Fuck,” he groaned. “you’re made for this—fuck—you’re made to take me like this—”

You could feel the knot swelling again, dragging harder against your soaked, overstretched entrance, until your legs started to shake. He braced both hands on either side of your hips, growled deep in his chest, and slammed forward. The knot forced its way in with a brutal stretch that made your eyes roll back.

His whole body jerked, head falling forward as a strangled moan left his lips. His cock twitched violently, knot fully buried, and you felt the rush of his cum flooding you again, deeper this time, deeper than anything had ever been.

His eyes were still locked on your lower stomach, wide and blown out with awe. The bulge in your belly pulsed with each twitch of his knot, round and taut with the sheer amount he’d pumped into you

“Look at that,” he whispered, almost dazed. “Look what I did to you.”

He reached out again, fingertips brushing against your stomach and the possessiveness in his voice made your body clench all over again.

“I'm inside you.”

He blinked, his eyes flickering to your face as he really looked at you for the first time.

You were trembling, bruised, and barely able to keep your legs from shaking. Your eyes were glassy, your body completely spent beneath him. And something in him seemed to return.

His hands gentled against your skin as he eased out of you slowly, knot slipping free with an aching stretch that made you whimper. You gasped at the sudden emptiness, but he didn’t leave you long. He kissed your thigh once, softly, as if in apology, and then lowered himself between your legs.

You barely had the strength to lift your head. “Ji—what are you doing…”

But he didn’t answer. Just held your thighs gently in his hands, spreading them open again but this time with reverence, not greed.

Then he licked a single, languid drag of his tongue that made your hips twitch weakly. He groaned low in his throat at the taste of you.

You whimpered, the oversensitivity almost unbearable but his hands kept you grounded. Thumbs rubbing soothing circles into your hips, mouth moving with an aching kind of care. He sucked gently at your clit, tongue flicking in slow passes, easing the pain into something warmer.

You threaded trembling fingers through his hair, tugging gently.

His mouth grew more desperate by the second, tongue dipping lower and teasing at your entrance where his cum was still leaking out. He groaned at the taste, sucking softly, messy and slow, like he couldn’t get enough of it. Of you.

He buried himself there with his nose pressed into your skin, mouth drinking you. You let out a soft cry, hips twitching against his face, and his grip tightened just enough to hold you still as he circled your clit again, tender but insistent.

“I need to make it better,” he murmured into your skin, voice hoarse and reverent. “Let me—please…”

You didn’t answer but the way your legs shook around his head told him everything. So he stayed there—worshipping the mess he made, tongue moving slow and devoted, lips soft and endless. He lost himself in you.

The first thing you noticed when you woke up was the pain.

It was deep and dull at first, but the moment you shifted, it sharpened—radiating through your thighs, your lower back, your hips. Your skin felt hot, stretched too thin in some places, sore in others. You winced as you tried to sit up, limbs trembling slightly from the effort.

Jisung was already awake. He was sitting on the edge of the bed, facing away from you, his robes wrapped tightly around him. His shoulders were stiff.

You swallowed through the dryness in your throat. “Ji?”

He stood up without looking at you.

You watched him move across the room, hands twitching at his sides like he didn’t know what to do with them. He picked up your clothes from the floor—torn in multiple places, seams ripped from how desperately he’d removed them the night before—and with a flick of his wand, the fabric mended itself slowly in the air.

“Get dressed,” he said flatly. “I’ll help you get back to the hospital wing.”

You blinked. “Back to the—what?”

He turned then, just slightly, just enough to look at you briefly. His eyes were guilt-ridden.

“You’re hurt,” he said. “I can see it.”

Your mouth opened, but no words came out.

“And I’m going to Snape later,” he continued. “I’m going to ask him to relocate me during the next cycle. Somewhere far from here.”

You stared at him, stunned. “Jisung, you don’t have to—”

“I do,” he snapped. “Because this—” He gestured toward you, his voice colder now. “This shouldn’t have happened.”

Your heart twisted.

“I told you to stay away,” he said. “And I didn’t mean that to sound cruel. I meant it because I knew I’d lose control. And I did… and now look at you.”

He walked toward the cracked mirror, stopped a few feet in front of it, and gestured for you to come closer.

You hesitated.

“Please,” he said, quieter now. “Just… come here.”

You stood slowly, legs shaking slightly under your weight. You wrapped yourself in the blanket and stepped toward the mirror.

Your reflection made your breath hitch.

There were bruises on your neck, angry bite marks along your collarbone and shoulder. Finger-shaped welts on your hips and thighs. Your lips were still swollen from where he’d kissed you too hard. Some of the marks looked deep. Others looked like they might last days, if not longer.

“I didn’t know I was capable of this,” Jisung said behind you, voice cracking.

You looked at him through the mirror. His face was pale, jaw tight.

“I’d rather suffer the worst pain a rut could ever give me than ever touch you like that again.”

“Jisung—”

“No,” he cut you off. “You don’t understand. I didn’t even care if I was hurting you. I couldn’t think. You could’ve cried, begged, screamed, and I still would’ve—”

He stopped himself, breathing hard.

“I’m not going to let this happen again. I’ll talk to Snape. I’ll take whatever dose he gives me. I’ll lock myself somewhere no one can find me.”

You stepped forward, reaching for him, but he flinched when your fingers brushed his sleeve.

He turned his face away. “Get dressed,” he said quietly. “Please.”

There was nothing else to say.

He handed you your clothes without looking at you again. When you were dressed, he silently moved to support your weight down the stairs and back toward the tunnel beneath the Whomping Willow.

Your legs ached with every step. Jisung’s arm was around your waist, holding you upright as you moved slowly down the path back to the castle, your freshly repaired clothes felt stiff and uncomfortable against your bruised skin.

You hadn’t said a word since leaving the Shrieking Shack. Neither had he.

His touch wasn’t warm, or comforting. It was careful and detached. Like he was holding you not out of care, but out of obligation.

Your heart hurt more than your body. You two had been close for so long. Even after he’d changed, after he came back cold, distant, guarded you still felt more warmth than right now. Like he was reaching for you even when he didn’t realize it. So seeing him acting like this was almost unbearable.

You tried to tell yourself it wasn’t rejection or shame. That he was just protecting you, trying to keep you safe. But it still felt like being left behind.

You didn’t even realize how close you were to the castle until the path curved and the first archway of the courtyard came into view.

“Park.”

Professor Snape stood just beyond the arch, his arms crossed over his chest, black robes billowing faintly in the wind. His gaze flicked over the two of you quickly. His eyes dropped to the way you leaned into Jisung, to your limp. And then he saw the bruises. Even with your collar pulled tight, they peeked out, the edges of bite marks and the faint discoloration just beneath the skin.

Snape’s eyes narrowed.

“Come here,” he said, voice cold.

Jisung didn’t move.

Snape stepped forward. “Now.”

You felt the panic rise in your chest immediately.

“Professor, wait. It’s not—he didn’t—” You reached for his sleeve. “He didn’t force me.”

Snape’s eyes snapped to yours, and for a moment, you almost stepped back. His expression didn’t change, but something in it darkened like your words had confirmed what he already suspected.

“I didn’t ask what he did,” he said sharply. “I asked him to come with me.”

Jisung’s jaw was clenched so tightly it looked painful. He didn’t say a word, just let go of you carefully.

You nearly stumbled from the sudden absence of support.

“I can explain—” you tried again, but Snape raised a hand.

“This is not your responsibility,” he said, more quietly this time. “And you are in no condition to be standing here arguing.”

He turned to Jisung once more.

“Park. Now.”

And without looking back at you, Jisung walked toward him.

You stood there trembling, arms wrapped around yourself, the chill settling deeper into your bones now that he was gone.

Jisung stood in the doorway of Snape’s office with his head hung low. The potions master had stepped away to ensure you made it safely to the hospital wing and to explain the delicate situation to the healers. Minutes stretched on endlessly until finally, he heard the sharp clack of Snape's shoes approaching.

“Go in,” Snape ordered coldly, gesturing toward the open door. The Hufflepuff obeyed silently.

Snape shut the office door behind them with a flick of his wand. The room smelled of ash and damp parchment, but Jisung could still smell your scent stronger than anything else; it clung to him, saturated his senses.

“Sit,” Snape instructed curtly.

Jisung lowered himself into the hard chair opposite the desk, shoulders slumped. He couldn’t bring himself to meet Snape’s eyes.

“How is she?” he asked softly, voice raw.

“She’ll live,” Snape replied coolly, summoning a few vials and herbs onto his desk. “Madam Pomfrey is treating the bruising you saw fit to decorate her with.”

Jisung’s head snapped up, panic clear in his gaze. “I—I bit her. More than once.” The admission spilled out before he could stop himself, heavy with guilt and shame. “Does that mean—”

“No,” Snape interjected sharply. “The curse passes only when the biter is fully transformed under the full moon. You were saturated with Wolfsbane, half-shifted but not contagious.”

Jisung exhaled sharply, gripping the chair arms until his knuckles whitened. Relief flooded him, but Snape wasn't done.

“However,” Snape continued, voice lowering dangerously, “do not delude yourself into believing she was truly safe. Had you missed even one additional dose, or had the moon been at its peak, she would already share your curse, and that responsibility would lie entirely with you.”

Jisung flinched. “I know. I—I keep hurting her. I keep losing control, and no matter how much I try to stay away, something just…pulls me back. I don’t know how to stop it.”

Snape regarded him for a moment in silence before speaking, voice softer but still edged with steel. “That’s because it is no longer a matter of mere control. You've complicated things significantly, Park.”

Jisung looked up slowly, eyes wide with apprehension. “What do you mean?”

Snape folded his hands on the desk, expression severe yet composed. “By marking her during your rut, you've effectively chosen Miss Y/N as your mate.”

Jisung’s breath caught, his throat tightening painfully. "Mate? I—what does that mean?”

“It means,” Snape explained, calm and clinical, “that your wolf has identified her specifically as an anchor. Such mate-bonds occur most commonly during adolescence, particularly around a first transformation. It's why you find yourself physically unable to stay away for long.”

Jisung swallowed, panic bubbling up again. “Is it dangerous? Will I hurt her more?”

“Not inherently,” Snape said evenly. “But the bond is permanent, Park. Your wolf will always crave her presence—most intensely near the full moon or during rut. Ignoring it will only worsen your aggression.”

“Then…what can I do?” Jisung asked desperately. “How do I keep her safe?”

“You must never skip your Wolfsbane. Take it every evening at sundown and report to me regularly so we can adjust dosage accordingly. Furthermore, and pay attention to this, you must manage your bond carefully. You cannot fight it entirely so stay close to her but with awareness, not indulgence. ”

Jisung flushed deeply. “But… after everything I've done, how can I risk being close to her again?”

Snape leaned forward slightly. “The greater risk lies in distance, your instincts will spiral. Proximity is crucial but do not confuse instinct for entitlement.”

Jisung nodded slowly, the weight of responsibility settling heavily onto his shoulders. “Does she…know?”

“She soon will,” Snape replied quietly. “But it is essential she hears it clearly from you. Be honest and thorough. Do you understand me, Park?”

“Yes, sir,” Jisung whispered. “I won't fail her again.”

Snape regarded him a moment longer, then produced a fresh vial of Wolfsbane, setting it decisively on the desk. “Good. Now leave before I decide silence is insufficient punishment.”

Jisung rose unsteadily, clutching the vial to his chest. He walked slowly to the threshold, feeling every step heavy with responsibility. Just as he reached the door, Snape spoke once more.

“Park, if you truly care for the girl, learn how to live with the wolf without letting it consume her.”

The door sealed shut behind him, and Jisung stood for a long moment in the corridor, the potion trembling slightly in his grip.

You lay on one of the hospital wing beds, half-covered by a sterile white blanket, the curtains drawn tightly around you. The air was too quiet, every sound outside muted by the silencing charm Madam Pomfrey had casted when she left you there.

You picked at your cuticles absently, barely noticing the sting where skin peeled back. Your hospital gown gaped at the shoulders, revealing the bruises along your arms in the shape of fingers. Jisung’s fingers. You should’ve been horrified and maybe you were a little bit but there was something strangely comforting about them. His hands had held you through something painful, but they had held you. It made you feel... needed. Like you mattered to him again.

Your thoughts scattered when the curtain parted and Madam Pomfrey stepped through, her face tight with concern. Behind her came Professor Sprout, head of Hufflepuff house. And just before the curtain fell shut again, you caught the edge of black robes retreating down the ward—Snape. He’d definitely told them everything.

You bit your lip and dropped your gaze.

“Hello, dear,” Pomfrey said gently. When you didn’t answer, she cleared her throat. “To begin with, I’d like to offer you a calming draught for the pain.”

“I’m fine,” you said quietly, though your whole body ached. You didn’t want to take anything that would fog your thoughts. You needed to stay alert to explain the situation.

“Well…” she murmured, unconvinced. “Then I’ll start with the surface wounds.”

She gestured toward the scratches and crescent-shaped bites along your shoulders and collarbone. You stayed still while she worked.

Professor Sprout stepped closer, arms folded tightly across her chest. “Miss Y/LN,” she began carefully. “There’s no need to be guarded with us. We’re not here to punish you… but there are a few matters that need to be addressed.”

You nodded wordlessly, eyes fixed on a wrinkle in the bedsheet.

“Madam Pomfrey will heal what she can,” she continued. “But the bite marks will take several days to fade. Magical injuries of this nature are… stubborn.”

“I understand,” you murmured. The marks didn’t bother you.

Professor Sprout hesitated, color rising faintly in her cheeks. “We also understand that Mr. Park was… in a heightened state when you were intimate.”

You saw her flinch slightly at her own words and you almost pitied her. There was no elegant way to discuss something like this. You nodded once.

“Am I correct to assume no contraceptive charms were cast beforehand?”

Your brows pulled together. You’d never studied contraceptive spells properly. You knew they were meant to be used before any intimacy though and given how everything had happened there hadn’t been time for anything like that. You shook your head slowly.

Professor Sprout exchanged a brief look with Pomfrey before exhaling slowly. “Very well. Madam Pomfrey will now perform a diagnostic charm to ensure no unintended consequences arise from your… encounter.”

You nodded again, tending slight when Madam Pomfrey raised her wand and murmured a spell. A pale lavender glow swept across your lower abdomen then faded without a flicker.

“No conception,” she announced softly. “Everything is normal.”

A breath you hadn’t realized you were holding slipped out and you noticed Professor Sprout’s shoulders ease a fraction.

Pomfrey lowered her wand, relief softening the stern set of her mouth. Then she hesitated, studying you over the rims of her spectacles.

“Dear, may I give you some practical advice?”

You nodded, cheeks still furiously warm.

She lifted her wand again. “There are several reliable contraceptive charms you can use. The simplest is Praeventa Conceptum. It’s quick, painless, and lasts a whole day.”

Professor Sprout cleared her throat delicately but said nothing.

Pomfrey demonstrated. She pointed her wand at her own midsection. “Circle once, clockwise, like so.” A pale halo of light traced the motion. “Then speak Prae‑ven‑ta Con‑cep‑tum. Stress on the second syllable of each word. The charm settles just beneath the skin and it’s a mild warming sensation, nothing more.”

You mimicked the motion in the air, whispering the incantation under your breath. A faint peach‑colored glow sparked at your wand tip and faded.

“Good,” Madam Pomfrey said, satisfied. “Remember, the charm must be renewed daily, and it is far more reliable when cast prior to any sexual activity.”

“Thank you,” you murmured, both grateful and faintly embarrassed.

Professor Sprout offered a small, reassuring nod. “Better to learn here than under far less ideal circumstances.”

Pomfrey tucked her wand away. “Knowledge is its own protection.”

“Again, you are not at fault for any of this,” Sprout added, voice firm. “Last night’s events were influenced by circumstances far beyond your control.”

“Is he okay?” you asked softly.

A shadow crossed the professor’s eyes. “Mr. Park is with Professor Snape now, discussing the seriousness of missing future doses of Wolfsbane.” Her tone suggested ‘discussion’ meant something closer to a dressing‑down. “He’ll be monitored closely.”

“It wasn’t his fault,” you said, fingers worrying the edge of the sheet. “I followed him there, fully aware of the consequences. I just wanted to help… and I don’t regret it.”

Madam Pomfrey’s brows knit, but it was Professor Sprout who spoke first. “Miss Y/L/N, no one here is assigning blame. What matters now is that both of you are safe, and that Mr. Park remains diligent with his potion.” Her gaze softened. “Your loyalty is commendable, but your well‑being is equally important.”

You nodded, swallowing the dryness in your throat. “I know.”

Pomfrey dabbed a final line of salve across the deepest bite mark. “You’ll be sore,” she said gently, “but you’ll heal. Rest here tonight, at least until breakfast.”

The curtain swayed gently as they left you alone, and you stared ahead thinking only of the warmth of his breath, the panic in his voice, and the way he’d whispered “you shouldn’t have come” like it had broken him to see you there.

But you would do it all again.

Madam Pomfrey cleared you for release just after sunrise. You dressed in silence, fingers brushing over the gauze she’d left on the deepest bite. She offered one last vial of bruise balm and a faint smile before sending you off.

It was Saturday, thank Merlin. There were no classes so most students were still sleeping. You were relieved as you stepped out of the hospital wing, and saw nothing but an empty corridor.

Though still a strange, hollow pressure settled in your chest. You missed Jisung.

You weren’t sure if it was the residual ache in your muscles, or the fading imprints he’d left on your body, but you felt the absence of him like it was stitched into your skin. You needed to see him.

And then, as if your thoughts conjured him, he appeared.

Jisung was standing at the other end of the hallway, just beyond the shaft of sunlight spilling in from the tall windows. He looked stunned to see you, like he hadn’t meant to be here, like his feet had brought him without his permission.

You hesitated.

Snape had surely warned him again—more strictly this time—to stay away from you. But still, Jisung took a step forward and you followed.

You met in the middle of the hallway, stopping close enough that your chests nearly touched. It wasn’t until you were standing in front of him that you realized how much he’d changed. He was taller now, just slightly, but it was enough to notice. His shoulders were broader, his presence heavier, like the wolf was still there beneath the surface.

He stared at the bruises along your collarbone, what little was visible through the open neck of your shirt. You saw the way his throat bobbed, how his eyes flickered with guilt.

“Are you—?”

“I’m okay, Ji,” you cut in gently, offering him a small smile. “Perfectly fine.”

“I’m so sorry.”

He exhaled shakily, and his hand reached for yours tentatively. You almost gasped at the contact. It had been so long since he touched you first. His fingers threaded through yours like they were remembering how easily he did this all the time before.

“You don’t have to be,” you whispered. “You didn’t do anything wrong.”

Your other hand rose instinctively, brushing against his cheek. He leaned into the touch immediately, eyes fluttering closed.

“Did Snape scold you too badly?” you asked, voice soft and teasing.

Jisung cracked a smile. “Yeah, I have to clean the Quidditch stands every day this winter without magic.”

Your eyes widened. “Seriously?”

He laughed. “I’m joking.” He paused, eyes searching yours. “Though honestly… I think I deserved one.”

You squeezed his hand gently. “You’ve been punished enough.”

He didn’t respond, just looked at you like he was still trying to figure out if this moment was real.

The corridor felt suddenly too small, so without speaking, you guided Jisung toward the nearest side door that opened onto the courtyard. The November air was sharp, but sunlight spilled across damp flagstones and carried the faint scent of wet leaves.

You walked side by side, your shoulders brushing now and then. After a long stretch of silence, Jisung spoke in a quiet voice. “Do you remember fifth year… when we hid in Greenhouse Three during that thunderstorm?”

You smiled. “And you spent the whole time pretending not to be scared of lightning.”

He huffed a soft laugh. “I kept thinking about that last night. How you held my hand and told me storms always pass.” He glanced at you, guilt and wonder warring in his eyes. “I wanted to go there initially. But then I smelled you, and I went to the Shack instead, thinking you wouldn’t follow me into a place like that.” He laughed bitterly. “I should’ve known better.”

The admission loosened something tight inside you. “Storms pass, Ji,” you said. “Even the ones inside us.”

He stopped, turning to face you fully. “Does this one? Because I can still feel it.” His gaze flicked to your neck where a bruise peeked above your collar. “I feel every mark I left on you like they’re on my body, too.”

You lifted a hand to his chest, just over his heartbeat. “You didn’t hurt me.”

He looked at you, like he almost believed it, but the tension in his jaw said otherwise. “Snape told me… the biting… it wasn’t random.” he dropped his gaze and bit his lip nervously “I… marked you.”

Your breath hitched, but you didn’t interrupt.

“He said you’re my mate now,” he said quietly. “That the wolf chose you. That’s why I can’t stay away. Why I can’t stop smelling you, hearing you even when you’re not around. Why it feels like something’s ripping open in my chest when I try to stay away.”

You stood still, eyes locked on his.

“He said I shouldn’t fight it. That if I try to pretend the bond doesn’t exist, it’ll make it worse. That I just have to be… careful and gentle with it. With you.” He exhaled, voice tight. “He said if I really want to protect you, I have to learn how to live with the wolf, not push it down.”

“What did you say?” you finally asked.

“I told him I’d do anything to keep you safe,” Jisung said. “And I meant it.”

You reached for his hand and he let you take it, though his fingers twitched.

“The bond… is that why you came to the Hospital Wing corridor?”

He nodded, shame creasing his brow. “I woke up and… I was already walking there. I didn’t think.”

“Then next time, think and tell me,” you said. “We’ll handle the need together. On our terms.”

He swallowed. “Snape says if I miss a potion… you’ll be in danger first.”

“Then you won’t miss it.” Your tone brooked no argument. “Even if I have to brew it myself.”

A faint smile ghosted his lips. “You’d sit through that smell?”

“I’d sit through worse.” Your thumb stroked over his knuckles.

He exhaled shakily, some of the tension easing, though the gold still flickered behind his eyes like embers. “I’m not safe yet,” he warned.

“That’s okay,” you answered, stepping close until your foreheads touched. “I’m not scared.”

For a while you simply stood in the sunlight, listening to the distant chatter of students who knew nothing about storms or wolves or the way a heartbeat could echo in someone else’s chest. His hand tightened around yours, and instinctively you looked up, meeting his gaze.

His eyes flickered down to your lips, hesitation clear in the tense line of his jaw. Before he could withdraw, before he could overthink it, you stepped on your tippy toes and pressed your mouth gently to his.

It began softly, a cautious brush of lips but it escalated quickly. His mouth opened hungrily, tongue sliding against your teeth, and you gave in with a low sigh. His hand found your waist first, pulling you closer, then slid up to cup the back of your neck, angling your head so he could deepen the kiss. Your fingers tangled through his messy hair, tugging gently. He groaned into your mouth, hips pressing forward instinctively until you were pinned softly against the rough stone wall.

“I can’t lose control again,” he murmured urgently against your lips but still he kissed you harder, as if he couldn’t pull away even if he wanted to.

“You won’t,” you promised breathlessly. “This is fine.”

His hips snapped forward again, pressing you tighter to the stone behind you. You knew you were out in the open—anyone could pass by and see—but caution melted beneath the heat of his mouth trailing down your neck. The dull soreness from the previous night faded to a faint pulse, replaced by something hungrier, as he sucked gently at your throat.

“Ji—” your voice shook softly, hands gripping his robes tighter. “You’re… you’re not still in rut, right?”

He pulled back just enough to meet your gaze. “No. No, I don’t think so,” he panted roughly, almost like he was convincing himself too. “It doesn’t feel the same as last night, but—” He exhaled shakily, pressing his forehead to yours “I want you. Fuck, I want you so bad—I don’t think I’ll ever stop wanting you.”

A helpless moan escaped you at the raw admission, your pulse quickening under his mouth when he kissed you again—softer now, more controlled, as if he was proving to himself he could do this without falling apart.

“I won’t let myself hurt you again,” he breathed, lips brushing your skin between each whispered word. “But you need to tell me if it’s too much”

You shook your head slightly, pulling him closer still, holding him like he was the only thing keeping you upright. “Ji, nothing’s ever too much with you. Just stay here… stay with me.”

He shivered, his breath hitching as he kissed you again, trying to ground himself in the feeling of you rather than the wild instinct still whispering beneath his skin.

Someone laughed nearby, close enough to remind you exactly where you were.

Jisung froze against you, his forehead dropping to your shoulder with a soft groan. “We need to move,” he muttered “If anyone sees—”

“Then come on,” you said grabbing his hand.

He followed without another word.

You tugged him along a narrow side-corridor, the secret path behind the Herbology wing that only upper years and rule-breakers bothered with. Past the old broom cupboard, beyond the faded tapestry of a witch laughing drunkenly into her wine goblet, your footsteps were quiet, your pulse anything but. It hammered through your veins, in your fingertips, your throat—everywhere Jisung’s hand stayed locked in yours.

Soon you stood outside Greenhouse Three, abandoned since the storm in your fifth year shattered half its glass panes. Now, ivy and moss crawled along the cracked glass walls, and no one had bothered to repair it, leaving the space forgotten and overgrown.

You slipped through the splintered wooden door, pulling him gently behind you.

Inside, sunlight spilled across broken tables and tangled greenery. Plants had grown wild, illing the air with the scent of damp earth, crushed leaves, and something faintly sweet. You felt your chest tighten from the memory of your younger selves hiding here together.

Jisung remembered it too, you could see it in the softening of his eyes, the way his shoulders relaxed slightly. He caught your lips again, slow at first, but deepening fast, pulling a moan from your throat. Your hands gripped the front of his shirt, pulling him in until you tasted him fully.

“I want you inside me,” you whispered against his mouth, fingers trembling as you tugged at his clothes again.

He groaned softly, forehead pressing to yours. “Say it again.”

Your breath shuddered. “I want you to fuck me, Ji. Right now.”

He kissed you once more, messy and desperate, before stepping back just enough to undo his belt. His hands shook slightly, desire evident as he freed his cock—already hard and flushed, leaking at the tip as he positioned himself between your thighs. You lay back on one of the old greenhouse tables, cool beneath your skin but sturdy enough for this.

Jisung dragged the head of his cock through your folds, groaning openly at how wet you were, coating him perfectly. He pressed gently against your entrance, one hand braced beside your head, the other gripping your hip, thumb stroking tenderly.

He met your gaze, eyes filled with heated care. “Tell me if it’s too much,” he rasped, voice thick with want but edged with concern.

You cupped his cheek softly, eyes locked on his. “It’s perfect. It’s always perfect with you…Just fuck me, Ji.”

And he did.

The first thrust was slow, a deep stretch that pulled a gasp straight from your lungs. His cock slid in inch by inch until he bottomed out, and then he just held there, buried inside, groaning like he’d finally found home.

“Holy fuck,” he whispered, his voice breaking. “You’re so tight, you feel so—shit—you feel like you were made for me.”

You clenched around him involuntarily and he hissed, head dropping to your shoulder as he fought the urge to move too fast.

But control didn’t last long. His hips started to roll into yours, picking up a rhythm that got harder with each thrust. The sound of skin slapping echoed off the glass, mixed with your breathy moans and the desperate groans breaking in his throat.

You wrapped your legs around his waist, heels digging into his back, dragging him deeper.

“Yes, yes—right there—don’t stop,” you gasped.

“I won’t,” he growled. “I can’t.”

He drove into you harder, the table creaking beneath you as he pounded into your soaked cunt like he was trying to carve the shape of himself into your body. You arched under him, nails raking down his back through his shirt, gasping every time he bottomed out and hit that spot that made your toes curl.

He pulled out just enough to watch his cock slide back in.

“Look at this,” he breathed, one hand dragging down to your stomach, pressing just above your pubic bone. “Can feel myself right here.”

You could tell Jisung was obsessed with seeing himself inside you, it made his thrusts hit deeper just so he could feel himself in your lower belly. You moaned brokenly, the pressure making it worse, the angle driving you insane.

“Fuck, fuck—I’m gonna come,” you choked. “Don’t stop—please, don’t—”

“I want to feel it,” he growled. “Come on, baby. Come for me.”

Your body clamped down around him, walls spasming hard enough to make Jisung curse violently. He fucked you through it, rough thrusts stuttering until his own orgasm took him.

With a strangled groan, he slammed into you one last time and came hard, cock twitching deep inside you as he filled you again with thick spurts that made your pussy slicker than before.

He collapsed over you, forehead buried in your neck, both of you panting like you’d run for miles. His cock was still buried inside you, twitching with aftershocks.

You dragged your fingers through his hair gently, voice hoarse. “That didn’t feel like your rut.”

He laughed, breathless. “No. That was just me.”

“Are you okay?” he whispered into your neck, voice raw and reverent. “Did I hurt you?”

You shook your head slowly. “You didn’t. You were perfect.”

He sighed against your skin, relief loosening his shoulders. Then, gently—so, so gently—he pulled out, groaning as his cock slipped free from your cunt. The mess between your legs was immediate, warmth spilling down your thighs, and you whimpered at the sensitivity.

“I got you,” he murmured, already reaching for his wand.

He muttered a quiet cleaning charm, careful not to touch you until you nodded. His hand brushed your knee, then your thigh, his fingers trembling as he whispered the incantation again and wiped away the rest with his robe sleeve.

When he was finished, he kissed the inside of your knee, then your hip, then your stomach like it was part of some silent apology only your skin could understand.

“I’m gonna help you down,” he said, voice soft.

You nodded, and he wrapped his arms around your waist, lifting you slowly from the table and holding you close while your legs adjusted. You swayed once, but he caught you instantly.

“You’re shaky,” he murmured.

“You fucked my legs numb, Park,” you whispered, trying to smile, and he let out a breathy laugh, burying his face in your neck.

“I’m never letting you go again,” he mumbled. “Not even if Snape drags me out of your bed himself.”

You held onto him tighter, forehead pressed to his collarbone. “You better keep that promise.”

He kissed your temple. Then your cheek. Then the corner of your mouth.

“I will,” he said. “Forever.”

He helped you sit on the edge of the table while he redressed—pulling his trousers back up, refastening his belt with one hand while the other stayed on your knee like he couldn’t bring himself to stop touching you. When he was done, he reached for your discarded panties, blushing faintly as he held them out to you.

“I should’ve asked first,” he said quietly. “Back then. In the shack.”

You looked up at him, heart aching. “You couldn’t. And I already told you… I don’t regret it.”

He nodded, but the guilt lingered behind his eyes. So you took his hand and laced your fingers through his again.

“We’ll be okay,” you said. “You and me.”

“We will,” he whispered.

You dressed in silence together, stealing soft glances and touches, letting the heat cool but not disappear. And when you finally stepped out of the greenhouse, blinking into the pale afternoon light, Jisung’s arm was already around your shoulders holding you close and as steady as the heartbeat you’d heard pounding through his chest not long ago.

And this time, when he kissed you, it wasn’t desperate or rushed. It was quiet and certain.

Like a promise kept.

eeeeek feedback is greatly appreciated! i love reading ur comments and anons <3

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