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jupiterpilgrim · 4 months ago

Text

Adding up

Nakamura Kazuha x Huh Yunjin x Male Reader

word count: 20K

commissioned fic

You push the door open, the weight of the day still clinging to your shoulders. The apartment smells faintly of jasmine—Kazuha’s favorite candle—and something savory, like she tried to cook but gave up halfway. You kick off your shoes, the floor cool under your socks, and glance over at her. She’s perched on the edge of the couch, phone pressed to her ear, her free hand tugging at the hem of her oversized hoodie. Her hair’s tied up in a messy bun, a few strands escaping to frame her face. No makeup, just her. Beautiful, even when she’s stressed.

You catch bits of the conversation as you head to the bathroom. “No, you can’t just—no, listen to me—” Kazuha’s voice is low, tense, the kind of tone she uses when she’s trying to be calm but is clearly pissed. You close the bathroom door behind you, the shower drowning out the rest. The hot water helps, washing away the sweat and the stale beer smell from the bar. You change into sweats and a t-shirt, your stomach growling as you head to the kitchen.

Kazuha’s off the phone by now, sitting cross-legged on the couch, staring at the blank TV screen like it owes her money. You grab a bag of chips from the cupboard, ripping it open with your teeth. “Who was that?” you ask, even though you already know.

“Yunjin,” she says, her voice flat. She picks at a loose thread on the couch cushion, not looking at you. “Her and that idiot got into it again. Big surprise.”

You lean against the counter, crunching on a chip. “They’ve been fighting a lot lately, huh?”

Kazuha nods, her brows furrowed. “It’s bad this time. Like, bad bad. She's talking about taking a break,” She trails off, shaking her head. “But you know how she is. She’ll say she’s done, then go right back to him like nothing happened.”

You do know. Yunjin’s always been like that—fiery, impulsive, but with a soft spot for people who don’t deserve her. Kazuha’s the opposite. Steady, grounded, the kind of person who’d give you the shirt off her back but wouldn’t hesitate to call you out on your bullshit. It’s why they work as friends, even though Kazuha’s technically the younger one. She’s always been the one to pick up the pieces when Yunjin’s world falls apart.

You walk over to the couch, sitting down beside her. She leans into you automatically, her head resting on your shoulder. You wrap an arm around her, your fingers tracing idle patterns on her arm. “She’ll figure it out,” you say, even though you’re not sure if you believe it. “She’s tough. She just needs time.”

Kazuha sighs, her breath warm against your neck. “I know. I just hate seeing her like this. She deserves better, you know?”

You nod, kissing the top of her head. “She does. But hey, don’t let it ruin tomorrow, okay? We’ve got plans. Two years, babe. That’s a big deal.”

That gets a small smile out of her. She tilts her head up to look at you, her dark eyes softening. “Two years,” she repeats, like she’s testing the words. “You’re right. I’m not letting anything mess that up.”

You grin, brushing a stray hair out of her face. “Damn right you’re not. I’ve got reservations at that place you’ve been obsessing over. The one with the fancy sushi.”

Her smile widens, and for a moment, the worry in her eyes fades. “You’re the best, you know that?”

“I do,” you say, laughing when she swats at your arm. You pull her closer, the two of you sitting there in comfortable silence.

For now, at least, everything feels okay.

—

The restaurant is one of those places that feels like it’s straight out of a magazine—dim lighting, sleek wooden tables, and a vibe that screams expensive. Kazuha’s eyes light up as soon as you walk in, her hand squeezing yours like she’s trying to contain her excitement. She’s been talking about this place for weeks, sending you Instagram posts of their sushi platters and rambling about how they source their fish directly from some market in Tokyo. You don’t really get it, but you love how passionate she gets about stuff like this. It’s one of the million things that make her, well, her.

The hostess leads you to your table, and Kazuha practically bounces into her seat. She’s wearing this dress you’ve never seen before—black, fitted, with these tiny silver details that catch the light every time she moves. Her hair’s down, falling in soft waves over her shoulders, and she’s got just enough makeup to make her look like she’s glowing. You can’t help but stare a little. Two years in, and she still takes your breath away.

“You’re staring,” she says, smirking as she picks up the menu.

“Can’t help it,” you shoot back, grinning. “You look incredible.”

She rolls her eyes, but you can tell she’s pleased. The waiter comes by, and Kazuha orders for both of you, her voice confident as she rattles off dish names you can’t even pronounce. You don’t mind. You trust her taste.

The food comes out in waves—sushi, sashimi, some kind of soup that smells like heaven. Kazuha’s in her element, explaining each dish to you like she’s a tour guide. You nod along, half-listening, more focused on the way her face lights up when she talks. She’s happy. That’s all that matters.

But then her phone buzzes. Again. And again. Each time, she glances at it, her smile faltering for a second before she forces it back. You know it’s Yunjin. It’s always Yunjin. Part of you wants to say something, to tell her to put the damn phone away and just be here with you, but you bite your tongue. You know how much she worries about her. How much she cares. Deep down you feel the same way too. So you let it slide, even though it bugs you.

“Hey,” she says suddenly, reaching across the table to take your hand. “Thank you for bringing me here. Seriously. I’m so happy right now.”

Her words catch you off guard, and for a moment, you forget about the phone. “Of course,” you say, squeezing her hand. “You deserve it.”

She smiles, but there’s something off about it. Something tired.

“You okay?” you ask, your voice soft.

“Yeah,” she says quickly, too quickly. “Just… a lot going on, you know? But I’m fine. Really.” She forces a laugh, changing the subject to some story about her college days. You let her, even though you know she’s deflecting. You’ve learned when to push and when to let her be.

The rest of dinner goes smoothly, the two of you falling into easy conversation. By the time you leave, you’re both stuffed and satisfied, the kind of full that makes you want to curl up on the couch and do nothing for the rest of the night. The walk home is quiet, the city lights reflecting off the wet pavement. Kazuha links her arm with yours, leaning into you as you walk. It’s moments like these that remind you why you fell for her in the first place. She’s your person. And no matter what’s going on with Yunjin, or work, or anything else, you know you’ll always have this.

—

The apartment feels different when you step inside, maybe it’s the wine buzzing in your veins, or the way Kazuha’s laughter spills out a little louder, a little freer, as you kick the door shut behind you. She toes off her heels by the entryway, wobbling slightly, and you catch her elbow. “Careful,” you say, grinning.

“Shut up,” she fires back, but there’s no heat in it. Her cheeks are flushed, and her smile is loose, unguarded. You follow her into the kitchen, where she hops up onto the counter, legs swinging. The bottle of red you’d been saving sits on the shelf, and you grab it, along with two mismatched glasses. “Classy,” she snorts, watching you pour.

“We’re cultured,” you deadpan, handing her a glass. She takes a sip, her lips staining darker, and you can’t look away.

The wine does its job fast. Kazuha gets chatty, her words slipping into each other as she talks about the restaurant, the way the chef plated the sashimi like it was art. You’re only half-listening, too busy noticing how her dress rides up her thighs, how the strap of her bra peeks out from under the fabric. She catches you staring and kicks your shin lightly. “Eyes up here, loser.”

You raise your hands in mock surrender. “Can’t help it. You’re… distracting.”

She rolls her eyes, but her smile curls at the edges. “Yeah? Distracting how?”

You step between her knees, hands settling on her hips. “Like this,” you say, leaning in to kiss her. She tastes like wine and soy sauce and something sweet, and her fingers tangle in your hair, pulling just enough to make you groan.

When you break apart, she’s breathless, her pupils blown. “Bedroom,” she says, not asking.

You follow her down the hall, watching the way her dress clings to her as she walks. The bedroom is dim, the streetlights outside cutting slants of gold through the blinds. She stops in front of the mirror, her back to you, and reaches for the zipper at her side. It slides down slowly, the fabric pooling at her feet.

The lingerie is black, lace, the kind that’s all straps and secrets. She turns to face you, one eyebrow arched. “You just gonna stand there?”

You swallow. “Maybe. It’s a good view.”

She laughs, low and throaty, and crosses the room. Her hands find the waistband of your jeans, popping the button with practiced ease. “Your turn,” she says, her breath hot against your ear.

You’re down to your boxers in seconds, but she’s still in that fucking lingerie, smirking like she knows exactly what she’s doing. And she does. Always does. You reach for her, but she steps back, clicking her tongue. “Uh-uh. Let me look at you.”

The command hits you square in the chest. You stay still, letting her eyes rake over you, her gaze heavy. When she finally closes the distance, her nails dig into your shoulders as she kisses you—hard, hungry. You walk her backward until her knees hit the bed, and she falls onto the mattress, pulling you down with her.

“I love you,” you mutter against her neck.

“I love you too,” she gasps as your teeth graze her collarbone.

The rest is a blur—hands, mouths, the slide of skin on skin. She’s relentless, all sharp edges and whispered demands, and you let her take what she wants. Let her take you. When it’s over, she collapses beside you, her hair a wild halo on the pillow. You’re both sweating, breathless, the room smelling like sex and her perfume.

She turns her head to look at you, her smile lazy, satisfied. “Happy anniversary,” she says.

"Happy birthday, baby," you say before kissing her.

—

The morning light filters through the blinds, painting the bedroom in soft gold. Your body is heavy with satisfaction, limbs tangled with hers, warmth pressed into warmth. You don’t want to move. Not yet. Not when she’s here, her bare skin against yours, her slow, even breaths fanning against your collarbone.

You run your fingers lazily down her back, tracing the bumps of her spine. Kazuha sighs, nestling closer. “Mmm,” she hums, lips grazing your skin. “Morning.”

“Morning,” you murmur, pressing a kiss to her forehead. “Sleep okay?”

“Like a baby.” She shifts, stretching her long limbs like a cat, the sheets slipping just enough to reveal more of her bare shoulder, her collarbone, the marks you left along her skin. “Last night was… perfect.”

You smirk, tightening your grip around her waist. “Yeah?”

She giggles, soft and lazy. “Yeah.”

You feel like you could stay like this forever—just you and her, wrapped up in the sheets, nowhere to be, no one to interrupt—

Then Kazuha’s phone vibrates against the mattress.

She groans. “Ugh. No.”

You blindly reach for it, dragging it out from under the pillow and holding it up without looking. “Ignore it.”

She does, for all of five seconds. Then it buzzes again. And again.

She sighs, rolling over just enough to peek at the screen. You catch a glimpse of the name—Yunjin.

That hesitation. The way her lips press together. You already know she’s gonna answer.

“Zuha,” you groan, burying your face in the pillow.

“I have to,” she says, sounding apologetic as she swipes to pick up. “Hey, Yunjin. What’s up?”

You sigh, resigning yourself to the fact that your lazy morning is officially ruined. You drag yourself out of bed, stretching before heading to the bathroom. As you brush your teeth, you catch pieces of Kazuha’s voice through the door. Her tone is careful, considerate. That soft, soothing voice she only uses when someone needs comfort.

You spit into the sink, rinsing your mouth. Something’s up.

When you step back into the room, Kazuha is sitting up now, the sheets pooled around her waist, her fingers absentmindedly tracing the hem. Her brows are slightly furrowed, her lips pressed into a thoughtful line.

She looks up at you, meeting your eyes with that gentle, searching gaze. “So…” she starts, drawing out the word.

You sit down on the edge of the bed, waiting. “What’s up?”

Kazuha hesitates for a second, then sighs. “Yunjin’s moving out of the apartment she shared with her boyfriend. I think this time it's for real.”

Your brows lift. “Wait, really?”

She nods. “It’s… complicated, but yeah. She needs a place to stay while she figures things out. She asked if she could stay here for a little while.”

You blink. “Like… here?”

“Yeah.” Kazuha studies your face, watching for your reaction. “Only for a bit. Just until she finds a new place. I told her I’d ask you first.”

You exhale, rubbing the back of your neck. “Of course, it’s fine.”

“Are you sure?” she asks, eyes searching yours.

“Yeah,” you nod, offering a small smile. “I mean, it’s Yunjin. I don’t mind.”

Kazuha visibly relaxes. “Thank you.” She leans in, pressing a quick kiss to your shoulder. “I really appreciate it. And so does she.”

You pause. “She okay?”

Kazuha’s face softens. “She says she is.” A beat. “But I don’t think she is. Not really.”

That makes sense. Moving out of a shared apartment? Whatever happened, it probably wasn’t pretty.

“She’ll be here later,” Kazuha continues. “She didn’t want to impose, but I told her it’s fine.”

“Of course,” you say again. Then, after a moment, “Do you know what happened?”

Kazuha shakes her head. “Not really. She didn’t say much. Just that things weren’t working anymore. She sounded… tired.”

You nod slowly.

A comfortable silence settles between you for a moment. Then Kazuha tugs on your arm, pulling you back down onto the bed. “We have a few more hours before she gets here,” she murmurs, resting her head against your chest. “Can we just… stay like this for a bit?”

You wrap an arm around her, pressing a kiss to her hair. “Yeah,” you murmur. “We can.”

And for a while, you do.

—

The hum of the vacuum fills the apartment, drowning out everything else. You push it back and forth across the living room rug, glancing around to make sure everything is in place. The couch cushions are fluffed, the coffee table wiped down, the candles on the shelf arranged just right. You and Kazuha have spent the last couple of hours making sure the place is as welcoming as possible.

Kazuha moves around the kitchen, setting out coffee mugs and snacks, her brows furrowed in concentration. “Think she’ll like it?” she asks, turning to you.

“She’s not a hotel guest, Zuha,” you say with a smirk, shutting off the vacuum. “She’s crashing with friends. Pretty sure she’ll be happy just to have somewhere to land.”

Kazuha sighs, wiping her hands on a dish towel. “I just want her to feel at home.”

“She will,” you reassure her.

Right on cue, the doorbell rings.

Kazuha immediately perks up. “She’s here.”

She rushes to the door while you move the vacuum out of the way. When she opens it, Yunjin steps inside, dragging a suitcase in one hand, a backpack slung over her shoulder. She’s dressed comfortably—sweats, an oversized hoodie, hair pulled into a messy ponytail. No makeup, dark circles under her eyes. She looks… exhausted. Not just physically, but emotionally drained.

Kazuha pulls her into a tight hug. “Hey,” she murmurs. “How are you?”

“I’m fine,” Yunjin replies, but there’s something about the way she says it—too automatic, too practiced.

You step forward, giving her a quick but firm hug. “Good to see you.”

She exhales, her shoulders sinking a little. “Thanks for letting me stay.”

“You don’t have to thank us,” you say, waving it off.

“Yeah,” Kazuha agrees. “It’s no trouble at all.”

Yunjin nods, offering a tired smile. “Still, I appreciate it.”

Kazuha grabs one of her bags. “Come on, we set up a room for you.”

Yunjin’s lips twitch at that. “A whole room, huh? Fancy.”

Kazuha grins. “Only the best.”

They disappear down the hallway while you start cleaning up the last bits of clutter. A few minutes later, they return, Yunjin looking marginally more relaxed.

“Coffee?” you ask, holding up a steaming mug.

Yunjin takes it with both hands, like it’s the first bit of comfort she’s had all day. “God, yes.”

You sit across from her as she takes a sip, sighing into the warmth. “It’s not a huge place,” you say, gesturing around, “but it’s cozy.”

She glances around, taking in the soft lighting, the neatly arranged furniture, the framed pictures on the wall. “I've always loved your apartment. It’s perfect,” she says sincerely.

Kazuha settles next to her, pulling her legs up onto the couch. “So…” she starts, hesitant but gentle. “What happened?”

Yunjin exhales, staring into her coffee. For a moment, she doesn’t say anything. Then, quietly, “It just got unbearable.”

You and Kazuha exchange a look.

Yunjin swirls the coffee in her mug, eyes distant. “I don’t even know when it started getting bad. It was like… little things at first. The way he talked to me, the way he never really listened.” She shakes her head, a bitter laugh slipping out. “I thought it was normal. Just rough patches, you know? But then rough patches turned into constant tension. Every conversation felt like walking on eggshells.”

Kazuha frowns. “Did he—”

“He wasn’t violent,” Yunjin cuts in quickly, sensing the question. “Nothing like that. But he was just… mean. Dismissive. Controlling, in subtle ways. Always making me feel like I was the problem, like I was lucky to have him, even when he barely put in any effort.” She sighs, rubbing her temple. “I don’t know why I stayed as long as I did.”

Kazuha places a hand on Yunjin’s knee. “Because you cared,” she says softly. “Because you wanted to believe it could get better.”

You lean back, scoffing. “Well, he was an asshole.”

Yunjin snorts, shaking her head. “Yeah. He was.”

There’s a beat of silence, then she looks up at both of you, something vulnerable in her eyes. “Thanks for this,” she says. “For letting me crash here. For not making me feel stupid.”

“You’re not stupid,” Kazuha says immediately. “You did what you had to do. And I’m so glad you got out.”

You nod. “Seriously. You deserve better than that shit.”

Yunjin exhales again, but this time it feels lighter. “Yeah,” she murmurs. “I think so too.”

Kazuha squeezes her knee before standing. “Okay. Enough heavy shit. You need food, a movie, and a night of doing absolutely nothing.”

Yunjin smiles, small but real. “That actually sounds perfect.”

“Good,” you say, standing up too. “Then let’s get started.”

And just like that, the weight in the room shifts. The exhaustion in Yunjin’s face softens, the warmth of the apartment settling around her like a blanket. She’s not okay yet—not completely—but she’s here. She’s safe. And for now, that’s enough.

—

The first week with Yunjin in the apartment feels heavy. Not in an inconvenientway—more like the weight of someone carrying something too big, too raw, and not knowing how to set it down.

She moves through the apartment in an almost dreamlike state, always in pajamas—sweatpants, a hoodie, hair messy from sleep no matter what time of day it is. She doesn’t really do anything. She just exists. Sometimes she’ll scroll on her phone for hours, other times she’ll stare at the TV without really watching it.

You and Kazuha keep moving as usual. Work, errands, life. Kazuha teaches ballet—she's certainly the best you've encountered (not that you've met many). She's still hoping to open her own studio one day. You’ve got your own work inside an office, something stable, structured—enough to keep your mind occupied, but even still, you find yourself wondering about Yunjin throughout the day.

You don’t push her. Neither does Kazuha. You both just make sure she has space, warmth, and the quiet reassurance that she’s not alone.

Then, a week later, everything shifts.

You wake up to the smell of coffee and Kazuha humming softly in the kitchen. The TV murmurs in the background, some morning talk show playing on low volume. Yunjin is curled up in the corner of the couch, coffee in hand, wearing something other than her pajamas for the first time since she got here. Just leggings and a hoodie, but still—progress.

Kazuha looks up as you walk in, her face lighting up. “Morning, babe.”

You press a kiss to her temple before glancing at Yunjin. “Morning.”

She gives a little nod. “Morning.” There’s something different about her today.

Not fixed, not completely okay, but lighter.

Kazuha slides a plate of toast in front of you before nudging Yunjin with her elbow. “Tell him the news.”

Yunjin rolls her eyes but cracks a tiny smile. “I got a job.”

You blink. “Wait, really?”

She nods. “Yeah. Nothing fancy, just a front desk job at a gym. But, you know… something.”

You grin. “That’s awesome.”

“Yeah,” she exhales, rubbing the back of her neck. “I mean, I’ve been out of work since the breakup, so I figured it was time to do something before I started growing into the couch. It's something to keep me busy while I find another job in tourism, eventually I'll need to put my degree to some use again.”

Kazuha nudges her again, softer this time. “I’m really proud of you.”

Yunjin huffs a small laugh, shaking her head. “Don’t make it a big deal.”

“It is a big deal,” Kazuha insists. “You’re moving forward.”

Yunjin shrugs, but the way her lips twitch upward tells you she is a little proud of herself.

You glance at the time and sigh. “Alright, gotta head out.” You squeeze Kazuha’s shoulder and offer Yunjin another grin. “Congrats again.”

“Thanks,” she says, and for the first time in a while, she actually sounds like she means it.

—

Later that day, on your way home, you pass by a flower shop you’ve never seen before. It’s small, tucked between a bakery and a bookstore, with bright sunflowers and roses spilling from baskets out front. Something about it pulls you in.

You step inside, inhaling the fresh floral scent. As you scan the rows of colorful arrangements, you immediately think of Kazuha. You haven’t gotten her flowers in a while. She always lights up when you do.

But then another thought crosses your mind—Yunjin.

You hesitate. Would it be weird? Seeing Kazuha get a bouquet from her boyfriend while she’s still processing everything? Would it make her feel out of place?

You decide on two bouquets. One for Kazuha, filled with soft pinks and whites, delicate and sweet. And one for Yunjin—something simple but vibrant, oranges and yellows, warm like a sunrise. Something that says you’re doing great, keep going.

When you walk through the door, both of them are lounging in the living room, laughing at something on TV. Kazuha looks up first, her eyes widening as she sees the flowers.

“Wait… for me?” she asks, sitting up.

“Of course,” you say, handing her the pink bouquet.

She beams, taking them with both hands. “They’re beautiful, babe. Thank you.”

Then you turn to Yunjin and offer her the second bouquet. “And these… for you.”

Her brows shoot up. “For me?”

You nod. “To congratulate you. And, you know… just because.”

She stares at the bouquet for a moment, then carefully takes it from your hands. “I—wow. I wasn’t expecting…” She trails off, blinking rapidly.

Kazuha grins, nudging her. “Aww, you’re getting emotional.”

“I am not,” Yunjin grumbles, but the way she bites her lip, the way her fingers tighten slightly around the bouquet—it’s clear she’s feeling something.

You chuckle. “Well, glad you like them.”

Yunjin looks down at the flowers again, something unreadable in her expression. Then, in a quiet voice, she says, “No one’s ever given me flowers before.”

Kazuha’s expression softens. “Then it’s about time.”

Yunjin exhales, shaking her head with a small, almost disbelieving smile. “You guys are too nice to me.”

“We’re just treating you how you deserve to be treated,” Kazuha says simply.

Yunjin swallows, like she’s pushing back more emotion than she expected. Then, in a voice lighter than before, she says, “Well… now we have to drink, right? To celebrate my new job, my first flowers, and the fact that I finally changed out of my pajamas?”

Kazuha claps her hands together. “Yes! I love this plan.”

You smirk. “Drinks it is.”

Yunjin shakes her head, still smiling as she looks between you and Kazuha. “You guys are gonna make me soft,” she mutters.

Kazuha grins. “Too late.”

—

The night stretches on, the three of you sprawled across the living room, surrounded by half-empty glasses, snack wrappers, and the warmth of alcohol buzzing under your skin. The apartment feels alive in a way it hasn’t since Yunjin moved in—like laughter is stitched into the air, like something weightless has settled over all of you.

Yunjin, who’s been quiet all week, is glowing now—cheeks flushed from the drinks, eyes bright as she throws her head back in laughter. Kazuha’s beside her, giggling as she recounts the time she almost got kicked out of ballet class for smuggling snacks into rehearsal.

“You snuck in an entire bag of chips,” Yunjin wheezes, wiping tears from her eyes.

“I was hungry!” Kazuha defends, throwing her hands up. “And I was smooth about it too, until somebody—” she shoots Yunjin a pointed look “—busted me out in front of the instructor.”

“I panicked!” Yunjin cackles. “She was looking right at you and you were just sitting there, mid-pirouette, crunching.”

You shake your head, grinning. “I can’t picture Zuha getting in trouble.”

“Oh, she was a menace,” Yunjin says, nodding sagely. “A cute menace, but still.”

Kazuha beams, nudging Yunjin’s leg with her foot. “A menace you love.”

Yunjin sighs dramatically. “Yeah, yeah. I love you.”

Kazuha gasps, placing a hand over her chest like she’s been blessed. “You love me?”

“You know I do,” Yunjin groans, rolling her eyes but smiling.

“That’s so cute,” Kazuha giggles, turning toward her. “You should give me a peck.”

Yunjin squints. “What?”

“A peck,” Kazuha repeats, leaning in and tapping her cheek. “Right here. Come on, best friends do it all the time.”

Yunjin huffs, but you can tell she’s too buzzed to actually refuse. With an exaggerated sigh, she leans in and presses a quick, light kiss to Kazuha’s cheek.

“There. Happy?”

Kazuha grins, but then tilts her head, eyes mischievous. “That was weak. Give me a real one.”

Yunjin blinks. “A real one?”

“Like, on the lips,” Kazuha says casually, like she’s asking for another drink. “Just a peck.”

Yunjin hesitates, suddenly looking a little too aware of your presence. Her gaze flickers to you. “Uh…”

Kazuha, already tipsy enough to not overthink, waves a dismissive hand. “Oh my god, he doesn’t care. Right, babe?”

You blink, then shrug. “She’s right. I don’t care.”

Yunjin raises an eyebrow. “Seriously?”

You nod, sipping your drink. “It’s just a peck.”

She studies you for a second, then exhales. “Alright, fine. But you better not make it weird.”

Kazuha giggles, eyes sparkling. “I promise.”

Yunjin rolls her eyes, then leans in quickly, pressing a soft, fleeting kiss to Kazuha’s lips before pulling back just as fast.

“There. Satisfied?” she mutters.

Kazuha smirks. “You’re so nervous,” she teases. “You should’ve seen your face.”

Yunjin groans, reaching for her drink. “I hate you.”

“No, you love me, remember?” Kazuha says smugly.

You shake your head, amused at the whole thing, until Kazuha suddenly turns to you.

“You should get one too,” she announces.

You blink. “Wait—what?”

“You’ve been so nice to Yunjin,” Kazuha says, grinning. “You totally deserve a peck.”

Yunjin nearly chokes on her drink. “Are you serious?”

“Yeah,” Kazuha says, shrugging. “I’m not jealous. Are you?” She raises an eyebrow at you.

You pause. You hadn’t really thought about it, but no—there’s no weird jealousy here. Kazuha’s the one suggesting it, and Yunjin is looking at you like she’s not sure whether to laugh or run.

You smirk. “I mean, if she’s offering.”

Yunjin groans, rubbing her temples. “I hate you both.”

Kazuha just winks. “Go on.”

Yunjin sighs, then, before she can overthink it, leans in and presses a soft peck to your lips.

It’s brief. Nothing more than a moment of warm, plush softness against your mouth. But you still faintly taste the gloss she’s been wearing all night—something sweet, a little fruity. Then she’s gone, pulling back and clearing her throat like it was nothing.

Kazuha claps her hands together, absolutely delighted. “You two were so nervous,” she cackles.

You chuckle. “Zuha, you’re so drunk.”

She gasps, pressing a hand to her chest in mock offense. “I am not drunk.”

“You definitely are,” Yunjin mutters, still slightly flustered.

Kazuha sticks her tongue out. “I am not drunk, I am happy.”

You raise an eyebrow. “Oh yeah?”

“Yes,” Kazuha says dramatically, stretching out on the couch. “I’m living with my boyfriend and my best friend. How could life possibly be better?”

Yunjin groans, but there’s a smile tugging at her lips. “You’re such a lightweight.”

Kazuha only grins wider, eyes sleepy but shining. “And I love you both.”

And for the first time, Yunjin doesn’t hesitate before saying, “Yeah. I love you guys too.”

—

Life shifts. Not suddenly, not in a way that feels jarring or unnatural, but in that slow, creeping way that things do when they settle into something new.

The three of you find a rhythm.

Yunjin starts working more hours at the gym, coming home with tired but satisfied smiles. Her energy is different now—lighter, more stable. The search for a new apartment is still ongoing, but it’s not urgent, not desperate. Every time she brings it up, Kazuha waves her off, tells her to take her time. You don’t mind either. It’s been almost two months, and you don’t even think twice about coming home to find her there.

Sometimes she’s laughing with Kazuha, the two of them curled up on the couch in one of their endless deep talks that range from absolute nonsense to surprisingly philosophical. Other times, you walk in to find them in the kitchen, Yunjin at the stove, Kazuha watching (because her own cooking skills are questionable at best).

Dinner used to be whatever takeout was easiest. Now, Yunjin experiments, tests out new recipes, sometimes dragging you or Kazuha into the process. The food is good, better than good, and even when it’s not, there’s something nice about the act of making it together.

And the nights—weekend drinking nights have become a ritual. The first one was a success, and now it’s a thing, something you all look forward to.

At first, the drinking was just drinking. Hanging out, getting tipsy, laughing over old stories. But little things have started shifting.

One time, Yunjin’s hand on your arm lingered just a second longer than necessary. Just a casual touch, fingers trailing absently as she laughed at something Kazuha said. But you noticed.

Then there was the night Kazuha ended up on Yunjin’s lap, her arms slung around her neck, laughing as she pressed a lazy kiss to her cheek. Yunjin had just rolled her eyes, but she didn’t move her.

It’s always just a little more, inching past whatever invisible line existed before. But the funny thing is, no one ever seems to regret it. The next morning, there’s never an awkward conversation. Maybe a little shyness, maybe a few too-long glances across the kitchen while making coffee. But no regrets.

And that’s the thing that surprises you most. How natural it all feels.

—

The apartment feels the same as always when you step in—warm, familiar, lived-in. The faint scent of something floral lingers in the air, mixing with whatever candle Kazuha lit earlier. But the second you set your bag down, you notice something different.

Kazuha is sprawled out on the couch, looking absolutely wrecked. Not in a drunk way, not yet, but in that long-ass-day-at-work kind of way. Her legs are stretched out, one arm draped dramatically over her eyes, her loose ballet tee hanging off one shoulder.

Yunjin is in the kitchen making a sandwich. She glances up when you walk in, smirking. "She’s been like this for an hour."

Kazuha groans. "Ballet kids are exhausting. And half of them have no rhythm." She lifts her head to look at you, eyes half-lidded. "All I wanna do is drink with my two favorite people and forget I spent eight hours trying to make a seven-year-old point her damn toes."

You chuckle, walking over and dropping onto the couch next to her. "Rough day, huh?"

She rolls onto her side, resting her head against your shoulder. "The roughest. Please tell me we have alcohol."

Yunjin holds up a bottle of soju on the counter, "We're covered."

And just like that, the night begins.

—

A few drinks in, Kazuha perks up. She’s got that buzzed but still functioning glow about her now, her limbs loose, her smile lazier. She sits up straight, looking between you and Yunjin with an expression that instantly makes you suspicious.

"What?" you ask.

She grins. "Let’s play a game."

You groan. "Zuha—"

"Truth or dare!" she announces, cutting you off.

Yunjin laughs. "Oh my God, are we fifteen?"

Kazuha pouts, nudging your leg. "Come on. It’ll be fun."

You sigh. "That’s what people always say before terrible ideas."

"But it’s me," she says, batting her lashes. "I only have good ideas."

Yunjin raises an eyebrow. "Lies."

Kazuha flicks her with a coaster. "Shut up. We’re playing. You first."

Yunjin smirks, setting her drink down. "Fine. Truth."

Kazuha’s eyes gleam. "Okay. Have you ever had a crush on a girl while you were dating a guy?"

Yunjin snorts. "Obviously. Next."

You chuckle. "That was weak."

Kazuha glares. "Warming up, okay? Your turn."

"Truth," you say, leaning back.

Yunjin rests her chin on her hand, thinking for a second. Then she grins. "How many times a week do you and Kazuha have sex?"

Kazuha cackles, her cheeks already flushing pink.

You blink. "Jesus, straight to it, huh?"

Yunjin shrugs. "I’m curious."

Kazuha looks at you expectantly, biting back a giggle.

You take a slow sip of your drink, pretending to consider. "On a slow week? Three. If we’re not busy? Five, six, maybe."

Kazuha gasps dramatically, swatting your arm. "Why would you say that?"

"You wanted to play this game," you remind her.

Yunjin whistles, impressed. "Damn. No wonder she’s so happy all the time."

Kazuha groans, covering her face. "I hate you both."

You smirk, turning to Yunjin. "Okay, your turn. Have you ever seen Kazuha naked?"

Kazuha gasps again, this time more amused than scandalized.

Yunjin doesn’t even flinch. "Yep. Twice."

Your brows raise. "Really?"

Kazuha squints. "Wait—when?"

"The first time was that time we went to the beach house, and you forgot to lock the bathroom," Yunjin says, smirking. "And the second time, when you passed out drunk at my place, and I had to change you into pajamas."

Kazuha groans. "Oh my God."

You lean in slightly, curious. "So… what’d you think?"

Yunjin shrugs, sipping her drink. "Nice body. Very nice ass."

Kazuha buries her face in a pillow, but she’s laughing. "I regret this game."

You smirk, watching the way Kazuha’s ears turn pink. Then, before she can protest again, you say, "Alright, Zuha. Truth or dare?"

She peeks up from behind the pillow. "Truth."

You tilt your head, watching her carefully. "Do you like when I watch you kiss Yunjin?"

A slow, mischievous smile spreads across her face. "Yeah," she admits. "It’s pretty hot."

Yunjin raises an eyebrow. "Wow. Just admitting that, huh?"

Kazuha shrugs. "Why not? We’re all friends here."

The air shifts. Not uncomfortably. But there’s something there now, humming under the surface.

The next few rounds feel different. The questions get bolder. Kazuha dares Yunjin to sit in your lap for a whole round. Yunjin dares Kazuha to take a shot off her collarbone. You find yourself watching closely as Kazuha presses her lips to Yunjin’s skin, her tongue flicking out briefly as she chases a stray drop of soju.

No one says it, but it’s there.

The tension. The curiosity.

The way Kazuha lingers when she leans into Yunjin’s space. The way Yunjin’s fingers sometimes brush yours when she’s gesturing mid-story.

By the time the bottle is nearly empty, you’re all stretched out lazily on the couch, warm from the alcohol, comfortable in the lingering haze.

Kazuha exhales, tilting her head back against the cushions. "Best game ever," she declares.

Yunjin snorts. "You just liked the part where you got to make out with me."

Kazuha hums, smirking. "Maybe."

You shake your head, grinning. "You’re both ridiculous."

Kazuha turns her head, looking at you through half-lidded eyes. "But you love it."

You hold her gaze for a second, then glance at Yunjin. She meets your eyes, her expression unreadable for a moment before she looks away, smirking slightly.

Kazuha stretches, cat-like, arms above her head as she sighs. “I’m so tired,” she mumbles, her voice loose with the lazy weight of alcohol.

Yunjin groans in agreement, slumping deeper into the couch. “Yeah. Bedtime.”

She starts to push herself up, but Kazuha reaches out, fingers curling around her wrist. “Come with us.”

Yunjin pauses, blinking down at her. “Huh?”

“Come lie down with us,” Kazuha repeats, tugging lightly. “You’re always sleeping alone. It’s nothing serious. We’ve done worse things tonight than just… sleep together.”

Yunjin hesitates, glancing between the two of you, but there’s no real protest in her body language. She exhales, shaking her head with a small, amused smile. “You guys are weird,” she mutters, but there’s no resistance as Kazuha pulls her up.

The bedroom is dim, only the soft glow of the city filtering through the blinds. Kazuha flops onto the bed first, stretching out, and Yunjin hesitates only for a second before climbing in too, settling between the two of you.

For a long moment, there’s only silence. The three of you lying there, staring at each other, giggling at nothing like teenagers at a sleepover.

Kazuha hums, shifting closer, her fingers grazing Yunjin’s wrist. “Why does this feel so nice?” she murmurs.

Yunjin tilts her head. “What?”

“This,” Kazuha says, gesturing vaguely. “The three of us. Why does it feel so good?”

Yunjin’s lips part slightly, and for a moment, she looks like she might deflect. But then she exhales, her expression softening. “I don’t know,” she admits. “I haven’t felt this comfortable in a long time.”

Kazuha watches her for a second, then leans in and presses her lips to Yunjin’s. Not a teasing peck, not a playful dare—something deeper. Slow, warm, tongues sliding together in a way that makes Yunjin’s breath hitch.

When Kazuha pulls back, she shifts slightly, looking past Yunjin to you. “You kiss her too,” she murmurs.

Yunjin barely has time to register the words before you lean in, catching her lips in another kiss, just as deep, just as slow. She melts into it, her body pliant between the two of you.

Kazuha’s hand drifts down, fingers ghosting over Yunjin’s stomach before lightly tracing up, barely skimming over her small, sensitive breasts. Yunjin shivers, her breath stuttering, and Kazuha grins, eyes flicking between the two of you as you keep kissing her.

“Do you like this?” Kazuha whispers against her ear. “Having both of us like this with you?”

Yunjin barely manages a breathless “yes.”

She smirks. “Good.”

Kazuha’s lips press deeper into Yunjin’s, slow and teasing, a mix of playful and possessive, like she’s savoring every second. Yunjin’s hands find her waist, gripping tight, but you can tell she’s already getting lost in it—the way her body shifts, the way her breath stutters when Kazuha deepens the kiss.

You move in behind her, close enough that she can feel your breath ghosting against her neck before your lips even touch. You start slow, kissing just under her ear, letting the heat of your mouth spread down, tracing the delicate curve of her throat. Yunjin shudders instantly, leaning back against you with a soft gasp, her body melting between you both.

“God, you two are driving me crazy,” she breathes, her voice already unsteady, like she’s barely keeping it together.

Kazuha pulls back just enough to smirk. “Yeah?” Her eyes flick to you, dark and knowing. “And I bet this is making you hard, huh?”

You don’t even have to answer—she already knows. But still, you let your hand slide down, pressing against the bulge in your pants, the proof of exactly how much this is getting to you. “Fuck yes,” you murmur.

That’s all Kazuha needs to hear. She tugs you forward, switching positions, putting you between them now. Yunjin’s still catching her breath, lips swollen from Kazuha’s kiss, cheeks flushed with heat. But then both of them are on you, Kazuha kissing you deep, slow, her tongue teasing against yours while Yunjin’s lips find the edge of your jaw, then lower, her mouth warm and tentative against your skin.

Kazuha’s hand moves, sliding down your torso, fingers dipping under the waistband of your pants. She doesn’t tease, doesn’t hesitate—just hooks her fingers into both your pants and underwear and pulls them down in one smooth motion.

Yunjin makes a sound, not quite a gasp, but her eyes go wide, lips parting slightly.

Kazuha grins, nudging Yunjin’s chin with her fingers. “Go ahead,” she murmurs, voice dripping with amusement. “Touch him.”

Yunjin hesitates for a second, like she’s still processing, but then—carefully, curiously—her fingers wrap around you. Her touch is light at first, testing, her thumb ghosting over the tip, feeling the heat, the weight of your cock in her hand.

Kazuha watches, her smirk turning into something hungrier. “Good girl,” she murmurs, tucking Yunjin’s hair behind her ear. “Now, give him a little kiss.”

Yunjin glances at you, searching your face for any hesitation. But you just nod, exhaling a shaky breath as her lips brush against you—just a soft press at first, almost too gentle. Then another. And another. Testing. Experimenting.

Kazuha leans in close, her lips at your ear this time. “Fuck, doesn’t she look pretty like this?”

Your breath stutters, a groan slipping out before you can stop it. “Yeah,” you manage, voice rough.

Yunjin’s eyes flick up, something almost smug in her expression before she licks her lips and keeps going, her kisses getting a little bolder, her fingers moving just a little more confidently as she explores you.

Kazuha watches, her hand sliding down your stomach, nails dragging lightly over your skin, her breath hot against your jaw. “Mmm. You’re enjoying this, aren’t you?”

Your hand tightens in Yunjin’s hair as you moan, hips twitching forward involuntarily. “Fuck. Yes.”

Yunjin hums against you, her lips dragging down lower, her grip getting firmer, her hesitations melting away.

Then Yunjin’s tongue flicks over the head of your cock, slow, hesitant, but there’s something hungry in the way she does it—like she’s testing the waters, trying to figure out just how far she wants to take this. Her fingers tighten around the base, and when she finally wraps her lips around you, sliding down just a little further, the heat of her mouth makes you groan, low and guttural.

Kazuha watches with a lazy smirk, tilting her head, her eyes gleaming with amusement. “That’s it,” she murmurs, reaching over to brush Yunjin’s hair out of her face. “You’re doing so good.”

Yunjin hums, the vibration sending sparks of pleasure through your spine. Whatever nervousness she had before is slipping away, replaced by something else—curiosity, need. She bobs her head a little deeper, her lips slick and warm, getting used to the feeling, testing how much she can take.

Kazuha looks up at you, and the smirk on her lips makes your stomach clench. “This is so fucking dirty,” she giggles, shaking her head. “But it’s so hot.”

You exhale sharply, gripping the edge of the couch, trying to ground yourself. “I can’t fucking believe this is happening.”

Yunjin pulls off just enough to glance up at you, her lips wet, cheeks flushed. “We’re all drunk as fuck,” she mutters, laughing breathlessly.

Kazuha leans in, fingers trailing down Yunjin’s arm. “Need some help?”

Yunjin nods immediately, licking her lips before looking down at your cock, still glistening from her mouth. “Yeah,” she says, voice husky.

Kazuha moves in without hesitation, her hand wrapping around the base, her tongue flicking out to meet where Yunjin’s lips just were. She gives one slow, teasing lick along the underside, her eyes flicking up to yours to see your reaction. Then, she glances at Yunjin. “Come on. Let’s do this together.”

And just like that, they’re both on you.

Yunjin’s lips find the tip again, but this time, there’s no hesitation—she takes you deeper, hollowing her cheeks, her tongue pressing against the underside. Kazuha works alongside her, her mouth trailing wet, open-mouthed kisses along your shaft, her tongue darting out to taste you, teasing wherever Yunjin isn’t.

“Fuck,” you groan, tilting your head back, the sensation overwhelming—two tongues, two mouths, the heat of them surrounding you, taking turns, working in tandem.

Kazuha pulls back slightly, her hand gripping you firmly as she turns to Yunjin. “Look at him,” she murmurs. “He likes eye contact.”

Yunjin hesitates for half a second before obeying, tilting her head up, her lips still wrapped around you. Her eyes meet yours, dark and half-lidded, and fuck, that sight alone nearly does you in.

You groan, your hips twitching forward slightly, and Yunjin smirks around your cock, her tongue swirling over the tip before she takes you even deeper.

Kazuha giggles, pressing a kiss to Yunjin’s shoulder. “God, that’s so hot.”

You can barely think, can barely breathe. All you know is that you never want this to end.

Yunjin’s lips are slick now, her strokes confident, her tongue working every inch of you while her hand pumps whatever she can’t take. The nervousness is gone—replaced by something hungry, something insatiable. Kazuha, meanwhile, slides lower, her breath hot against your skin as she takes one of your balls into her mouth, sucking gently, rolling it over her tongue before moving to the other.

“Fuck—” Your voice is strained, a raw groan slipping out as your hand flies to Yunjin’s hair, gripping, not to force, just to hold on. “You two look so fucking beautiful like this.”

Yunjin moans around your cock at the praise, her grip tightening just slightly, her head bobbing a little faster. Kazuha hums, her tongue flicking over the sensitive skin before she pulls back, looking up at Yunjin with a wicked grin.

“He’s enjoying this way too much,” Kazuha teases, her fingers stroking the base of your cock, brushing against Yunjin’s as she does.

Yunjin pulls off for a second, her lips swollen, a thin string of saliva connecting her mouth to your tip. She smirks, eyes flicking up to yours. “Yeah? You like seeing us like this?”

You let out a shaky breath, nodding. “Fucking love it.”

Kazuha giggles, pressing a wet kiss against your thigh. “God, I can feel how hard you are.” Her fingers wrap around the base, tilting your cock towards Yunjin. “Come on, baby. Make him lose his mind.”

Yunjin doesn’t hesitate. She leans in again, taking you deep, her throat tightening just enough to make you curse under your breath. Her free hand strokes what her mouth can’t take, her rhythm perfectly in sync with Kazuha’s teasing kisses along your skin.

Kazuha watches for a moment, then leans in, pressing a kiss to the corner of Yunjin’s mouth before her tongue flicks out, licking at the side of your cock where Yunjin’s lips are already working.

They look at each other again, a silent understanding passing between them, and the way they smile makes your stomach clench with pleasure.

“Holy shit,” you groan, your hips twitching forward. “You’re both so fucking perfect.”

Kazuha smirks, dragging her tongue along your balls before sucking one back into her mouth. “Mmm. I think we should make him beg, don’t you?”

Yunjin pulls off, wiping the corner of her mouth with the back of her hand. She tilts her head, eyes full of mischief. “I think you’re right.”

Yunjin’s mouth moves faster now, each stroke more confident, more determined, her tongue pressing against the vein running along your cock, dragging up and down with a rhythm that’s got you gripping the couch for dear life. Kazuha’s hands aren��t idle either—her soft, warm palms caressing your thighs, her nails scratching lightly, just enough to send tiny shocks through your system. And then she moves back down, taking your balls into her mouth again, rolling them gently, her tongue swirling around, making your hips jerk involuntarily.

You’re on the edge already, the pleasure building, coiling tight in your gut, every nerve alight with sensation. “Fuck, don’t stop,” you gasp, barely able to get the words out between heavy breaths. “Please, keep going. I’m almost there.”

Yunjin lets out a hum around you, the vibrations making you shudder, and then she speeds up, her head bobbing faster, taking you deeper. Her hand twists and strokes in time with her mouth, her grip just firm enough to make you see stars. Kazuha lifts her head, smirking as she watches Yunjin’s determination, then she moves back up, pressing her lips to the tip of your cock right alongside Yunjin’s, their mouths sandwiching the head, tongues flicking over the sensitive spot just under the tip.

“Fuck,” you groan, your hips bucking up into the warmth of their mouths, completely overwhelmed. “Don’t stop, please don’t stop.”

Kazuha’s hand slides down, cupping your balls again, giving them a gentle squeeze, her thumb rubbing circles that have you clenching your fists, struggling to hold back.

The sensation is too much—two pairs of soft lips, warm tongues, the heat and wetness enveloping you. It’s like you’re being devoured, consumed, and you’re losing control fast.

“I’m gonna—fuck, I’m gonna cum,” you warn, your voice breaking, a desperate edge to it.

They both pull back just enough to look up at you, eyes dark and gleaming. “Do it,” Kazuha purrs, her breath hot against your skin. “Cum for us.”

Yunjin nods, her lips brushing against the tip, eyes locked on yours. “Yeah. We want it. Give it to us.”

That’s all it takes. You can’t hold back anymore—the tension snaps, and you’re coming hard, your entire body tensing as thick, hot ropes spill out, splashing across Yunjin’s lips and cheeks. She gasps, eyes widening slightly, but she doesn’t pull away. Instead, she keeps stroking you, milking every last drop as you ride out the intense waves crashing through you.

Kazuha leans in, licking a stray bead off Yunjin’s chin, her tongue slow and deliberate. “Mmm,” she hums, then tilts Yunjin’s face toward hers, their lips meeting in a wet, messy kiss. You watch, breathless, as they share your cum between them, tongues sliding against each other, mixing the taste as they moan softly into each other’s mouths.

Your cock twitches, still overly sensitive, but Yunjin’s hand keeps working you, slow and gentle now, her thumb circling the head, spreading the remaining slickness around. You let your head fall back, eyes rolling, lost in the pleasure that’s still rippling through you, too spent to do anything but surrender to the sensations.

They finally pull apart, both of them grinning, faces flushed, lips glistening. Kazuha wipes the corner of her mouth with her thumb, sucking it clean with a smirk. “God, that was hot,” she murmurs, looking at you with a gleam in her eyes.

Yunjin chuckles, leaning back on her heels, her chest rising and falling as she catches her breath. “I didn’t think… I mean, fuck, I didn’t know it could be like that.”

You manage a shaky laugh, still trying to regain control of your breathing. “You… both of you… that was unreal.”

Kazuha scoots closer, pressing a kiss to your jaw, her hand resting on your thigh. “We’re just getting started,” she whispers, her voice dripping with promise.

Yunjin bites her lip, watching you carefully, a playful glint in her eyes. “You think you can handle more?”

You chuckle. “With you two? I’ll try.”

You’re still catching your breath, body warm and thrumming with satisfaction, when Yunjin and Kazuha lean in at the same time, pressing soft, lingering kisses to either side of your face. It’s almost sweet—almost—except for the way Kazuha’s fingers are still lazily tracing patterns over your thigh, and the way Yunjin’s lips linger just a second too long before she pulls away, her breath still a little uneven.

You exhale deeply, wrapping an arm around both of them, pulling them in closer until they’re nestled against you. The warmth of their skin, the lingering scent of perfume and sweat and sex—it’s enough to make your head spin in the best way.

Yunjin sighs, her cheek resting against your shoulder, and then, out of nowhere, she starts giggling.

You tilt your head, amused. “What?”

She shakes her head, still giggling, her fingers toying with the hem of your shirt. “I just… I did not expect this from Kazuha. I mean, you’re always so put together, so proper.” She pauses, then grins. “Little Miss Ballerina over here, full of surprises.”

Kazuha smirks, propping herself up on one elbow. “You think I’m proper?”

Yunjin raises an eyebrow. “Uh, yeah? You literally scold me when I leave dishes in the sink for too long.”

Kazuha shrugs, unbothered. “Being responsible and being proper aren’t the same thing. Besides…” She trails a finger down Yunjin’s arm, teasing, before grinning. “I told you I’m full of surprises.”

Yunjin hums, tilting her head slightly, then narrows her eyes playfully. “So… you really weren’t jealous? At all?”

Kazuha scoffs, leaning in closer, her voice dropping slightly. “Why would I be jealous when I loved watching you?”

Yunjin bites her lip, clearly caught off guard for a second, then laughs, shaking her head. “Shit, now I really don’t wanna leave.”

Kazuha reaches for her hand, giving it a soft squeeze. “Then don’t.” Her voice is softer now, less teasing, more honest. “We like having you here.”

Yunjin looks at you, as if waiting to see if you’ll echo that sentiment.

You squeeze her waist lightly, nodding. “She’s right. We want you here.”

Something shifts in Yunjin’s face—something almost vulnerable. She clears her throat, squeezing Kazuha’s hand back before offering a small smile. “Thanks.”

A comfortable silence lingers, the three of you just… existing in this newfound warmth. But then Yunjin shifts slightly, biting her lip, and smirks. “Okay but… This whole thing has me sweating. It's fucking hot in here.”

Kazuha chuckles, shaking her head before she reaches for the hem of her top. “Then take off your clothes.”

Without hesitation, she tugs her shirt over her head, tossing it aside before standing to shimmy out of her pants, leaving her in nothing but a lacy bra and matching underwear. She stretches her arms above her head, smirking as she catches both you and Yunjin staring. “What?”

You chuckle, shaking your head, and stand up as well. “Nothing.” You match her, stripping down to just your boxers, sighing slightly at the relief of shedding your clothes.

Yunjin watches you both, eyes dark and curious, then rolls her eyes and mutters, “God, you two are bad influences.” But she still lifts her shirt off, then slides her jeans down her legs, standing in nothing but a thin, barely-there bralette and panties that cling to her hips.

The air is thick again, that lingering tension still simmering just below the surface. You could push things further right now, easily. But then Kazuha exhales, stretching lazily before collapsing back into bed, pulling Yunjin down with her. “Okay, okay,” she murmurs, yawning slightly. “We’ll stay like this, snuggled up, just for a little while. Then we’ll continue the fun.”

You chuckle, shaking your head. “Yeah, okay. Just a little while.”

Yunjin smirks, draping an arm over Kazuha’s waist. “Sure. Just a little.”

But within minutes, the alcohol, the warmth, the exhaustion—it all takes over. One by one, you all drift off, tangled together, the heat of bare skin against bare skin, breathing steady, slow.

And the fun? That can wait. For now.

—

Yunjin wakes up to a headache that feels like a freight train crashed into her skull. Her eyes are heavy, slow to adjust to the dim morning light filtering through unfamiliar curtains. Her body is warm under the sheets, the weight of sleep still clinging to her limbs, making it hard to move. She shifts slightly, stretching out—and then it hits her.

This… isn’t her room.

Her eyes snap open fully, her heart skipping a beat. The bed is too big, too comfortable. The sheets smell like something familiar—like you, like Kazuha. And then she notices—this isn’t just any room.

It’s your room.

Panic creeps up her spine.

The bed is empty. You and Kazuha are already up. The sheets are rumpled, the space beside her still faintly warm. But that’s not what makes her stomach twist. As her mind slowly unspools the events of last night, piece by piece, a million things start crashing into her all at once.

The drinking. The truth or dare game.

The teasing. The peeks, the touches, the way her body had moved on its own, drunk on more than just alcohol.

The way you had moaned when she took you into her mouth.

Fuck.

She groans softly, covering her face with her hands.

"I actually did that. I actually fucking did that."

Yunjin sits up too fast, the headache pulsing behind her eyes, making her regret it instantly. She blinks hard, rubbing her temples, and that’s when she notices—she’s only in her bra and panties.

Panic level: maximum.

Her clothes are scattered across the floor. Jeans crumpled, shirt halfway under the bed, socks in two completely different spots. Shit. She scrambles, grabbing them as fast as she can, shoving one leg into her jeans before realizing they’re inside out.

Then she freezes.

The apartment is quiet—except for the sound of voices.

From the kitchen.

She can’t make out the words, but she doesn’t need to. It’s obvious. You and Kazuha are talking about last night.

Talking about how this was a mistake.

About how to let her down easy.

About how to get her out of here without being assholes about it.

A cold wave of embarrassment crashes over her. She knew, deep down, that this was going to happen. The drunken jokes, the stolen glances, the playful teasing that had gone just a little too far—everyone was playing with fire. And now, she was the one left standing in the ashes, half-dressed and wishing she could rewind time.

She exhales sharply, pressing her lips together. "Okay. Don’t make this worse."

She needs to go. Now.

Yunjin sneaks down the hallway towards her room. She moves quickly, grabbing her backpack, throwing in the few things she has left in her room. The suitcase is heavier than she remembers, her hands fumbling with the zipper, her chest tight. She doesn’t even take a second to glance at the bed again—she just needs to get out before they say it first.

Yunjin sneaks into the hallway, dragging the suitcase behind her as quietly as she can. Almost there. Just a few more steps and she’ll be out the door—

“Wait—where are you going?”

She jumps.

Kazuha’s voice comes from the kitchen, sharp with surprise.

Yunjin turns, caught like a kid sneaking out after curfew. Kazuha’s standing there, spatula in one hand, brow furrowed, and you’re behind her, coffee mug halfway to your lips. Both of you are looking at her like she just announced she’s moving to Mars.

Yunjin forces out the biggest lie she can think of. “I, uh—I found another apartment.”

Silence.

Kazuha stares at her, expression unreadable. “…What?”

Yunjin clears her throat, gripping the suitcase handle tighter. “Yeah. I, uh, got a place. Last-minute thing. So, you know, I should probably just—” She gestures toward the door, already feeling her face heat up under Kazuha’s intense gaze.

You lower your mug, frowning slightly. “You never mentioned that.”

Kazuha tilts her head, eyes narrowing. “That’s funny. Because last night, you were saying you didn’t even start looking for apartments yet.”

Yunjin swallows. Shit. Think faster. “Yeah, well. Things change.”

Kazuha takes a step closer, arms crossing over her chest. “Are you lying to me?”

Yunjin opens her mouth—then closes it. She’s a terrible liar.

Kazuha sighs, and before Yunjin can react, she reaches forward and grabs the backpack off her shoulder.

“What—? Kazuha—”

“You’re not going anywhere.”

The authority in her voice makes Yunjin freeze. It’s not harsh, not angry—just firm. Like she’s laying down the law. Like she knows what’s going on in Yunjin’s head and she’s not letting it happen.

Kazuha gives her a look, one that makes it very clear this is not up for debate. Then she nods toward the kitchen. “Sit. We need to talk.”

Yunjin clenches her jaw, but something about Kazuha’s tone makes her comply. She exhales through her nose, dragging her feet as she follows her into the kitchen, suitcase still trailing behind.

You’re already sitting at the table, watching all of this unfold, the confusion on your face slowly shifting into understanding.

Kazuha gestures to the chair. “Sit.”

Yunjin slumps into it, crossing her arms. “I already know what you’re gonna say,” she mutters, staring at the table. “We don’t need to waste time.”

Kazuha raises an eyebrow as she moves around the kitchen, grabbing plates. “Oh, really? And what exactly am I going to say?”

Yunjin shrugs stiffly. “That last night was a mistake. That it shouldn’t have happened. That you and him feel weird about it now, and you don’t want things to be awkward, so it’s probably better if I just… leave before it gets worse.”

A beat of silence.

Then Kazuha bursts out laughing.

Yunjin’s head snaps up. “The fuck is so funny?”

Kazuha shakes her head, still chuckling as she sets a plate in front of Yunjin. “You’re so dramatic.”

Yunjin blinks. “Excuse me?”

You set your coffee down, finally speaking. “We weren’t talking about how to kick you out, Yunjin. We were making breakfast.”

She stares. “But—I heard you—”

“You heard us talking,” Kazuha corrects. “And then you assumed the worst and spiraled.”

Yunjin opens her mouth to argue, but… yeah, okay, maybe that’s exactly what happened.

Kazuha slides into the seat next to her, nudging the plate closer. Eggs, toast, fresh fruit. “Eat.”

Yunjin stares at it. “Are you seriously feeding me right now?”

Kazuha rolls her eyes. “You’re hungover. And you need to stop overthinking shit. So, yeah. I’m feeding you.”

Yunjin huffs, but her stomach betrays her by growling loud as fuck.

Kazuha smirks. “That’s what I thought.”

Yunjin glares at her, but still picks up the fork.

You lean back in your chair, watching them with an amused glint in your eye. “So, you’re really not gonna leave now, right?”

Yunjin pauses mid-bite, then sighs dramatically. “I guess not.”

Kazuha grins, reaching out to steal a piece of Yunjin’s toast. “Good.”

Yunjin eats in silence, her fork scraping lightly against the plate. The food helps—the headache is still there, but the nausea is fading, replaced by something steadier. But the weight of the conversation that’s obviously coming? Yeah, that’s still pressing down on her chest.

But she doesn’t have to wait long.

Kazuha shifts in her chair, glancing at you first, then at Yunjin. She presses her lips together for a second, then exhales, leaning forward slightly. “Okay, so…” she starts, her fingers tapping idly against the table. “I know what happened yesterday is… hard to explain.”

Yunjin tenses, her grip tightening on her fork. “Look, I—” she swallows, staring at her plate. “I didn’t mean to mess things up between you two.”

Kazuha blinks, then immediately shakes her head. “You didn’t mess anything up.” Her voice is firm, certain. “If anything, I’m the one who started pushing boundaries. So if anyone should be apologizing, it’s me.”

Yunjin looks up at her, skeptical. “You?”

Kazuha gives a small shrug. “Yeah. I was the one who kept teasing, kept pushing things further. And I know it got intense, and maybe we—” she glances at you briefly before looking back at Yunjin, “—went too far. We didn’t want to make you uncomfortable. Especially not after everything you’ve been through. We want you to feel safe here.”

Yunjin exhales through her nose, setting her fork down. “It’s okay,” she mutters, rubbing the back of her neck.

You lean in slightly, watching her carefully. “Are you sure?”

She nods. “Yeah.”

You glance at Kazuha, then back at Yunjin. “We just… we liked what happened.”

Yunjin hesitates. “Wait—you liked it?”

Kazuha chuckles. “Well, yeah.”

You shrug, smirking slightly. “A lot.”

Yunjin clears her throat, her cheeks tinging pink. “Oh.”

Kazuha folds her arms on the table, tilting her head slightly. “We actually talked about an open relationship a few years ago,” she admits. “We never went any further with it. Mainly because we hadn’t found the right person.”

Yunjin’s eyes widen slightly. “Wait—so you guys were already thinking about this before last night?”

You nod. “Yeah. But this is different. We weren’t just thinking about hooking up with someone. We were wondering if…” You trail off for a second, exchanging another glance with Kazuha before turning back to Yunjin. “If you’d want to actually be in this with us. A threesome. Like, an actual relationship.”

Yunjin stares at you like you just told her the sky is green. Then she coughs, nearly choking on air. “A what?”

Kazuha bites her lip to keep from laughing. “I know, I know. It’s a lot. And you don’t have to say yes. I mean, you just got out of a relationship, and I don’t want to ruin our friendship, so if this is weird or uncomfortable, I completely understand.”

Yunjin presses her fingers to her temples, exhaling slowly. “So let me get this straight,” she says. “You two—the couple I’ve been third-wheeling for years—actually want to be in a relationship with me?”

Kazuha shrugs, grinning. “Basically.”

Yunjin shakes her head, letting out a soft laugh, more disbelieving than anything. But then she goes quiet for a moment, staring down at her plate.

“…This might actually work,” she murmurs after a moment.

You blink. “Wait. You’d want to try it?”

She hesitates, but then nods. “Yeah. I mean… I like you both. You’re amazing. And honestly, the only problem with last night was that I… liked it. A lot.”

Kazuha’s grin widens. “That’s kind of the opposite of a problem, Yunjin.”

Yunjin groans, covering her face with one hand. “Oh God. I can’t believe I’m getting into a relationship with my best friend and her boyfriend.”

You smirk, leaning back in your chair. “It’s 2025. Welcome to the future.”

Kazuha laughs, nudging Yunjin’s foot under the table. “This is actually so exciting.”

Yunjin peeks at her through her fingers, sighing. “Yeah. Yeah, it kinda is.”

And just like that, something new begins.

—

It’s strange, and at the same time, it’s not.

The routine doesn’t change much—Yunjin still wakes up late whenever she doesn’t have an early shift, Kazuha still scolds her for leaving dishes in the sink, and you still find yourself in the middle of their playful arguments over what to watch on TV. But there’s a shift, something subtle but undeniable. Yunjin’s presence in the apartment feels different now. She’s not just a guest, not just someone crashing here until she figures things out.

She’s part of it.

And the two of you—you and Kazuha—are working on making that real.

It’s new for both of you, uncharted territory. You’ve talked about it before, but actually living it, actually figuring it out in real time? It’s an entirely different thing. There’s no roadmap, no set rules. You’re just… trying things out. Seeing what works. Adapting.

Yunjin, though, she never takes the initiative. She never kisses you first. Never pulls Kazuha into her lap. It’s always you or Kazuha who leans in first, closing the space, pressing lips against hers until she melts into it. But the affection is still there, just in different ways.

When you’re all watching a movie, she always ends up curled up against one of you. Sometimes it’s Kazuha, her head on her lap while Kazuha absently plays with her hair. Other times, she burrows against your side, your arm naturally wrapping around her waist like it’s second nature.

And then there are the little things. The quiet, domestic moments that don’t scream romance but feel just as intimate.

Like how, after Kazuha spends hours teaching ballet, her feet sore and swollen, Yunjin is the one who pulls out the ice packs and gently rubs her arches, grumbling about how she should be taking better care of herself.

"You're not a machine, Zuha," Yunjin mutters, pressing her thumbs into the delicate curve of her foot, making her sigh in relief. "You gotta stop pushing yourself like this."

Kazuha grins, eyes closed, completely unbothered. "I like pushing myself."

"You like being a stubborn idiot," Yunjin counters, shaking her head, but she still massages carefully, knowing exactly where Kazuha's muscles are tight, where she needs the most pressure. She's been doing this since they were just friends.

And then, of course, there’s the other part.

Sex has somehow become the part of the day. Not just because it’s good—though, fuck, it is—but because it’s new and thrilling in a way none of you expected.

It started out slow, experimental, all of you feeling out the boundaries of what worked, what didn’t, what made Yunjin gasp and what made Kazuha moan. But it didn’t take long before you all started really learning each other. Before hands got bolder, before kisses turned filthier, before whispered fuck, I want you turned into breathless, desperate moans in the dark.

Kazuha, always the playful one, took to it like it was a game—learning what made Yunjin squirm, teasing you until you lost your composure completely. Yunjin, on the other hand, was different. She wasn’t used to being wanted like this. Wasn’t used to having hands on her, lips on her, people taking their time with her. But the way she responded, the way she learned? It drove you crazy.

And then there was the way Kazuha looked at you when Yunjin fell apart beneath your touch. That look of pure, raw enjoyment, of satisfaction that you were both making her feel this good.

You learned quickly—everything about them, the way their bodies moved, the things they liked, the things that made them gasp, moan, beg. Every night was a new lesson, a new way to push each other, to test limits, to find out just how far this could go.

It didn’t take long to notice the differences.

Kazuha loved control. She liked being on top, loved riding, loved having the power to set the pace, to tease and push and deny just to make you or Yunjin whine. She was playful about it, too, never taking things too seriously—grinning through every little challenge, pushing you until you lost your patience and took what you wanted from her.

Yunjin, though—she was different. She didn’t want control. She wanted to give in, to be told what to do, to be made to feel good. She melted under hands guiding her, shivered at being pinned down, craved the feeling of being wanted so badly it made her dizzy. And when you figured that out? When Kazuha figured that out?

It changed everything.

You learned that Yunjin liked getting her ass slapped. That the first time Kazuha did it, fingers digging into her skin afterward, whispering, you like that, don’t you?—she let out the most desperate, filthy moan you’d ever heard. That after that night, Kazuha started doing it all the time, every time Yunjin got too cocky, too bratty, just to hear that little gasp when her palm connected with skin.

And then there was Yunjin with Kazuha.

Yunjin had never gone down on a girl before. She’d never even thought about it, never felt the urge. But that first time—when Kazuha straddled her face, thighs strong and glistening, lowering herself slowly onto Yunjin’s eager, nervous mouth?

She was hooked.

She couldn’t get enough of it, the way Kazuha gasped, the way she rode Yunjin’s tongue, hips rolling, fingers tugging at her hair, her body demanding more, more, more.

It became a thing. Kazuha loved using Yunjin like that, making her earn her pleasure, grinding down on her face, moaning about how good she was getting at it. And Yunjin? She got fucking addicted to it.

One night, you’d been behind Yunjin, stretching her open, thrusting deep and slow, watching the way her body arched, the way her breath hitched every time you bottomed out. And in front of her, Kazuha was straddling her face again, rocking against her mouth, gasping every time Yunjin’s tongue flicked against her clit.

And fuck, the sounds. The wet, messy slurps of Yunjin eating Kazuha out like she needed it, the little moans Kazuha let out, hands tangled in Yunjin’s hair, guiding her, riding her face like she was made for it.

You leaned over, gripping Yunjin’s hips tight, thrusting into her just a little harder, a little rougher, groaning, you love this, don’t you? And she moaned against Kazuha’s cunt, her body trembling, her nails digging into Kazuha’s thighs, completely wrecked between the two of you.

And after? The after was always soft.

Bodies tangled together, warm and slick with sweat, lips pressing against bare skin, murmured words of fuck, that was so good and I love you and holy shit, we really did that.

Yunjin always ended up curled between you two, half-asleep but smiling, completely relaxed in a way she never used to be.

Kazuha would press a kiss to her temple, to your jaw, whispering, "best decision ever."

And yeah. It really, really was.

—

Yunjin’s birthday.

She’d told you both not to do anything. That she didn’t want a big deal made, that it was just another day, that birthdays were overrated. But neither you nor Kazuha were the type to let something like that slide.

So when she got scheduled for a late shift at the gym, it was perfect. It gave you and Kazuha the whole day to set things up, to buy a cake, to pick out gifts, to make sure the apartment felt warm when she walked in.

By the time night rolls around, everything’s in place. The lights are off, the apartment quiet, the cake in Kazuha’s hands, waiting.

Then the front door unlocks.

Yunjin steps inside, sighing as she drops her bag by the door, kicking off her shoes. She mutters something about how she swears people get needier when they know she’s about to clock out.

And then she flicks on the light.

“SURPRISE!”

Her whole body jumps, eyes going wide as she stares at you both. Kazuha is holding the cake, a mischievous grin on her face, while you stand beside her, watching Yunjin’s reaction with a growing smirk.

Yunjin presses a hand to her chest, catching her breath. “Jesus fuck, you guys scared the shit out of me.”

You chuckle, stepping forward as you flick a lighter, igniting the candles on the cake. “Happy birthday, baby.”

Kazuha beams, holding the cake out slightly. “Make a wish.”

Yunjin stares at the both of you, her expression softening, something warm flickering in her eyes. She blinks rapidly, like she’s trying not to get emotional, then shakes her head, laughing softly.

“You guys are so stupid,” she mutters, but she’s already setting her hands on Kazuha’s shoulders, pulling her forward into a tight hug. She buries her face in the crook of Kazuha’s neck for a second, inhaling deeply before pulling you in too, wrapping her arms around both of you.

She presses a kiss to Kazuha’s lips, slow and grateful, then turns to you, doing the same. When she pulls back, her nose scrunches slightly. “You really didn’t have to go through all this trouble.”

Kazuha rolls her eyes. “Of course we did.”

You smirk. “Besides, what kind of boyfriend and girlfriend would we be if we didn’t celebrate?”

Yunjin exhales through her nose, smiling as she glances at the flickering candles. “Fine, fine.” She closes her eyes for a second, murmuring something under her breath before blowing them out.

Kazuha cheers softly, clapping her hands. “Yay! Now, cake.”

You chuckle, grabbing some plates. “And presents.”

Yunjin groans. “Oh my God, you guys actually got me presents?”

“Duh.” Kazuha grins, already slicing the cake.

Yunjin shakes her head, laughing as she plops down at the table. “You two are unbelievable.”

But she’s happy. You can see it in the way she’s trying not to let the smile take over her whole face.

You all sit together, eating cake, talking, laughing—just being.

And then, when the plates are empty, you pull out the gifts.

The first one is a hoodie she’d been eyeing online but never actually bought for herself. The second is a small but meaningful charm for the bracelet she always wears, something that ties her to the both of you, something to say you belong here.

The second gift? A leather-bound journal. Deep burgundy, soft to the touch, the kind of book that begs to be filled. Inside, the first few pages are already written in—notes from both of you. Messages, little doodles, inside jokes. Words of encouragement, pages left blank for her to spill whatever she needs to, whenever she’s ready.

Yunjin flips through it slowly, her fingers ghosting over the ink, her lips parting like she’s trying to find something to say but can’t. Then she exhales, blinking fast. “You guys are so fucking unfair,” she mutters, but her voice is wobbly, her hands tightening around the journal like it means everything.

Kazuha grins, nudging her. “You love it.”

Yunjin swallows, looking between the both of you. Then she nods, voice thick. “Yeah. I do.”

You and Kazuha exchange a look before turning back to her. You reach for her hand, squeezing it gently. “We love having you here, Yunjin.”

Kazuha hums in agreement, resting her head against Yunjin’s shoulder. “We really do.”

Yunjin blinks again, then lets out a breathy laugh, shaking her head. “I swear, you two are gonna make me cry.”

Kazuha leans in, kissing her cheek softly. “That’s okay.”

You follow, pressing a kiss to her jaw, letting your fingers graze the inside of her wrist. Yunjin shudders slightly, exhaling against your skin.

She pulls back, her gaze darting between you both. “Promise me something.”

Kazuha tilts her head. “What?”

Yunjin’s voice drops, quieter now, more raw. “Promise me we never let this fall apart.”

You don’t even hesitate. “Never.”

Kazuha nods, tucking a strand of Yunjin’s hair behind her ear. “You’re stuck with us now.”

Yunjin laughs softly, her fingers tracing over yours. “Good.”

Then Kazuha smirks, nudging Yunjin’s knee under the table. “You do know the night isn’t over yet, right?”

Yunjin’s eyes flick to her, slightly dazed from the weight of the conversation. “Huh?”

Kazuha leans in, lips brushing against her ear. “Come to bed.”

A slow, knowing smile spreads across Yunjin’s lips. She glances at you, raising an eyebrow. “You in?”

You grin, standing up, already reaching for her hand. “Always.”

Kazuha giggles, grabbing Yunjin’s other hand, tugging her toward the bedroom. “Happy birthday, baby.”

Her grin turns wicked as she drags you both into the bedroom, kicking the door shut with her heel. “One more gift,” she sing-songs, pulling a small black box from the dresser. Yunjin’s eyes light up, bouncing on her toes like a kid hyped on sugar. “What is it? What is it?”

“Patience, princess,” Kazuha teases, popping the lid open. Inside: satin blindfold, sleek silver handcuffs. Yunjin’s breath hitches. “Oh. Shit.”

Kazuha steps closer, trailing a finger down Yunjin’s arm. “You’re gonna let us ruin you today, yeah?” Her voice is syrup-sweet, dangerous. Before Yunjin can fire back, Kazuha kisses her—deep, hungry—and slides the blindfold over her eyes. Yunjin’s lips part in a gasp, her hands instinctively reaching out, but Kazuha catches her wrists. “Uh-uh. No peeking.”

You move in, fingers hooking under the hem of Yunjin’s shirt. She shivers as you peel it off, goosebumps rising where your knuckles graze her ribs. “Cold?” you murmur, lips brushing her ear. She shakes her head, biting her lip. “Just… fucking nervous.”

Kazuha laughs softly, unclasping Yunjin’s bra. “Don’t be. We got you.” The fabric falls, and Yunjin’s breath stutters as cool air hits her skin. You unbutton her jeans and slowly slide them down until they're off. You give her a kiss on the hip before taking off her panties. Now naked, you guide her toward the bed, her steps hesitant but trusting, until her knees hit the mattress. Kazuha pushes her down gently, straddling her hips while you strip off your own clothes.

Yunjin’s hands roam blindly, fingertips skating over your chest, down your stomach—then lower. She groans when her palm finds your cock, already hard. “Jesus,” she mutters, squeezing lightly. “Show-off.”

You chuckle, crawling over her. “I'm just excited.” Her retort dies as you kiss her, slow and filthy, her back arching off the bed. Then you take her wrists and put them together, handcuffing her. Kazuha watches, biting her lip, her oversized shirt comes off in one fluid motion over her head. Underneath, she's bare. She leans in, nipping at Yunjin’s collarbone. “Feel good, Jen?”

“Too good,” Yunjin breathes, hips lifting as your tongue drags over her nipple. Kazuha hums, pinching the other one just to hear her whine.

“That’s the point.”

You settle between Yunjin’s thighs, spreading her knees wider. “Relax,” Kazuha whispers, kissing the corner of her mouth. “We’re just getting started.”

Yunjin’s chest heaves, blindfold damp with sweat. “You two are evil.”

“Your evil,” you correct, dragging your tongue up her inner thigh.

She laughs, shaky and breathless. “Fuck. Yeah. Okay.”

Above her, Kazuha smirks. “This will be your best birthday.”

You drag the head of your cock through her pussy, circling her clit just to hear her whine. “C’mon,” Yunjin grits out, hips jerking up, but you pull back, grinning.

“Nah. Not yet.”

Kazuha snorts, thumbs rolling Yunjin's nipples hard. “Look at her,” she purrs, leaning down to lick a stripe up Yunjin’s throat. “So fucking desperate.” Yunjin’s breath hitches as Kazuha pinches both peaks, twisting just shy of cruel. “Zuha—”

“You wanna beg?” you taunt, pressing the tip against her entrance again, not pushing in. Just there, teasing. “Say it.”

Yunjin’s teeth dig into her bottom lip, stubborn, but her hips rock helplessly, chasing friction. Kazuha slaps her tits lightly, the sound sharp. “Jen. Use your words.”

“Fuck—fine,” Yunjin snaps, blindfold slipping askew as she thrashes. “Put it in, you asshole—please.”

You click your tongue. “Tch. Rude.” But you give her an inch, just enough to make her gasp, her walls fluttering around the tip. Kazuha’s fingers slide into Yunjin’s hair, yanking her head back. “Again. Nicer.”

Yunjin whimpers, back arching. “Please—I need it. C’mon, please fuck me—”

You sink in slow, stretching her, relishing the way her mouth falls open. “There you go,” you murmur, grinding deep but not moving. Kazuha’s already kissing her, swallowing her moans, hands roaming her ribs. “Feel good, baby?” Kazuha breathes against her lips. “Look at you—taking him so good.”

Yunjin nods frantically. “More—”

You pull out almost all the way, dragging a broken noise from her throat. “Nuh-uh. Slow.” You thrust shallow, lazy, keeping her on the edge. Kazuha’s fingers tweak her nipples again, and Yunjin sobs, her legs shaking. “You’re evil,” she chokes out, but her hips roll, greedy.

Kazuha laughs, low and warm. “And you’re obsessed.” She licks into Yunjin’s mouth, messy and wet. “Bet you’d let us do this all night, huh? Just… take it. Be our good girl.”

Yunjin’s reply is a shattered moan as you finally give her a full stroke, deep and slow. “There,” Kazuha coos, palming her tits. “See? We’ll take care of you.”

Your hips snap forward, pace shifting from lazy rolls to something hungrier, deeper. Yunjin’s nails claw at the sheets, her breath coming in ragged hitches. “Fuck—fuck—”

Kazuha leans over her, nipping at her earlobe. “That’s it, baby. Take it,” she murmurs, thumbs circling Yunjin’s nipples, red and swollen from attention. “Look at you—so fucking pretty when you’re wrecked.”

Yunjin’s head thrashes side to side, blindfold damp and crooked. “Shut up—”

“Nah,” you grunt, slamming into her harder, the bedframe creaking. “We’re gonna talk about how good you feel all damn night.” Your hand grips her hip, fingers bruising, as you drive into her. “Love how you squeeze me—Christ—like you’re scared I’ll leave.”

Kazuha laughs, low and warm, her lips trailing down Yunjin’s jaw. “She’s greedy,” she teases, pinching a nipple just to watch Yunjin jolt. “Wants us both to ruin her.”

Yunjin’s moan cracks into a whine, her legs hooking around your waist, pulling you deeper. “Yes—yes, keep—ah—”

“Keep what, princess?” Kazuha purrs, her palm sliding down Yunjin’s stomach, fingertips grazing her clit. “Use your words.”

“Keep—fucking me,” Yunjin gasps, back arching off the mattress. “Harder—please—”

You oblige, slamming into her with a force that knocks the breath out of her. Kazuha’s fingers circle her clit, relentless, as she whispers filth into Yunjin’s ear. “Bet you’d let him break you if I asked, huh? My good girl.”

Yunjin’s reply is a shattered cry, her hips bucking wildly, torn between your thrusts and Kazuha’s touch. “Zuha—fuck—”

“We got you,” you growl. “Not gonna stop ’til you’re screaming.”

Kazuha’s grin is all teeth as she watches Yunjin unravel. “Best birthday present ever,” she hums, licking the shell of Yunjin’s ear. “And we’re just starting.”

Yunjin’s voice cracks, raw and desperate, as you pound into her, the sound of skin slapping skin filling the room. “Zuha—please—” she gasps, her head thrashing against the pillow. “I wanna—fuck—I wanna taste you.”

Kazuha freezes, her fingers stilling on Yunjin’s clit. “What?” she breathes, her eyes wide, lips curling into a wicked grin. “You’re begging for it now?”

“Yes,” Yunjin whines, her hips jerking up to meet your thrusts. “I’m—fuck—I’m addicted, okay? I need it—please—”

Kazuha’s laugh is low, throaty, as she leans down, her lips brushing Yunjin’s ear. “God, you’re insatiable,” she murmurs, her breath hot. “But who am I to say no?”

She kisses her way down Yunjin’s body—her throat, her collarbone, the swell of her breasts—nipping and sucking until Yunjin’s trembling beneath her. “You’re so fucking needy,” Kazuha teases, her tongue flicking over a nipple. “But I love it.”

Yunjin’s hips buck wildly, her moans turning into desperate pleas. “Zuha—please—I can’t—fuck—I can’t wait—”

Kazuha smirks, crawling up Yunjin’s body until she’s straddling her chest. “You sure you can handle me?” she purrs, her fingers tangling in Yunjin’s hair. “You’re already so wrecked.”

“Yes,” Yunjin gasps, her lips parting, tongue darting out like she can already taste her. “I need it—please—”

Kazuha’s grin widens as she shifts forward, her thighs framing Yunjin’s face. She's facing you, and her eyes meet yours before she finally says: “Then earn it,” lowering herself slowly, her wetness brushing Yunjin’s lips.

Yunjin doesn’t hesitate. Her tongue flicks out, lapping at Kazuha’s pussy, hungry and eager. Kazuha’s breath hitches, her hips rolling instinctively, grinding against Yunjin’s mouth. “Fuck,” she moans, her head falling back. “You’re so good at this.”

You don’t let up, your thrusts relentless, driving Yunjin deeper into the mattress. Her moans are muffled against Kazuha, her tongue working in frantic, messy strokes. Kazuha’s hands grip the headboard, her thighs trembling as she rides Yunjin’s face. “God—you’re obsessed with me,” she gasps, her voice shaking. “Aren’t you?”

Yunjin’s response is a muffled whimper, her tongue plunging deeper, her lips sucking hungrily. Kazuha’s nails dig into the headboard, her back arching. “Fuck—yes—just like that—”

The room is a symphony of moans, the wet sounds of Yunjin’s mouth on Kazuha, the slap of your balls against Yunjin’s ass. Kazuha’s thighs tighten around Yunjin’s head, her movements growing more erratic. “You’re ruining me,” she gasps, her voice breaking. “Fuck—I can’t—”

Yunjin’s hands, still cuffed, twitch like she wants to grab Kazuha’s hips, but she can’t. All she can do is take it, her tongue working in desperate, hungry strokes. Kazuha’s moans grow louder, her hips grinding harder, her thighs squeezing Yunjin’s head like a vice.

“Fuck—fuck—” Kazuha chants, her voice high and desperate. “You’re so—God—you’re so good—”

You lean over Yunjin, your thrusts never slowing, your lips brushing Kazuha’s ear. “Look at her,” you growl, your voice rough. “She’s yours.”

Kazuha’s eyes meet yours, dark and wild, as she grinds down on Yunjin’s mouth. “Mine,” she breathes, her voice trembling. “Fuck—she’s mine—”

Yunjin’s moans are muffled, her body writhing beneath you both, completely at your mercy. And fuck, it’s the most beautiful thing you’ve ever seen.

Your hips slam into Yunjin, relentless, the slap of skin echoing as she arches off the bed, muffled moans vibrating against Kazuha’s pussy. Kazuha’s thighs quiver where she’s perched on Yunjin’s face, her fingers clawing at the headboard. “Fuck—you like fucking her like this, don’t you?” she pants, her voice shaky but smug. “Tell me—tell me how good she feels—”

“God—yes,” you grit out, your hands digging into Yunjin’s hips, holding her still as you drive deeper. “So fucking tight—squeezin’ me like she’s scared I’ll leave—”

Kazuha moans, grinding down harder on Yunjin’s mouth. “Mmm—knew you’d love it,” she purrs, her nails scraping Yunjin’s scalp. “Our greedy little princess—right, baby? You wanna be his favorite?”

Yunjin whimpers, her tongue lashing faster against Kazuha’s clit like a plea. Kazuha throws her head back, gasping. “Shit—she’s begging for it—fuck—tell her,” she demands, her eyes locking with yours. “Tell her she’s yours.”

You lean down as you fuck into her, slow and deep. “You’re mine,” you growl, voice rough. “Every fucking inch—Christ—you take me so good.”

Yunjin’s moan is desperate, broken, her hips jerking up to meet your thrusts. Kazuha watches, biting her lip, her hips rolling in filthy circles. “Bet you wanna keep her like this forever, huh?” she taunts, her breath hitching as Yunjin’s tongue flicks faster. “handcuffed—blindfolded—just your pretty little fucktoy—”

“Zuha—” Yunjin chokes out, her voice muffled, strained.

Kazuha grins, dragging her fingers through Yunjin’s sweat-damp hair. “Aw, baby—you love it,” she coos, her tone saccharine. “You live for this—being used by us.” She glances at you, her smirk turning wicked. “Harder. She can take it.”

You obey, slamming into Yunjin with a force that makes the bedframe screech. Yunjin’s cry is swallowed by Kazuha’s pussy, her thighs trembling as she struggles to keep up, licking and sucking like her life depends on it. Kazuha’s moans pitch higher, her back arching. “Fuck—yes—just like that—ruin her—”

Yunjin’s cuffed hands twist, her knuckles white, her body strung taut between your thrusts and Kazuha’s weight. “Good girl,” you snarl, your hand sliding up to squeeze her throat gently. “Take it—all of it—”

Kazuha’s laughter is breathless, uneven. “Look at her,” she gasps, her hips stuttering. “Blindfold’s soaked—God—she’s drowning in us—”

You don’t let up, your pace brutal, your thumb brushing Yunjin’s clit in rough circles. She screams around Kazuha, her body bowing off the bed, but you pin her down, relentless. “That’s it,” Kazuha moans, her thighs clamping around Yunjin’s head. “Break her—fuck—I wanna watch her shatter—”

Yunjin’s sobs are muffled, messy, her hips pistoning wildly as she chases her peak—but you don’t let her. Not yet.

Kazuha’s thighs lock like a vice around Yunjin’s head, her back arching as her hips stutter. “Fuck—Jen—don’t stop—” she gasps, her hands clawing at her own tits, nails digging into pale skin. Her abs flex, taut and trembling, as she grinds down harder, riding Yunjin’s tongue like it’s the only thing keeping her alive. “Yes—right there—fuck!”

Yunjin moans, the sound muffled and wet, her nose buried in Kazuha’s pussy as she sucks and licks like she’s starving. You lean over her, your thrusts never slowing, sweat dripping onto her heaving chest. “Make her cum,” you growl, your voice ragged. “Choke on it.”

Kazuha’s breath hitches, her thighs shaking violently. “Close—so close—” Her head snaps back, a broken scream tearing from her throat as she cums, her hips jerking wildly, soaking Yunjin’s mouth, chin, the blindfold. “Fuck—fuck—Jen!”

Yunjin keeps licking, greedy, even as Kazuha collapses, her hands braced on the headboard, gasping. “Shit,” Kazuha pants, her voice wrecked, staring down at Yunjin’s glistening face. “Look at you—covered in me.” She swipes a thumb through the mess on Yunjin’s lips, then sucks it clean, moaning. “God, you’re good at that.”

Yunjin’s chest heaves, her lips swollen, chin slick. “Zuha—” she whimpers, hips rolling desperately against your cock. “Please—I need—”

Kazuha crawls off her, knees wobbly, and crashes her mouth onto Yunjin’s, licking her own taste off her lips. “Patience, princess,” she murmurs, her fingers trailing down Yunjin’s stomach. “Your turn.” She glances at you, her eyes dark, hungry. “Wanna watch her break?”

You grip Yunjin’s hips, slamming into her once, hard, just to hear her scream. “Fuck yes.”

Kazuha grins, her hand sliding between Yunjin’s legs, thumb circling her clit. “You hear that, baby?” she purrs, her lips brushing Yunjin’s ear. “He’s gonna fuck you stupid while I play with this pretty little pussy.” Her fingers dip lower, teasing her entrance, already stretched around your cock. “Gonna make you cum so hard you forget your own name.”

Yunjin sobs. “Please—please—”

“Begging already?” Kazuha taunts, her thumb pressing harder. “You’re pathetic.” She nips Yunjin’s earlobe. “Love it.”

You lean down, your breath hot against Yunjin’s throat. “Gonna ruin you,” you growl, your pace turning brutal, erratic. “Our good girl.”

Kazuha’s fingers fly over Yunjin’s clit, relentless, her other hand pinning Yunjin’s hips down as you fuck into her, hard and fast. “There—right there—” Yunjin gasps, her voice cracking, thighs shaking like she’s about to snap. “Fuck—I’m—I’m gonna—oh God—”

Kazuha leans in, her lips brushing yours mid-thrust, her tongue sliding against your mouth, hungry. “Make her scream,” she murmurs against your lips, her breath hot. You groan, slamming into Yunjin harder, the bed creaking like it’s about to split.

“Cum,” Kazuha demands, her thumb jamming relentless, sloppy circles over Yunjin’s clit so fast it’s like she’s trying to start a damn fire. Yunjin’s whole body convulses—legs kicking out, stomach clenching, her ass lifting clean off the bed like she’s possessed. “Do it, baby—let it rip, come on—”

Yunjin’s head thrashes against the pillow, her blindfold already slipping damp with sweat. “Wait—wait—fuck—I—I think I’m gonna—oh God, I’m gonna pee—” Her voice cracks, high and frantic, her cuffed hands yanking uselessly against the headboard as her hips squirm to escape. But Kazuha’s got her pinned, one hand digging into her thigh, laughing like a maniac, all breathless and unhinged.

“No you’re not, dumbass,” Kazuha purrs, her eyes darting to yours—dark, wild, practically glowing with how fucking turned on she is. “Trust us, princess. You’re about to lose your mind.”

You don’t let up either, your grip on her hips bruising as you slam into her, relentless, the wet smack of skin on skin filling the room. “Cum,” you growl, voice scraped raw from how hard you’re holding back. “Right fucking now.”

Yunjin’s scream rips out—half terror, half pure, unfiltered ecstasy—as her body locks up tight. Her back bows so hard you think she might snap, and then—fuck—it happens. A hot, explosive gush blasts out of her, soaking your thighs, splashing up your stomach, drenching the sheets in a messy, glorious flood. She’s squirting like a busted faucet, pulsing waves of it, each one harder than the last, and it’s loud—obscenely wet, splattering against your skin, dripping off Kazuha’s wrist as she keeps rubbing Yunjin’s clit.

“Holy shit—yes—look at you!” Kazuha howls, cackling through it, her fingers a blur as she milks Yunjin for more. The gushes keep coming—another sharp spurt hits your chest, warm and slick, then another soaks Kazuha’s arm up to her elbow. Yunjin’s thrashing now, her thighs trembling uncontrollably, the cuffs jingling against each other. “What—what’s happening—I can’t—I can’t stop—”

You’re soaked, cock still buried deep in her, and her pussy’s clenching around you like a vice, fluttering wild as she keeps cumming, keeps squirting, the mess spreading wider. The sheets are a goddamn swamp, dark patches blooming under her ass, and still, she’s not done—another desperate, shuddering wave shoots out, hitting your hips again, trickling down to pool under you. “Fuck,” you grunt, hips stuttering as you try to keep up, sliding in her slick heat. “Never seen anything this hot—shit, Yunjin—”

Kazuha flops forward, her chest heaving as she licks a slow, filthy stripe up Yunjin’s throat, tasting the sweat there. “You’re squirting, baby,” she murmurs, voice thick with smug pride, like she’s just won the lottery. “Ruining everything—our sheets, us, the whole damn bed. Look at this fucking mess—God, it’s perfect.” She’s grinning, feral, her soaked hand still moving, coaxing out more—a smaller spurt this time, but it still splashes against her palm, dripping between her fingers.

Yunjin’s a wreck—gasping, whimpering, her blindfold completely drenched now, sticking to her flushed cheeks. Her chest heaves like she’s run a marathon, her voice breaking as she stammers, “I—I can’t—it’s too much—fuck—” Another weak gush leaks out, slower now but still enough to make her twitch, her oversensitive body jerking under Kazuha’s touch like she’s been electrocuted.

You keep fucking her through it, slower now but deep, feeling her walls pulse and flutter around you, her slick mixing with the absolute lake she’s turned the bed into. “So fucking gorgeous,” you mutter, voice rough, losing your rhythm as your own edge creeps closer. “You’re a goddamn waterfall, Yunjin—holy shit.”

Kazuha’s fingers finally ease up, turning soft and careful as she rubs gentle circles over Yunjin’s clit, drawing out the last little trickles. Yunjin whimpers, her hips jolting with every touch, her body strung out and twitching. “Shh—there you go, good girl,” Kazuha coos, leaning down to kiss her jaw, her lips brushing soft against the trembling skin. “You did so fucking good, baby. Drenched us—look at this disaster.”

Yunjin’s head lolls to the side, her breaths ragged, voice a wrecked whisper. “Did I—did I really just—?”

“Hell yeah, you did,” Kazuha cuts in, smirking wide as she lifts her dripping hand to her mouth, licking her fingers clean with a low, dramatic moan. “Goddamn, you taste so good—like victory or some shit.” She savors it, sucking her knuckles, eyes half-lidded as she watches Yunjin squirm. “Welcome to the club, princess. You’re a fucking legend now.”

You finally pull out, cock throbbing and slick, collapsing onto the soaked sheets next to them with a groan. The bed’s a warzone—puddles of Yunjin’s mess everywhere, the air thick with the smell of sex and sweat. Kazuha swings a leg over Yunjin’s hips, straddling her, her fingers trailing through the sticky chaos between Yunjin’s thighs. “Look at you,” she teases, pressing two fingers back into Yunjin’s swollen, oversensitive pussy just to hear her gasp and jolt again. “Our little fountain—still leaking, huh?”

Another tiny spurt escapes Yunjin at the intrusion, feeble but enough to make Kazuha giggle darkly. Yunjin groans, her face burning red under the blindfold, her voice hoarse. “Shut up—fuck, stop it—”

Kazuha just laughs, pulling her fingers out and smearing the wetness across Yunjin’s stomach, leaving a glistening trail. “Nah, you love it. Look at you, still shaking. You’re gonna remember this one forever, princess.”

You prop yourself up on an elbow, grinning at the sight—both of them wrecked, the bed ruined, Yunjin’s thighs still trembling from the aftershocks. “She’s right,” you say, voice low and rough. “You’re a fucking mess, Yunjin. Hottest mess I’ve ever seen.”

Yunjin just groans again, turning her face into the pillow like she can hide from the embarrassment, but Kazuha’s already leaning down, kissing her neck, whispering something filthy that makes Yunjin shiver all over again.

“On your knees,” you say, your voice low, rough, and Kazuha’s eyes light up like she just won the damn lottery. She’s already moving, her hands sliding under Yunjin’s arms, helping her sit up even though Yunjin’s still a little shaky.

“C’mon, princess,” Kazuha murmurs, her voice all sugar and sin as she undoes the handcuffs, letting them clatter to the floor. Yunjin’s wrists are red, marked, and Kazuha kisses one of them softly, like she’s apologizing but also not really sorry at all. “You’re doing so good for us, baby. Just a little more, okay?”

Yunjin nods, her lips parted, her breath still coming in short, uneven gasps. She’s blindfolded, completely at your mercy, and fuck if that doesn’t make your cock twitch. Kazuha guides her off the bed, her hands gentle but firm, and Yunjin stumbles a little, her legs still weak from cumming so hard.

“Easy, Jen,” Kazuha says, her voice soft but teasing. “Don’t wanna fall before you get to taste him, right?”

Yunjin’s cheeks flush, but she doesn’t argue. She lets Kazuha guide her to her knees on the floor, the cool wood against her skin making her shiver. Kazuha kneels beside her, her hand brushing Yunjin’s hair back, tucking a loose strand behind her ear.

“You ready, baby?” Kazuha asks, her voice dripping with mischief.

Yunjin nods again, her tongue darting out to wet her lips, and fuck, the sight of her like this—blindfolded, on her knees, still trembling from her orgasm—has you so hard it’s almost painful.

You step closer, your cock brushing against Yunjin’s lips, and she opens her mouth instinctively, her tongue flicking out to taste you. Kazuha’s right there, her hand on Yunjin’s shoulder, her other hand reaching up to wrap around the base of your cock, guiding it into Yunjin’s mouth.

“That’s it,” Kazuha purrs, her eyes locked on yours as Yunjin takes you deeper, her lips wrapping around you, her tongue swirling against the underside. “Look at her, babe. She’s so fucking good at this.”

Yunjin moans around you, the vibration making you groan, and Kazuha smirks, leaning in to kiss Yunjin’s cheek. “You hear that, Jen? He loves it when you suck him like this.”

Yunjin’s hands find your thighs, her fingers digging in as she takes you deeper, her throat working around you. Kazuha’s not content to just watch, though. She leans in, her lips brushing against the tip of your cock, her tongue flicking out to taste you right alongside Yunjin.

“Fuck,” you mutter, your hand tangling in Kazuha’s hair as she takes over, her mouth sliding down your cock, her tongue teasing the sensitive spot just under the head. Yunjin’s still there, her lips pressed against the base, her tongue licking and sucking like she’s trying to prove something.

“You two—” you start, but your voice cracks, your hips jerking forward involuntarily. “Fuck, you’re gonna make me cum so hard.”

Kazuha pulls off just enough to smirk up at you, her lips glistening. “Yeah? You gonna paint our faces, baby? Make us your pretty little canvas?”

Yunjin moans again, her tongue swirling around you, and Kazuha laughs, low and throaty. “Look at her,” she says, her fingers brushing Yunjin’s cheek. “She’s already begging for it.”

“Keep going,” you growl, your hand tightening in Kazuha’s hair as she takes you deep again, her tongue working in tandem with Yunjin’s. “Fuck, just like that.”

Kazuha hums around you, the sound vibrating through your cock, and Yunjin’s fingers dig into your thighs harder, like she’s trying to hold on. They’re both so fucking good at this, so eager, so desperate to please you, and it’s taking everything in you not to lose it right then and there.

Kazuha passes the turn to Yunjin and, fuck, her mouth is so warm, wet, and so fucking tight around you, her throat working as she takes you deeper, her lips stretched around your cock. You can’t help it—your hips start moving, fucking her throat like it’s her pussy, and she doesn’t pull away. Instead, she moans, the sound vibrating through you, her hands gripping your thighs like she’s holding on for dear life.

“That’s it,” Kazuha murmurs, her voice low and husky as she kneels beside Yunjin, her lips brushing against your thigh. Her hand slides up, cupping your balls, squeezing gently, and you groan, your hips jerking forward again. “Fuck her throat, baby. She can take it.”

Yunjin’s blindfold is soaked, her makeup smudged, drool running down her chin, but, fuck, she looks beautiful like this—wrecked, messy, and completely yours. Her throat tightens around you, and you can feel her gag reflex kicking in, but she doesn’t stop. She just takes it, her nails digging into your skin as you fuck her face.

“God, I love you both so much,” you mutter, your voice rough, your hand tangling in Yunjin’s hair as you thrust deeper. Kazuha’s lips trail up your abdomen, her tongue flicking out to taste your skin, and her free hand slides up to squeeze your ass, urging you on.

“We love you too,” Kazuha purrs, her breath hot against your stomach. “Now cum for us, baby. Paint our faces. Make us yours.”

You’re so close—your balls tightening, your cock throbbing—and you can’t hold back anymore. You pull out of Yunjin’s throat with a wet pop, her lips swollen, her chin glistening with spit. She gasps for air, her chest heaving, but she doesn’t move. She stays on her knees, waiting, her blindfold still in place.

“Fuck, I’m gonna cum,” you growl, your hand stroking your cock as Kazuha leans in, her tongue flicking out to tease the tip.

“Do it,” Kazuha whispers, her eyes locked on yours, dark and hungry. “Cum for us.”

The first shot hits Kazuha’s cheek, thick and hot, and she moans, her tongue darting out to catch the next one as it lands on her lips. Yunjin’s head tilts up, her mouth open, and you aim for her next, painting her face with your cum. She gasps, the sensation of it hitting her skin making her moan, her lips parting as another streak lands on her tongue.

“Fuck, yes,” Kazuha breathes, her fingers brushing through the mess on Yunjin’s face, smearing it across her cheeks. “Look at her, baby. She’s so fucking pretty like this.”

You’re still cumming, your cock twitching in your hand as you shoot the last few ropes across Kazuha’s forehead, her eyelashes fluttering as it drips down her face. She laughs, low and throaty, her tongue flicking out to catch a stray drop.

“God, you two,” you mutter, your chest heaving as you finally finish, your cock still throbbing. “You’re fucking perfect.”

Kazuha grins, her face glistening, and she leans in, her tongue dragging across Yunjin’s cheek, cleaning the cum off her skin. Yunjin shivers, her lips parting as Kazuha licks her way up to her forehead, her movements slow and deliberate.

“You taste so good, Jen,” Kazuha murmurs, her lips brushing against Yunjin’s as she kisses her, deep and filthy. Yunjin moans into the kiss, her hands reaching up to tangle in Kazuha’s hair, pulling her closer.

You watch them, your cock still hard, your breath still uneven, and fuck if it isn’t the hottest thing you’ve ever seen. Kazuha pulls back, her fingers brushing against Yunjin’s blindfold, and she tugs it off gently, revealing Yunjin’s dark, glazed eyes.

“Your turn,” Kazuha says, her voice soft but teasing, and Yunjin doesn’t hesitate. She reaches up, her fingers brushing against Kazuha’s face, and she leans in, her tongue flicking out to clean the cum off Kazuha’s skin.

Kazuha moans, her head tilting back as Yunjin licks her way across her cheek, her tongue slow and deliberate. “Fuck, Jen,” Kazuha breathes, her fingers tangling in Yunjin’s hair. “You’re so good at this.”

Yunjin smirks, her lips brushing against Kazuha’s as she pulls back. “You’re not so bad yourself,” she mutters, her voice hoarse but playful.

You laugh, your hand brushing through Yunjin’s hair as she leans against your leg, her face still a mess but her eyes bright, her smile soft. Kazuha’s grinning too, her fingers tracing patterns on Yunjin’s shoulder, and for a moment, it’s just the three of you—wrecked, messy, and completely, utterly in love.

“Best fucking birthday ever,” Yunjin mutters, her head resting against your thigh, and you can’t help but agree.

—

The ocean breathes against the shore, rhythmic and steady, a pulse beneath your feet. Warm sand shifts between your toes as the salty breeze kisses your skin, carrying the laughter of the few close friends who’ve gathered. The sun, melting low on the horizon, paints everything in gold—your skin, the waves, the three of you standing at the edge of something new, something bigger than words or law could define.

You glance at Kazuha and Yunjin, your soon-to-be wives in every way that matters. The sight of them knocks the breath from your lungs.

Kazuha, always the picture of effortless grace, is wrapped in something soft and flowing—silk, maybe, or something close to it. A pale shade of champagne that clings just right, the fabric rippling with every step she takes, like liquid light moving over her body. The neckline dips just enough to be elegant, teasing the sharp angles of her collarbones. Her long, dark hair is twisted up into an intricate braid, woven with tiny pearls that catch the sunlight. Barefoot, she looks like she belongs here, like she’s always been part of the ocean and the wind.

Yunjin, standing beside her, is in contrast—bold, striking, alive. Her dress is deep, rich red, the kind that demands attention without ever needing to try. It’s fitted at the top, cinched at her waist, then spills out just a little, giving her enough room to move, to dance, to throw her arms around you both without restriction. There’s a slit high on her thigh, because of course there is, and her hair is loose, wild, catching in the wind. A thin gold chain drapes across her bare back, subtle but decadent. She’s glowing.

And then there’s you. Keeping it simple, because it’s not about the clothes for you—it’s about them. A crisp white linen shirt, unbuttoned just enough to be casual, sleeves rolled up to your elbows. Black slacks, fitted but easy. A leather band around your wrist that Kazuha tied there earlier, murmuring something about how it made you look even better. Barefoot, just like them. Standing here, in the middle of everything you’ve ever wanted, with salt on your lips and warmth in your chest.

The ceremony isn’t formal. It’s barely structured at all—because what is there to structure? There’s no officiant, no legalities, no paperwork to sign. Just a promise, spoken into the open air, carried by the wind and sealed in the laughter shared between the three of you.

A friend reads something—something sentimental, maybe a poem, maybe just words strung together in a way that makes your throat tighten. You don’t remember half of it, too caught up in the way Kazuha keeps glancing at you with that soft, knowing smile, or the way Yunjin keeps shifting like she might just grab you both and run straight into the ocean.

And then it’s time for the vows.

Kazuha goes first, her voice light, almost teasing, but steady.

"I don’t know if I believe in fate," she says, tucking a loose strand of hair behind her ear. "But I do believe in you. Both of you. And I know that wherever we go, whatever happens next, as long as I have you, I have everything."

Yunjin snorts. "That’s so unfair. You’re making me look bad."

Kazuha grins, tilting her head. "Not my fault you didn’t prepare."

Yunjin groans, dragging a hand down her face. "Okay, fine, fine. Here’s my vow: I promise to always be a pain in your ass. And I promise to love you while I’m doing it. I promise to keep things interesting, to make you laugh when you don’t want to, and to be there, no matter what. Always."

And then it’s your turn. You exhale, looking between them, feeling the weight of everything pressing against your ribs.

"You already know," you say, voice quieter than you expected. "I’d follow you anywhere. Because home isn’t a place, it’s this. Us. Wherever we go, whatever comes next—I’m in."

Yunjin makes a noise, something choked and half-laughing, before grabbing both of you and pulling you into a crushing hug. Kazuha follows, arms looping around you both, and suddenly there’s no space left between you, just tangled limbs and racing heartbeats and something bigger than words pressing against your chest.

There’s no ‘you may now kiss’ moment. No need for permission. You just do. Kazuha’s lips are the first you find, soft and slow, tasting like the faintest hint of the champagne you all shared earlier. Then Yunjin’s, warm and insistent, her fingers threading into your hair as she pulls you closer. The cheers from your friends in the background barely register.

And then comes the final rite of the ceremony.

The three of you walk down to the water’s edge, where the waves stretch out, endless and waiting. The sand is cool beneath your feet as you each kneel, tracing words into the damp shore. Wishes. Promises. Sent off to the sea, to be carried into the unknown.

Kazuha writes hers in delicate, looping script: "That we never stop dancing, together."

Yunjin, ever the contrast, scrawls hers in bold, uneven letters: "That we never get fucking boring."

And you? Yours is simple. Yours is true. "That we always have each other."

You sit back, watching as the waves creep forward, swallowing the words, carrying them out into the tide.

Kazuha slips her hand into yours. Yunjin rests her head on your shoulder.

The sun dips lower, the sky turning violet, the wind brushing against your skin like a whispered promise.

And just like that, you’re married.

—

The sun’s already high when you wake up, slanting golden through the sheer white curtains, throwing shifting patterns across the tangled mess of limbs and sheets on the bed. The air is thick—salt, sweat, the faintest lingering scent of sex. Your body feels wrecked, but in the best possible way, that slow, heavy ache of complete satisfaction.

Kazuha is sprawled half on top of you, one leg draped lazily over your waist, her bare skin impossibly warm against yours. Her hair is a wild mess, dark strands sticking to her forehead, her lips still slightly swollen from all the kissing, all the biting. She’s out cold, her breathing slow and steady, the kind of sleep that only comes after getting thoroughly ruined.

Yunjin is curled up on your other side, face buried in the pillow, her back rising and falling in soft, even breaths. Her arm is still hooked over your stomach, fingers curled slightly, like even in sleep she doesn’t want to let go. There’s a faint red mark trailing down her shoulder—your teeth, probably.

The night is a blur of heat and tangled sheets, of desperate hands and hungry mouths, of bodies pressed so tight together that it felt impossible to tell where one of you ended and the other began. You still remember the way Kazuha rode you slow and deep, the way Yunjin had moaned against your neck when you fucked her from behind, the way they had taken turns kissing each other, their bodies moving in sync, breathless and slick with sweat.

Jesus.

You exhale, running a hand over your face, blinking up at the ceiling. Your whole body feels like it’s been through a war, but you wouldn’t trade it for anything.

The sheets rustle as Kazuha stirs, stretching out with a little sigh, her toned arms reaching above her head. Her eyes flutter open, still heavy-lidded with sleep, and when she sees you looking at her, she smiles—slow and lazy, her lips curling like she’s remembering exactly what went down last night.

“Morning, husband,” she murmurs, voice husky.

You snort. “That’s symbolic husband to you.”

Yunjin groans into the pillow, her voice muffled. “Too early for words. Shut up.”

Kazuha grins, shifting so she can press a kiss to your shoulder. “What time is it?”

You glance at the clock on the nightstand. “Almost noon.”

That makes Yunjin lift her head slightly, squinting. Her hair is a mess, sticking up in every direction, and she’s got the kind of dazed, post-sex look that makes you want to drag her right back under the sheets. “Shit. Did we miss breakfast?”

“I think it goes until one,” you say, running a hand down her back, feeling the way she shivers slightly at the touch.

“Good,” she mutters, letting her head drop again. “Because I need food. I feel like I lost half my body weight last night.”

Kazuha giggles, stretching again before finally rolling off you, sitting up, her back a perfect curve, muscles shifting beneath her bare skin. “Yeah, you were kind of insatiable.”

Yunjin groans. “Don’t start. I’m too hungover for your judgment.”

“Who’s judging?” Kazuha smirks, standing and padding over to grab one of the hotel robes from the chair. She tosses one to Yunjin, then grabs yours, throwing it at your face. “Come on, we should probably eat before we just pass out again.”

You groan, dragging yourself out of bed, stretching out the stiffness in your limbs before throwing the robe on. The three of you are a mess—hair wild, bodies covered in faint marks from the night before, Kazuha sporting a few love bites on her collarbone that she doesn’t even bother to hide. You catch a glimpse of yourself in the mirror and shake your head.

The poor hotel staff must have heard everything.

And speaking of the staff—

You remember the look on the receptionist’s face last night when you asked for a room, explaining (for some reason) that you were a married man now. The way she had blinked, clearly trying to figure out which of the two stunning women beside you was your wife. And then the way her confusion had only deepened when you casually mentioned that you had married both of them.

Pure comedy.

By the time you make it downstairs, the little beachside hotel’s dining area is mostly empty, save for a few other guests nursing coffee and looking half-asleep. The three of you slide into a corner booth, ordering a full spread—pancakes, eggs, bacon, fruit, the works.

Yunjin leans back in her seat, sighing as she stretches her arms above her head. “Man, I don’t wanna leave.”

Kazuha hums in agreement, stirring sugar into her coffee. “We really don’t have to, you know.”

You raise an eyebrow. “What do you mean?”

She shrugs. “I mean… we could stay. Move here. For real.”

You blink. You hadn’t actually thought about it—not seriously, at least. “You wanna live here?”

Yunjin sits up, suddenly interested. “Actually… yeah. That doesn’t sound like a bad idea.”

Kazuha glances between the two of you, tilting her head. “Think about it. You know I’ve been wanting to start my own studio. I could do it here. A ballet school by the beach? That’s kind of a dream, isn’t it?”

You consider that. It does sound like something Kazuha would thrive in. A beautiful, sunlit studio, kids in tutus, the sound of waves just beyond the windows.

Yunjin leans forward, resting her chin in her palm. “And I could finally use my damn degree. You know, I actually like tourism. I just never thought I’d get another chance at it after all the shit I went through.”

You frown slightly. “Do you think you're ready to come back?”

She nods, her expression thoughtful. “Yeah. I do. I wanna help people experience places. I wanna be part of that.”

You let that sink in. Kazuha, finally running her own place. Yunjin, doing something she actually loves.

And you?

You don’t care where you live. You’ve always been like that—rootless, adaptable. As long as you have them, you’re good.

You exhale, leaning back. “Alright,” you say slowly. “Let’s do it.”

Kazuha’s eyes light up. “Wait, really?”

Yunjin grins. “You’re just gonna agree, just like that?”

You shrug. “Yeah. Why not? You two are my family now. I’ll go wherever you want.”

They exchange a look—one of those silent, loaded glances that means something big is happening.

Then, before you can react, they’re both launching themselves at you, Yunjin practically climbing into your lap, Kazuha wrapping her arms around your shoulders.

Yunjin laughs against your cheek, breath warm. “God, I love you.”

Kazuha presses a kiss to your jaw. “Me too.”

And yeah. You love them too.

So why not start something new?

#kazuha x reader #kazuha smut #nakamura kazuha x reader #le sserafim x reader #le sserafim kazuha #Nakamura Kazuha smut #yunjin x male reader #yunjin le sserafim #le sserafim yunjin #yunjin x reader #le sserafim #kpop m!reader #kpop male reader #kpop smut #kpop gg smut #m!reader

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nanamisgirly · 4 months ago

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cw smut, cheating, toji is almost 50, reader's in college, megumi caught them and is turned on.

sorry not sorry but toji is a total asshole, fucking with no remorse the tight cunt of his son's girlfriend.

"you little brat, this is what you were waiting for" he says, one rough large palm landing on your lower back, forcing you into a meaner arch.

megumi was out to buy some ice cream for the night. He suggested you stay home since he'd be quick anyway. And who were you to refuse when toji was here too?

"walkin' around all day with those slutty little clothes—" his cock was buried sooo deep inside you, splitting you open, making you feel full. "a short, barely coverin' your pussy" he slams his hips harder, grinning when your ass jiggles. "brushin' against my cock when you passed by—" a sharp spank lands on your cheek, making you gasp. "just admit, you stayed here hopin' i'd fill up that needy slut cunt of yours."

toji might be a grumpy old man pushing 50, but the man was still in condition, built like a goddamn machine. his stamina put boys around your age to shame and his cock as thick and hard as a rock when you were around.

"t-toji," you pleaded "huh, don't talk" he growls, slamming into you mercilessly. one hand pressed your face against the cool kitchen counter, keeping you firmly in place. "wanna hear those loud noises my girl is makin' down here" he grins, pupils dilated at the sight of your soaked cunt. you could feel his cock throbbing inside you, stretching you open with every relentless thrust. "bet the little boy doesn't make that pussy as wet as i do," he says, voice thick with arrogance. the slick mess between your thighs dripped down, your walls clenching around his length— milking every inch. "best fuckin' pussy i've ever had, so fuckin' tight" he groaned, making his pace even filthier. you could feel his veiny dick deep in your tummy, it was no joke. toji was ruining your inside, he was so fast— imposing a brutal rhythm. you could barely keep up. the kitchen was filled of wet noises, each obscene squelch only fueling his hunger. "meh, listen to her, think she likes being fucked like a whore."

He pulled out, only his tip remained inside. parted your legs wider. angled his hips. slammed back in. and here he was deeper.

your breath hitched, a helpless, pornographic moan spilling past your lips." it's- aghn, d-daddy, mh," too cock drunk. your mind was blank, his cock reaching spots you didn't even know existed. toji chuckles "daddy, huh?" he mocked, that almost turned him into a beast— his cock only grew impossibly harder inside you.

"daddy's gonna destroy that poor pussy of yours," he says in an guttural voice "take it like a good slut". he slipped out, completely, using his flushed glistening brown tip to slap quickly against your swollen clit. "c'mon, brat. make a mess for me so i can fuck it right back into you." he was dragging his dick back and forth on your slick folds, his fat tip creating friction with your stimulated clit each time.

a sharp cry escaping you as you came, your body doing as he said before you realized it. muscles tensed, thighs quivering at the overwhelming pleasure. but toji gave you no time to recover, the second you hit your peak, he was right back inside, his heavy balls smacking against your swollen lips. "here, let's fuck for real now" toji lets out as his grip tightened on your hips, pulling you back onto his cock, balls drenched in your arousal.

And that's when megumi comes back from the store.

"what the hell are those noises," megumi asks, pushing the door. wet slaps echoing in the hallway. "toji did you put some porn or-" megumi stays still. eyes widened taking in the sight before him.

His girlfriend being fucked out by his dad.

toji doesn't give a fucking damn. doesn't even stop ramming into you. He locks eyes with his child as he picks up the pace, balls deep in you. as if he had all the right, as if he owns you. as if you weren't his son's girlfriend. "tsk, look at that kid," he smirks, amused by the situation. he grabs your hair, forcing you to arch back onto his chest, your breasts bouncing widely as his hips meet yours. "she got a needy hole, i thought i could help" he bites your ear. "her pussy tight's like a damn virgin" he adds. a large hand circling your throat. squeezing.

your vision blurred, eyes rolling back in ecstasy. you weren't even trying to muffle your moans, you couldn't. you were so aroused megumi could see his dad's cock glistening from where he stands, his fists clenching at his side. taking you boyfriend's dad's cock in front of him and having so much pleasure from it— oh that's what you liked. the room was filled of your sounds, shameless, raw, filthy. your walls molded perfectly around the older man's dick. a deep growl coming from toji as he thrusted harder against you. your skins slapping against each other.

"look at that, son" he says in a pant, going in and out so fast it was inhuman. megumi had full view on your bouncing tits and your moist cunt. "pussy's tryin' to suck me in- fuck" toji couldn't stop his pace. his thighs flexing with the effort.

you were a total whimpering mess. megumi could feel his blood rushing to his length. 'why was it so exciting' toji hips rolled, hitting your g-spot perfectly. "oh, d-don't s-stop" and meg' let out a groan at your shaky voice.

"d-daddy, p-please— mghn" your boyfriend flinches at the nick name.

"yeahh, that's right slut, show the kid how needy you are for my cock" and you skirted. you didn't even realized how you did, your mind was spinning, searching for your breath through toji's chock.

"oh, saw that? she's gettin' messier" toji smirks, proud of himself. he was just too good. his mouth goes to your ear and he says loud enough for his son to hear through your noisy moans and slick, indecent pussy's noises "maybe I should let megumi cleans the mess when I'm done splitting you open, huh?" and that's when you finally, finally, lifted your eyes only to be met with a flustered gumi.

and a boner picking through his pant.

૮₍˶ •. •⑅₎ა♡

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solxamber · 5 months ago

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Read the male incubus reader and it was so good BEHEBEBENEJEJ your so talented omg

If you can do anything else similar to that again, just a very teasing reader that knows how to fluster literally anyone of the main boys I'd be on my hands and knees cause BSBSBSA it's so good.

May you rest well pookie cause you deserve it 💪

thank you!! and sorry for the extremely long wait </3

Housewardens x Tease! Reader

Riddle Rosehearts

Riddle’s face turns the shade of his hair the moment your sly words slip from your lips. He tries to maintain composure, but his rigid posture betrays his inner turmoil.

“Y-you can’t just say things like that!” he stammers, voice wavering as he desperately adjusts his tie to buy time. You lean in slightly, resting your chin in your hand, eyes sparkling with mischievous glee.

“Oh? And what exactly did I say, Rosehearts? You’ll have to be specific. Otherwise, how will I know what to stop?”

Riddle sputters, gripping his teacup like it’s the last thing grounding him. “H-Have some decorum!”

You only laugh, knowing full well he’ll be replaying this moment for the rest of the week.

Leona Kingscholar

Leona scoffs when you start teasing, but the way his ears twitch betrays how much your words are getting to him.

“You think you’re so clever, don’t you?” he grumbles, trying to look annoyed.

“Clever? Oh, no. I’m just observant,” you reply, your tone dripping with mock innocence. “Like how your tail flicks every time I say your name like this—Leona.”

His eyes narrow, and he leans back with a growl. “You’ve got a death wish.”

“And you’ve got a cute blush,” you say with a grin.

Leona throws a pillow at you, grumbling about "annoying herbivores," but you can tell he doesn’t mean it.

Azul Ashengrotto

Azul prides himself on his ability to negotiate, but you’ve got him fumbling like a first-year.

“Careful, Ashengrotto,” you tease, watching him adjust his glasses for the tenth time. “If I didn’t know any better, I’d think you were nervous.”

“I-I am not nervous!” he protests, his voice a little too high-pitched to be convincing.

“Oh? Then why are you blushing?” you ask, leaning in with a smirk.

Azul stammers, frantically flipping through the paperwork on his desk. “I-I have important matters to attend to! Y-you’re dismissed!”

You laugh as you leave, knowing he’s going to be thinking about this for days.

Kalim Al-Asim

Kalim’s laughter is infectious, but even he can’t hide how flustered he gets under your teasing.

“You’re too sweet, Kalim,” you say, resting your chin in your hand. “Almost makes me want to keep you all to myself.”

Kalim’s eyes widen, and he fumbles with the rings on his fingers. “W-wait, really? You’d want that?”

“Of course,” you reply with a playful smirk. “Who wouldn’t?”

His face lights up like a firework, and he starts rambling. “You’re amazing! I mean, wow, I didn’t expect—wait, you’re teasing me, aren’t you?”

You laugh, and Kalim joins in, even as his face remains flushed.

Vil Schoenheit

Vil tries to brush off your teasing with grace, but even he isn’t immune to your charm.

“You’re stunning as always, Vil,” you say, your voice dripping with sincerity. “It’s almost unfair to the rest of us.”

“Flattery will get you nowhere,” he replies, though the faint blush on his cheeks says otherwise.

“Oh, but I think it will,” you counter, leaning closer. “After all, you deserve to be reminded of how perfect you are.”

Vil’s composure slips for a moment, and he clears his throat. “You’re insufferable.”

“And you love it,” you reply with a wink, leaving Vil behind to regain his composure.

Idia Shroud

Idia’s hair flares neon pink the moment you start teasing, and he looks like he’s about to combust.

“Wow, Idia, you’re really cute when you’re blushing,” you say, leaning in with a smirk.

“C-cute?! Me?!” he stammers, tugging at the strings of his hoodie. “T-that’s not—I mean—w-what are you even saying?!”

“Just the truth,” you reply, watching as his hair flickers nervously.

Idia buries his face in his hands. “I’m going to die. This is it. I’m dead.”

“Don’t worry, I’ll make sure it’s a fun death,” you reply, and Idia groans, hiding even further in his hoodie.

Malleus Draconia

Malleus is used to admiration tinged with fear, but your teasing catches him completely off guard.

“You know, Malleus, you’ve got this whole dark and brooding thing down, but I bet you’d look even cuter if you smiled more.”

Malleus blinks, clearly taken aback. “Do you truly think so?”

“Oh, absolutely,” you reply, stepping closer. “In fact, I might just have to make it my mission to see you smile every day.”

Malleus’s lips twitch upward for a brief moment before he clears his throat, his usual regal composure slipping. “You are... most peculiar.”

“And you’re most adorable when flustered,” you reply, and Malleus stares at you, clearly unsure of how to respond.

Masterlist

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sugarwarachan · 2 months ago

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aizawa shouta: A—Z nsfw headcanons

andy's notes: here's to my favorite super-sleepy hero, and to the people on this app who are as obsessed with him as i am.

cws: smut nsfw, 18+, many many warnings lmao but some highlights: breeding, oral (f and m receiving), dirty talk, brat taming, dom/sub, masturbation, sex toys, Daddy/sir kink

A = Aftercare (what they’re like after the act)

One of the best at aftercare in terms of emotional check-ins. He’s rerouting your synapses every time you fuck, so he makes sure to bring you back down to earth gently. He always confirms with you that you liked everything (and if you didn’t, what to do next time) while holding you close and playing with your hair.

B = Body part (favorite body part, their own or their lover’s)

Ass. Man. 👏 Loves smacking it, laying on it, watching it jiggle when you walk or popped high in the air when you suck his cock.

On him? Probably his hands (mostly because you won’t stop drooling over them and begging him to choke off your air supply).

C = Cum (anything that has to do with it)

Big ol' breeding kink for this man, so expect him to cum inside you CONSTANTLY. He's also not big on masturbating, so when he cums, he cums a LOT.

D = Dirty secret (pretty self-explanatory)

Loves to cum on your face. A part of him feels guilty, but the primal side of him wins out every time he sees his creamy seed all over your pretty lips.

E = Experience (do they know what they’re doing)

I don’t see him as much of a one-night stand kind of guy, but he’s had a few serious partners and learned what he likes.

F = Favorite position

Doggy or missionary. (He’s an old man and he likes what he likes.)

Doggy because he likes to manhandle your hips and ass while he's grunting into your cunt.

Missionary for the intimacy and the eye contact. He loves to say the nastiest shit while you looking you right in the eye.

G = Goofy (how serious are they)

He’s not cracking jokes by any means, but he loves to tease you and make you blush.

H = Hair (grooming habits)

Y'all, this dude is a MAN. Constant five-o-clock shadow that scratches at your inner thighs until he grows it out enough to be soft. Dark hair on his chest that tapers down to the yummiest happy trail. Well-maintained pubic hair. If he’s not dating someone, he’ll let it get a little crazy, but cleans it up as soon as he has someone.

I = Intimacy (in the moment romantic or rough/dirty)

He’s a mixture of both, and you never know what you’re gonna get *faints* You'll be in the middle of the filthiest fuck of your life, and Aizawa will randomly start telling you how beautiful you are and how much he wants to marry you.

J = Jack off (do they masturbate and how often)

I don’t know why, but I do not see this man masturbating unless he’s as down bad as he can go. Like he feels insane because he’s twisting his cock like a teenager over you.

K = Kink (kinks what they like possibly unusual)

I think he’s experimental and willing to discover kinks with you BUT his main ones: breeding, breath play, edging/overstimulation, brat taming, D/s, daddy/sir kink, somnophilia

L = Location (where they like to get it on)

Prefers to fuck you somewhere private.

Within your own home, though, any room is fair game. If he had to pick, he would say the bedroom first (he's a romantic), and the kitchen second (because of how many times he’s eaten you out on the counter).

M = Motivation (things that makes them tick/turn ons)

Intelligence/competency. If you're really good at your job/super knowledgeable about a subject, he's grabbing the back of your neck and dragging you off to the bedroom.

Otherwise, he’s a pretty simple guy: lingerie, red lipstick, his old shirt... doesn't matter. He’s into YOU.

N = No (turnoffs or absolutely won’t do)

Don’t really see him being into pegging. no matter how much I might want this

O = Oral (receiving or giving and how skillful they are)

He’s a giver!! Loves nothing more than making you go dumb on his tongue over and over again. He’s patient, too, so he always winds you up to the edge and holds you there until you’re wailing at him to let you cum.

When you return the favor, he’s the most appreciative motherfucker on earth. Raining praise on you about how well you suck his cock.

P = Pace (how fast they are and how long they last in bed)

Strong, measured strokes. He doesn’t like to go fast unless he’s worked you up and you’re begging him to.

Q = Quickie (do they prefer fast and hard)

He doesn’t hate quickies but he certainly doesn’t love them.

R = Risk (do they like to try new things)

Depends on his partner. If you want to try new things, he's happy to oblige. But I don't think he would be disappointed if you weren't naturally willing to take risks or try new things all the time.

S = Stamina (how many times they can go and how long each round lasts)

Okay, I love him, but he is tired. I think on a good day, he can do two or three rounds if you give him some time to recover, but he usually prefers one long session and a long cuddle after.

T= Toys (are they game for using sex toys on themselves or lovers)

Definitely the type to see sex toys as an important addition to the bedroom and not as competition.

however

Say he's out on a mission and specifically tells you not to use your vibrator until he gets home... and you ignore that? expect to be denied your orgasm for hours

U = Unfair (how do they tease or do they enjoy suspense themselves)

Literally all he has to do is rest his hand on your lower back and whisper into your ear that he wants to go home and you're ready for him.

V = Volume (are they loud, what sounds, and do they talk)

King of talking you through it. Once he finds out you like his voice, he uses it to his advantage (see above lmao). Can get you wet just by saying a few key phrases. Tends to grunt and groan during the act itself. Whimpers only when he’s really sensitive and you suckle the tip of his cock.

W = Wild card (random sincannon of any sort)

Maybe this is just me projecting, but CNC 🤭

X = X-ray (what’s down below in dem pants)

7 inches and girthy. Like you need prep every time kind of girthy. Nice little curve to the tip. Uncut.

Y = Yearning (sex drive level)

When he’s not in a relationship, it's almost nonexistent. The man has a lot of shit on his plate!

When he's in a relationship, though, his sex drive slowly builds back up and when you’re alone together, he's almost always touching you.

Z = Zzzz (do they sleep after if so how quickly after)

He’s a tired man!!! He always makes sure you’re comfy and taken care of before he drops off, but once he does, he’s OUT.

2025 © all works belong to @sugarwarachan. do not repost, translate, or steal any of my works pls. reblogs and comments always appreciated <3 If you'd like to be added to my general taglist, let me know bbys!!

taglist: @cielito--lindo, @one-scarred-mofo, @uekarashi

#shouta aizawa #aizawa shouta #aizawa headcanons #aizawa smut #aizawa x reader #aizawa shōta #bnha smut #bnha x reader #mha smut #mha x reader #boku no hero academia #bnha #shouta aizawa x reader #shouta aizawa smut #shouta aizawa imagine #mha headcanons #aizawa x reader smut #sugarwarachanwrites

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byechristopher · 9 months ago

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chris & matt s– positions and places.

-HEADCANONS.

Author's note: yes, fav positions in secs. Just because I can't get some images out of my head.

Warnings: smut, obviously. Juat filthy smut, smut, smut. Minors dni!

doggystyle.. he loves, loves, loves watching your ass bounce as he's pounding into you. He'd grab and squeeze it, smack it every now and then, letting you push back against him as he stays still, "come on, baby, move."

⠀⠀

C H R I S

reverse cowgirl.. again, he loves your ass. He loves watching you work for it while he stays still and speeds up only when he feels like you're going too slow. He'd grab a fistful of hair and push your head back while bucking his hips to thrust into you harder, "you like that, ma?"

table/counter sex.. Chris is the kind of guy that would take you anywhere, anytime. I feel like he'd just see you cooking and immediately just grab you, lifting you up to make you sit on the table. He'd eat you out first, sloppy and hungry and passionate, and then fuck you then and there, "you look and taste fucking delicious."

pool/beach sex.. as I said, he'd take you anywhere. He wouldn't be able to see you in bikini without touching you, "you can't do this to me, babe." He'd push you against the wall of the pool and push your bikini to the side, rubbing his clothed cock against you, making sure no one's really looking. Not that he cares.

head.. he loves giving, as much as receiving. But he absolutely fucking loses it when you, out of nowhere, get on your knees and suck him off. Like when he's doing work, or playing, and you're just on your knees, sucking him off, spitting on it, distracting him completely. He'd tease your nipples and pinch them to push you closer and take him in deeper, "that's it.. fuuuuck."

⠀

M A T T

missionary.. Matt absolutely loves keeping eye contact while fucking you senseless. He'd want to see you losing it, to see your eyes roll to the back of your head, unable to have control over anything, "keep looking at me, pretty. Or I'll stop. And you don't want that, do you?"

cowgirl.. he'd sit up, back against the headboard so that he can see you better; he needs to see your tits bounce. He'd never let you do a thing – digging his long fingers into your hips, he'd keep you in place and fuck you mercilessly, "you're so pretty. Fuck."

against the wall.. he just loves wrapping his fingers around your neck while he's balls-deep inside of you, your legs wrapped around his slim waist, "take it, baby, take it". He'd press his forehead against yours and thrust into you deep, and hard.

car sex.. do I even have to say anything? He loves his car so much, but he loves pleasuring you more. While driving around, he'd order you take your panties off and spread your legs wide for him. He'd lick his fingers and touch you in such a delicate way, pushing his fingers inside of you gently while keeping his eyes on the road. Then, he'd stop the car somewhere private, not able to control himself, and push his pants down, making you straddle his lap and sit on his cock with his fingers still wrapped around the steering wheel, "that's my girl.."

shower sex.. that's the only time he'd have you facing the other way. He'd push you against the glass of the shower, if anyone were to see you, they'd see your tits and cheek pressed against it. His fingers would wrap themselves around your neck and push your head back as he pounds into you. He'd make you arch your back so much that even in that position, he'd still see you, even upside down, "gonna cum all over me, doll?"

Chat. I am not okay.

⠀

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amourcheol · 4 months ago

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blurring the lines (teaser)

❝Why learn the complexities of desire all by yourself, when your dearest friend can merely teach you?❞

bridgerton! au | friends with benefits! au | smut, fluff | approx. 30k words (1.6k words for teaser)

s u m m a r y : you think you know everything about your best friend, dashing bachelor joshua hong. when you stumble upon his suggestive literature from his recent travels, however, reading even an extract is enough to make you question everything. unsure of your newfound feelings, you turn to your confidante, unaware of just how much knowledge—and experience—he has to offer.

c o n t e n t : best friend! joshua, best friend! soonyoung too, references of real erotic literature from the 1700s because this is not an amourcheol fic without historical accuracy, references of other members, lady whistledown will be present, soonyoung is the real mvp in this fic, shua acts like a man </3 mature warnings -> tons of sexual tension, making out, fingering, oral (f. receiving), unprotected sex (regency protection is goofy mb), mc experiences crazy overstimulation, corruption kink (!!!), more tba

a u t h o r ' s n o t e : bonjour hola bridgerton s4 sneak peak dropped which means i ofc had to drop a sneak peak of my own !! even tho i am over a week late !! send an ask if you wish to be tagged! hope you enjoy the teaser ;)

playlist | series masterlist | main masterlist

"WHERE DID YOU FIND THIS?"

Involuntarily your eyes flickered to the table, and he followed, turning his head to the study, which he noticed immediately was tidied—tampered with. "You went through my things?”

“I did not mean to!” you exclaimed, gaping at his sudden charge towards the desk, you hot at his heels. “I just thought it looked like a mess, so I tried cleaning it—”

“You are not a servant,” he cut off, darting over the new order of his account books, as well as the fiction which you had assembled. “You are not required to look after me like that.”

“I know, but—”

“And sneaking out with my possessions? Without my permission?” He smacked the book on the table, making you flinch. “I thought you better than that.”

You were better than that—well, at least until tonight. You ransacked your mind for an excuse, any form of escape, except your words were absolutely pathetic. “You have never minded me reading your novels before,” you attempted. “In fact, you encouraged me to scour your shelves.”

He looked at the book again—a moment too long—and went back to set a slight glare upon you. “Well, my journal is not a trivial novel. It was private…not meant for you.”

You knew that. What did not settle well, though, was that your dearest friend, who had shared his every worry, his every confession to you, had been doing things you had no inkling of, things that incited such…extraordinary feelings from you.

You had to know what more lay in those pages—and why you had felt the way you felt in those pages which your eyes did scour. “I read it.”

His glare faltered. “How much?”

That question was answered with another. “What was it, Joshua?” You stepped forward, a timid gesture, so you could catch a look at the hardback again. “I…I read some pages, and…what was she doing?”

His hand on his journal pushed it back. “I do not know.”

“Liar,” you got out, and he pursed his lips. You knew him irritatingly well. “You are keeping things from me.”

“It is not keeping things from you,” he countered, frustration rising in his voice. “It is…protecting you from those…things.”

“Tell me what those things are, Joshua,” you demanded, quietly but not softly. “It has rattled you enough. That has never happened to you.”

But he was silent. Eerily quiet, merely the rustle of his clothes, the soft thunk of his novella settled back with the French novels which raised your suspicions. A boundary made—a rejection established.

Perhaps you would have respected it in another lifetime—in a world where you had not indulged your curiosity, set your eyes upon entities which were not for you to explore. Perhaps you would have respected it even if Joshua had offered to enlighten you—maybe blushed and ran away, and vowed never to look through his possessions again.

The writings had rattled you, though, more than he realised. Social etiquette—good common sense would have expected you to respect his opinion, opinions of society, and drop the subject.

Joshua Hong, however, was your greatest friend. No societal expectation could change that.

So you opted to push the limits. Refuse the silence to be the end of this matter.

“I read enough, you know. To feel…” A pause. “I cannot even describe to you how I felt, because I have never felt that way before.” You tried to find the right words, a single confession out of order and he would stop listening—or so you thought. “There was an extract you wrote, Joshua, which had certain…descriptions…” Burning. Pleasure. Naked. Fire. Ecstasy. “There was a girl who was doing something. I am unsure what she was doing specifically, but…what she felt watching them…”

A soft exhale released from you, and almost instinctively Joshua released his own breath. “I think I…um, I think I felt a remnant of it.”

He blurted out, barely a whisper, “You what?”

You looked at him—barely managed a nod. “I do not…don’t even know what she was doing with her fingers—” Joshua’s sudden coughing interrupted you, holding a fist to his lips to stop himself—“But whatever it was…I want to know what it was.”

You watched the man stay deathly still, yet the emotions racing behind his face were certain. Not only were you rattled, but had passed this strange sensation to him. Had he never felt it before? You wondered, surprised by the similarity of his reaction to yours.

He then responded to you, and you realised your mistake. “You cannot.”

Another boundary. Another opportunity to cross it. “Why?” This time, you stepped closer to him. “Why can I not know?” He was silent once more, and this time, you would not accept it. “Why are you hiding from me?”

“Because you are a lady!” he finally cut out, an agitated sigh coming straight after. “You are not to know such…such material.”

A lady…that you were aware of, but that still did not answer the question. Joshua watched, Joshua did whatever he had done to a lady. The answer was not good enough.

Judging by the increasing agitation in your friend’s countenance, he knew it too. It was at that point, though, when you truly noticed his harsh sighs, the tight fists—one at his mouth now trudging to the table, and the other secured at his hip—figure rigid. How affected he was by your questioning.

As if he mirrored the same sensations as you experienced.

“Is it…” You pursed your lips. “Is it because you were feeling them too?”

A blink back—the only recognition of shock. You held onto this, continuing, “Tell me the truth, Joshua. You said yourself, no? That a lady cannot know, but you did not say a gentleman cannot either. You were feeling it too, were you not?”

His eyes were widening with your every word, and he stepped back, almost as if to run away. You did not need an answer from him now—it was abundantly clear that he had undergone such passions, as if it was not certain as you read it. There was only one question left in your arsenal now.

Joshua could have collapsed to the study floor. He heard the questions, and suddenly all he could do was gape at you. The determined curiosity in your eyes, the resolute stature of your body, closer than he last remembered. Oh, he would die before answering such a thing to you. He could not. He could not.

“_____, it is late,” he began after a long time. The slight hope on your face leaving instinctively dampened his spirits. “It is already rash that you came here without a chaperone and I refuse to let you become the centre of ill conversation.”

And there it was. The supposed end.

You did not realise how disappointed you were until you found your voice again, much graver than you expected. “So that is how it will be.”

Fine. If your best friend would not entrust you with such information, you would find the next person who would not be so apprehensive. A fortunate situation that you already had a man in mind.

As you turned on your heel, you heard him ask, “Where are you going?”

You did not stop your walk away, looking over your shoulder as you retorted, “To Soonyoung. At least he will be honest with me, if you choose not to be.”

He must have said something, but you did not deign to hear, only looking to the door, which was slightly ajar. You held your hand out, ready to open it further.

Another force—another hand, larger than yours, slammed the door shut, jumping you out of your skin. Quickly you swivelled to see Joshua, breathing slightly uneven as his hand stayed right beside your head, resting against the wood. “Good God,” you got out, “What was that for?”

“You cannot go to Soonyoung,” he said instead, gaze frantic.

You furrowed your brows. “Why?”

He frowned. He could tell from your irritation that you assumed it was jealousy, a worse morphing of cowardice. It was not jealousy—nothing like that. Soonyoung was like a brother to him, and he knew that if there was anyone else you could have gone to without eliciting scandal, then it was that eccentric. He would explain everything to his friend, and be done with it without furthering his own curiosity.

With that in mind, he would also tell you everything. Joshua was aware that there were skeletons in the closet of such matters, and your door was already slightly ajar. Should you go to Soonyoung to seek counsel, he would break down the doors, and suffocate you with the bones of such sensitive information.

What you asked was no normal feat. What you asked was sensitive. Precious. Soonyoung was trustworthy, but he was not careful.

Joshua, on the other hand, was careful. Very careful, if he thought so himself.

“He would not…explain it properly,” he offered instead.

“At least he will explain it,” you countered, twisting your mouth. “I’d rather something than nothing at all.”

His brows knitted together, desperation rising. “You have to understand me, _____.”

“Not after this.” You tried to avert his gaze, but his eyes—for the very first time—were incredibly hard to ignore. “Let me out the door.”

His reply, although perturbed, was clear. “I cannot.”

“Then tell me, Joshua,” you demanded. “Tell me what she was doing.”

He should have stayed silent forever. What he should have done—as a gentleman, as you yourself had deemed him—was keep his mouth shut.

A semblance of his sanity slipped once he uttered the fated words.

“She was touching herself.”

s e r i e s t a g l i s t : @hyuckworld @smiileflower @ourkivee @alyssa19123456 @xylatox @lexyraeworld @fancypeacepersona @tjjth @zezedoesshit @ochidize @sankriin @okiedokrie-main @reiofsuns2001 @gyuguys @livixxn @livelaughloveseventeen @peepeepoopooharrie @shinaely @uhdrienne @maple249

#seventeen imagines #seventeen smut #joshua hong imagines #joshua hong smut #seventeen scenarios #svt imagines #svt smut #svt x reader #seventeen x reader #joshua hong x reader #svt scenarios #seventeen hard hours #joshua imagines #joshua smut #joshua hong #joshua x reader

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theballadofharkness · 2 months ago

Text

Mine to Manage (1/2)

Pairing: Maya Mason x fem!reader

Summary: At Continental Studios, power is currency and chemistry is collateral damage. You’re the sharp-tongued horror exec with a red-lip reputation and no patience for games. Maya Mason is the dangerously charming head of marketing with a Rolodex full of directors and a closet full of designer chaos. You were supposed to be keeping your relationship quiet, but when flirtation becomes a business strategy and jealousy starts bleeding through the seams, secrecy stops feeling smart.

Word Count: 9.5K

Warnings: explicit smut so as always MDNI

A/N: sorry to my babies who were anticipating this fic on Wednesday but I hope nearly 20K words and some filth will make up for it xo turns out tumblr has a word limit and I exceeded it so here is part 1! 💜🪻

You wake up to the sound of Maya’s espresso machine roaring like it’s been wronged. Something by Portishead plays low through the Bluetooth speaker. The sheets are still warm where she was, tangled around your legs. Her Gucci t-shirt slips off one shoulder as you stretch.

It’s quiet in that golden kind of way that only happens in the hours before LA decides to start screaming.

You pad barefoot into the kitchen.

Maya’s at the counter, back turned, hair clipped up in a lopsided twist. She’s in branded Fenty sweatpants and a tiny cropped Prada tee that reveals a sliver of toned stomach and one tattoo you’re still not sure you’re supposed to know about. She’s arguing with her milk frother.

“You either froth or you die,” she mutters, shaking it like it’s personally offended her.

You lean against the doorframe. “You threatening your appliances again?”

She glances over her shoulder and grins. “Only the ones with attitudes.”

Maya pours you a mug without asking, oat milk, one sugar, just how you like it, and passes it to you in a cracked old Continental Studios mug from the Vampire Western she’d marketed a couple of years ago.

You take a sip. She leans in and kisses your cheek like it’s nothing.

Back in her bedroom, you curl up in the rumpled sheets with your coffee while she opens the doors to her closet. It’s chaos, half runway archive, half sportswear drop. Balenciaga, Gucci, Stüssy, Diesel. A soft avalanche of logos and weird textures.

She yanks a pair of parachute trousers off a hanger, throws them onto the bed, and starts layering.

Oversized YSL denim. Pile of chains. A tank top that might technically be lingerie. Ridiculous platform sneakers you’re sure you’d break an ankle attempting to walk down a slight of stairs.

You just watch, quietly sipping, legs pulled up to your chest in her Gucci shirt that is still hanging off you like an afterthought. Maya catches your reflection in the mirror, your messy hair, your bare thighs, the way you’re watching her like she’s a sunrise you don’t want to end.

“You’re staring,” she says, smirking as she stacks rings onto her fingers like armor.

“You’re putting on six brands before 9 a.m. It’s a little hypnotic.”

“This is what it takes to look ‘naturally iconic.’” She spins slowly, arms out. “Too much?”

“Never,” you murmur. “You look like a streetwear goddess and a sex scandal rolled into one.”

She walks over to you, leans down and kisses you slowly, careful like she’s trying to memorize your mouth. Then she pulls back just a little, fingertips brushing your jaw.

“I love-” she starts, too fast, too soft.

She freezes. You freeze.

Silence.

Then she lets out a breathy laugh and redirects like a pro, “-that you wear my t-shirts like they’re not couture.”

You blink once. Sip your coffee again. Say nothing. But you felt it, and she knows you did.

Maya clears her throat and grabs her bag. “You coming in with me or sneaking in the back entrance again like a disgraced intern?”

You roll your eyes. “You wish I was disgraced.”

She winks at you on her way out. “Get dressed, goth girl. Sal’s already texting me memes about ‘soul-devouring time travel scripts.’ He says that’s your fault.”

“It is,” you call after her. “And it’s gonna make us millions.”

The door shuts. You’re left alone with your cooling coffee, her t-shirt hanging off your frame, and the ghost of something she almost said.

You’re not in love.

Not officially.

But it’s close.

Close enough to hurt, once the day gets going.

Maya’s car smells like the inside of a well-funded record store, full of incense, leather, and some limited-edition air freshener shaped like a blunt. You’re in the passenger seat, legs crossed, sipping the iced matcha she insisted on stopping for even though you were already late.

The studio building looms ahead, a sharp grid of glass and clean lines, sun already bouncing off the steel letters above the entrance. CONTINENTAL. It’s glossy. Cold. Unforgiving. And this part, the sitting in the car five minutes before walking in separately, always makes you feel small.

You check your phone again, already half reading emails, but mostly just waiting for the moment where you’ll have to go.

Maya taps her manicured fingers against the wheel, rings clicking lightly.

“You know I don’t like this,” you say quietly.

“I know.” You glance over. She’s got her big sunglasses on, hiding whatever flicker’s in her eyes.

“You could park and we could walk in together,” you offer, not for the first time.

She doesn’t look at you. “Not with Patty gone.”

There it is again, the unspoken weight of it.

Patty Leigh, queen of organized dysfunction and your lowkey protector, was ousted six weeks ago. Matt took over. You like Matt. You trust him, mostly. But Maya? Maya’s been burned before. And she’s not about to let her career get caught in the gossip fire.

“If someone finds out,” Maya says, finally meeting your gaze, “it becomes a conversation. And if that conversation makes it to HR, I’m a conflict of interest in every room we share. I’ve worked too long to be sidelined because I sleep with someone smarter than me.”

You huff a half-laugh. “You really think I’m smarter than you?”

“I think you don’t know how to drive a car but can quote 1930s French horror cinema, so yeah, I do.”

You should be used to it by now. The staggered arrivals. The careful glances. The way you go home to her but spend your workday pretending like you’re just two sharp women with too much power and perfectly normal tension.

But you hate it.

You hate the five-minute wait.

Maya reaches over and rests her hand on your thigh, fingers splayed soft and grounding. “It’s just a little longer. Let the dust settle. Once I’m solid under Matt and Sal stops comparing you to a haunted crow in development meetings…”

You snort. “He says it with love.”

“He says it with fear.”

You look at her again. Her mouth is soft. Lips a little glossy. She’s trying.

So are you.

You take one last sip of your matcha, lean over, and press a kiss to the corner of her mouth, quick, almost chastely, but not enough to be meaningless.

“I’ll go in now,” you murmur, adjusting the strap of your bag. “See you in there.”

Maya watches you go with that unreadable expression she wears like armor.

You step out of the car, shoulders squared, heels clicking on the pavement like punctuation. Behind you, the engine idles. She’ll wait five minutes. She always does.

And then she’ll follow you in, like you’re nothing more than colleagues.

The second you walk in, it’s chaos.

Quinn is pacing in shoes that are far too loud for this early in the morning, waving her tablet like a weapon. Sal’s leaning back in one of the conference chairs with a protein bar in one hand and a smug expression that practically dares her to throw it at him.

“She doesn’t care about press metrics,” Quinn snaps. “She directed an entire film with no dialogue and it still got into Venice. You can’t just wine and dine her like a bro-y showrunner!”

“I’m not wining and dining,” Sal cuts in. “I’m being a human person who respects her enough to have a fucking lunch with her and talk about the movie.”

“Yeah, but your version of lunch involves whiskey and quoting Heat until people give up and agree with you.”

Matt, seated at the head of the table, looks like he’s already aged a decade this morning. He’s flipping through a printout of the director’s past interviews like he’s cramming for a final.

You drop your bag on the table. “Are we courting her or summoning her?” you ask dryly, as you take a seat.

All three of them turn.

Matt visibly relaxes. “Thank God.”

Quinn sighs dramatically. “Please tell Sal that not all female directors want to be flirted with over steak.”

“I’m not flirting. I’m being charismatic. It’s called being likable.” He snaps back.

You fix Sal with a look. “Your version of likable is describing blood spatter in the first five minutes.”

Sal shrugs. “You like that.”

“I’m emotionally stunted.”

Quinn snorts. Matt hides a smile behind his hand. The tension breaks just a little, your presence has always been good at that.

Matt pushes the director dossier toward you. “She’s brilliant. And prickly. And this project means a lot to her. She doesn’t want to feel like she’s being handled.”

“Then don’t handle her,” you say, skimming the notes. “Offer her the resources. The vision. Make her feel like she’s not being pulled into a machine that’ll strip her film down to ‘marketable trauma.’”

Matt nods. “Exactly.”

Sal mutters, “That’s literally what we do, though.”

And that’s when the door opens.

Maya steps in like the scene’s been waiting for her. She’s late. She knows it. She’s unbothered.

The air changes.

Even Quinn, who’s rarely starstruck, straightens up a little.

“Morning, bitches,” Maya says, tossing her phone onto the table and sliding into the chair next to yours like she owns the room, and you. “What’s the damage?”

“You’re late,” Sal says.

“I’m perfect,” she replies.

Her hand brushes against your knee under the table. No one sees it. No one’s supposed to.

Matt hands her the dossier. “We’re locking in the final pitch strategy for the Hartley project. Meeting with her at eleven.”

Maya flips it open. Glances at the headshot. Tilts her head. “She’s hot,” she says bluntly. “Sharp cheekbones. Complicated personal history. Probably listens to fuckin Joni Mitchell.”

Quinn groans. “Can we not focus on her cheekbones?”

“We’re not,” Maya replies, already tapping through something on her phone. “We’re focusing on her ego. Which lives somewhere around her jawline and her last Sundance standing ovation.”

She looks up and meets your eyes, just briefly. It’s like watching her slip into costume, the Maya Mason who owns every room, who says the quiet part out loud and makes it sound like gospel.

You love her like this.

You hate her like this.

Because you know what happens when someone like that walks into a meeting. And you have no idea yet just how bad it’s going to get.

The conference room is gleaming and too bright, all glass and polished surfaces. There’s something cold about the air as the espresso machine in the corner hums and someone thoughtfully lays out a spread of croissants and berries you know no one’s going to touch.

You sit at the long table next to Quinn, your notepad open, though your pen hasn’t moved since you sat down. Sal’s across from you, already relaxed into his seat like he’s at brunch despite his eye twitching anxiously, while Matt flips through a meticulously organized pitch packet. He’s trying to look cool, nonchalant, but you can tell he’s buzzing.

At the far end of the table, Olivia Hartley crosses one leg over the other, her rings clinking against the water glass as she sets it down. She’s calm. Curious. Predatory in that quiet, magnetic way that successful directors seem to radiate.

She’s not playing hard to get. She just knows she’s the one being chased.

Matt clears his throat. “First off… just want to say how much we love this script. What you’ve built here, the emotional structure under the genre, it’s rare. You’ve got atmosphere, but also teeth.”

Olivia offers a polite smile. “Thank you. That’s the goal.”

Sal leans forward, fingers steepled. “We’re not here to talk about notes. You don’t need notes. You need a machine that will let you do what you do best, without flattening it for mass appeal. We’re that machine.”

“I don’t really like machines,” Olivia says, swirling her water with her ringed finger.

Quinn jumps in smoothly. “This one’s more like an organism. Mutates to fit the vision. Bites when necessary. Like your short film Venus traps!”

That earns a laugh from Olivia, a quiet one, but real.

You cut in, steady and direct. “You’ll have creative control. Minimal input, if any. We’re not looking to sand it down. Our approach is: let the auteur lead, and we follow. If you want the darkness, you keep the darkness. If you want the tenderness, we amplify it.”

Olivia tilts her head at you, interested. “You’re the horror person, right?”

You nod. “Been developing genre projects for the last six years. I’ve fought more battles about blood volume than people fight in custody court.”

Sal snorts.

Matt adds, “Y/N’s the reason the Harkness House slate is still alive. She knows what works and what sells. She’s also the one who told us we’d be fools not to pursue you.”

Olivia’s eyes settle on you for a beat, sharp and observant. “Well. Good taste.”

You nod, but don’t smile.

And then she walks in.

Maya enters like it’s her pitch meeting. Like she’s been here all along. She’s late, unapologetically. Her oversized bomber jacket is hanging open over a cropped Diesel tee and camo pants that cling perfectly. Designer sneakers. Messy-styled hair. Her statement sunglasses are clutched in her hand, not on her face, she wants you to see her eyes when she says something lethal.

She doesn’t sit next to you. She never does in front of the team. She takes the seat directly across the table next to Olivia.

“Apologies,” Maya says, sliding her tablet out of her tote. “Had to run damage control on a filmmaker who thinks limited theatrical means punishment.”

Olivia perks up instantly. “Sounds familiar.”

You clock the moment she notices Maya, it’s unmistakable. The smile isn’t just professional. It’s interested. Slow, assessing.

“And you are?” Olivia asks, like she doesn’t already know.

“Maya Mason,” she says, extending a hand, jewelry glinting. “Head of marketing.”

Olivia shakes it. “Of course. The branding sorceress.”

Maya smiles, a small, dangerous smile. “Flattery works best when paired with vision.”

Matt jumps in again, grateful for the new energy. “Maya’s here to walk you through our rollout concept. How we’d position the film, from festival debut to wide release.”

Maya taps her screen. “Look, we’re not selling this as ‘the female version of’ anything. No lazy comps. No ‘elevated horror’ buzzword bullshit. We position it as what it is: singular, evocative, uncomfortable. The kind of film that gets a standing ovation and a thinkpiece war on Twitter.”

Olivia leans in slightly. “You really believe that?”

“I wouldn’t be in this room if I didn’t.”

“And would you be… involved? Directly?”

Maya doesn’t even blink. “Every step.”

The silence hums. Olivia’s smile deepens. “I like collaborators who aren’t afraid of sharp edges.”

Maya cocks her head. “Good thing I’m not afraid.”

Your throat goes dry.

You glance around, but no one else seems fazed. Matt is nodding along, Sal’s looking at the slide deck, Quinn’s updating notes on her iPad. No one is watching Olivia look at Maya like she wants to devour her.

And Maya… Maya is doing what she always does. She’s unshakeable. Smirking. Charming. But you can see the subtle tilt of her shoulders, the way her voice drops when she says Olivia’s name again while referencing the visual strategy:

“And when we roll out the first teaser, it’s not about the plot. It’s about fuckin mood. A single shot. Tension. And your name, dead center. That’s the sell. Your name becomes the genre.”

Olivia actually hums. “You say that like you’ve done this before.”

“I have.”

“And like you’ve had success with women like me before.”

You freeze.

Maya smiles, unbothered. “Women like you tend to know what they want.”

“And you don’t mind being… persuasive?”

It’s so direct it borders on inappropriate.

You feel the flare of jealousy like a sudden fever behind your ribs.

Maya glances across the table, right at you, for the first time since the meeting began. It’s fleeting. But you catch it. And then she looks back at Olivia, still cool. Still casual.

“I’m persuasive when it matters,” she says. “And I only pitch what I believe in.”

“Well,” Olivia says, reclining back into her chair. “I believe I’m intrigued.”

Olivia stands once the meeting comes to a close, sliding her sunglasses on with a quiet, amused little smile. “Well. I certainly have a lot to think about.”

Matt rises halfway out of his chair, polite but tense. “Of course. Take your time. If there’s anything you need-”

“I’ll be in touch,” she cuts Matt off smoothly, her eyes flicking one last time to Maya. “Very in touch.”

Maya just nods, calm as ever. “Looking forward to it.”

You feel it in your teeth.

The door shuts behind her and it’s like someone cuts the air. Everyone exhales at once.

Matt immediately runs a hand through his hair. “Okay, that was… good, right? I think that went well.”

“Went well?” Sal barks a laugh. “She’s circling us like a shark in a Gucci blazer. She’s weighing the offers. You saw the trades this morning, Warner��s throwing her a budget the size of fucking Sweden.”

“She hasn’t signed with anyone yet,” Quinn says, tapping her screen. “She’s still listening. That’s something.”

Matt’s pacing now. “We need a strategy. We need to lock this before the next meeting. She’s our shot at breaking out of prestige-adjacent and into legit award territory. What do we do to seal this?”

Sal leans back in his chair, arms crossed, smug as hell.

“Isn’t it obvious?”

You feel it coming before he says it. You brace anyway.

“We have a secret weapon,” Sal says, jerking his thumb toward Maya. “Mason. She was flirting up a storm.”

You roll your eyes so hard it nearly gives you a migraine. “I’m sure HR has rules against pimping out our staff.”

Sal holds up his hands. “Jesus, I’m not saying she sleeps with her. I’m saying we use what I like to call the Mason charm offensive. She’s obviously into her. It’d be dumb not to use that.”

Quinn doesn’t even look up. “It was kind of obvious.”

Matt nods, still in go-mode. “Yeah. Maya, you looked amazing. You could wear that dress you wore to Charlize Theron’s party last month—”

You snap. “I thought we were focused on making a movie, not her crotch.”

The room goes dead silent.

Sal blinks. Quinn freezes. Matt physically recoils like someone pulled the emergency brake on his brain. Maya’s still sitting calmly at the table. She hasn’t looked at you once.

Yet.

You feel the heat in your cheeks, the throb in your throat, the stupid sting behind your eyes you refuse to let become anything more than fury.

Matt clears his throat. “No one’s… saying anything inappropriate. We’re just… trying to be strategic.”

“Right,” you say, tone flat as a morgue drawer. “Because strategy means leaning on sex appeal when creative vision isn’t enough.”

You push back your chair and stand. Too quickly.

Maya finally speaks. Her voice is calm. Even. “You think I crossed a line?”

You meet her eyes. Finally. And you wish you hadn’t. Because there’s something there — not guilt, not shame. Just quiet fire.

You don’t answer.

Instead, you grab your notepad and leave the room without another word.

You’re halfway through a cigarette you weren’t supposed to start again.

A film crew’s setting up across the pavement, a dolly track is being laid, extras are loitering in background-costume purgatory. Someone’s shouting about eyelines. Someone else is laughing way too hard for how little sleep they probably got.

It should be inspiring. The heartbeat of the industry. All that buzz.

But all you feel is static.

You take another drag and exhale like you’re trying to exorcise something.

Footsteps crunch behind you. “Didn’t know you smoked.”

You don’t turn around. “Didn’t know you cared,” you say.

Quinn steps up beside you anyway, arms folded, tablet still in hand. Her heels are too nice for asphalt and she smells faintly of lavender and unspoken ambition.

“I don’t,” she says lightly. “But I noticed you turned purple in there before storming out like a Victorian widow in a horror. So here I am.”

You glance at her. “I’m not doing this right now.”

“I think you already did it,” she says, unbothered. “Just figured I’d check if you were about to punch a hole in a studio wall or cry in craft services.”

You scoff. “Neither. I’m just getting some air.”

“Right. And nicotine.”

You take another drag. There is silence for a beat. The faint sound of someone yelling “ROLLING” across the lot.

Then Quinn, more gently, asks “you know she was just doing her job, right?”

You don’t answer.

“You think I haven’t seen Maya pitch before? She could sell blood to a vampire. That doesn’t mean she wants to sleep with one.”

You flick ash onto the pavement. “She didn’t have to go that hard.”

“She always goes that hard,” Quinn replies. “It’s why she’s Maya Mason.”

You grind your teeth. “Sal wants her to flirt. Matt wants her to wear a dress. No one’s talking about the film anymore. Just what Maya can offer her.”

“And you don’t like that?”

You finally turn to look at Quinn, jaw tight. “I don’t like watching people turn the person I care about into a marketing asset.”

There. You said it. A little too much.

Quinn’s eyes narrow slightly. “…You care about her?”

You inhale sharply. Don’t respond. Just exhale the smoke like that’ll take the confession with it.

But Quinn’s already got the puzzle mostly assembled. “I thought you two just had matching power-lesbian energy,” she says softly. “But… okay. That tracks.”

You glance away. “She doesn’t want anyone to know,” you say. “She thinks it’ll compromise her position with Matt. That HR will freak. That she’ll lose the authority she’s fought to build.”

Quinn’s quiet. “She’s not wrong,” she admits. “This place has eaten women for less.”

You nod.

Another silence. Somewhere nearby, a PA yells “CUT!” and a director groans.

Then Quinn adds, “Still doesn’t mean it didn’t suck to watch.”

You finally allow a small, bitter smile. “Yeah. It really fucking sucked.”

She bumps your shoulder, just a little. “Don’t burn the whole studio down over it, though.”

“No promises.”

Your office is dim. The blinds are half-closed. You’ve turned off the overheads and let the desk lamp cast everything in low, amber light, like a noir set built for one.

You’ve been staring at the same production breakdown spreadsheet for twenty minutes, making notes in the margins like you’re rewriting the Bible. None of it matters. Not right now.

But at least it’s something you can control.

Your phone buzzes again. You don’t look at it. Instead, you scroll down to the distribution budget line and adjust a figure by $2,500. Just to feel like you’ve done something.

Another buzz. You finally glance.

<Maya: You still mad?>

You ignore it.

Click into an email draft. Something about an indie sound designer’s availability for October. You start typing a message that doesn’t need to be written this second. Or even today.

<Maya: Okay. You’re working. I get it. You’re mad and goth and in control and unbothered. I support it.>

The corner of your mouth twitches but you don’t respond.

You highlight a paragraph about licensing clearances. Rewrite it. Delete it. Rewrite it again.

<Maya: I didn’t mean for that to happen like it did. I was doing what I always do. You know that.>

You do.

That’s the problem.

Another ping.

<Maya: Talk to me when you’re done pretending this doesn’t bother you.>

You lock your phone and slide it face-down on your desk. It’s not that you don’t want to talk to her. It’s that you’re afraid of what you’ll say if you do.

You stare at your screen. Your cursor blinks, waiting.

Outside your door, the studio hums on with muffled voices, distant phones, and the occasional laugh from someone who isn’t standing on emotional thin ice.

You click into a calendar invite. Add another fake meeting to your schedule.

Busy.

That’s all you can be right now.

The sky outside the glass walls has gone dusky blue, that dead time between day and night when LA starts to hum again with restaurants opening, headlights flickering on, and everyone scrambling to be somewhere.

Inside, the conference room is a pressure cooker.

Matt’s on edge, bouncing a pen against his knee. Sal’s pacing like he’s trying to wear a groove into the carpet. Quinn’s quiet, but alert, like she’s already taking mental notes for a postmortem email she’ll send at 2am.

Patty’s back, seated with a drink in hand like she never truly left the place, just allowed it to implode without her for a little while.

And Maya?

Maya’s sitting across from you, effortlessly cool in her bomber and a white tank that rides just a little too high on her ribs. Like she is casual. And she keeps glancing at you. Small things. Quick looks. A flick of her eyes that lingers half a second too long. But you won’t meet her gaze. Because you can’t look at her and pretend she’s just some colleague, some flirtatious closer-for-hire.

She might be able to play that game.

You can’t.

Matt finally breaks the silence. “Okay. Tomorrow is it. Our final pitch. Olivia meets with Warner this evening. If we don’t land her, we lose this whole project.”

“She wants resources,” Quinn says, swiping through notes. “They can offer more. All we have is the pitch and the promise we won’t ruin it.”

“And Maya,” Sal adds, like it’s obvious. “We have Maya.”

Maya raises a brow. “We do.”

“You saw how she looked at you,” Sal continues, grinning like this is all very fun. “You’ve got her attention. You turn it up a notch, seal the deal.”

You see Maya’s smile stretch wide and easy. “Fuck it, okay.” She doesn’t flinch. Doesn’t hesitate. Doesn’t care.

“Seriously?” Quinn asks, surprised.

Maya shrugs. “People flirt. It’s not illegal. It’s leverage. And we fucking need this.” She says it like it’s just common sense. Like she’s explaining taxes or how to jump a car.

You feel your stomach twist.

Matt, trying to be earnest, adds “it’s not about asking anyone to cross a line. Just… use what you’ve got. You’re good at it.”

Sal laughs. “I mean, c’mon. If I got a shot at a Marvel movie, I’d blow Anthony Mackie and thank him for the privilege.”

You blink.

Slowly.

“…What?”

Even Quinn pauses, lips parted in stunned confusion.

Patty, seated near the back of the room, swirling the last of a drink she definitely didn’t clear with security, raises one eyebrow. “Honestly? Not even surprised.”

“I’m just saying,” Sal shrugs.

“Yeah,” you say, voice like steel. “And if what you’ve got is a functioning marketing department, maybe try using that.”

Patty sighs, setting down her glass. “I hate to say it, but he’s not wrong. If Maya’s angle is what gets us across the finish line, then… it’s a safe bet.”

Sal, undeterred, adds “I’m just saying. Sometimes you gotta hustle.”

“I’m not offended,” Maya says, smirking. “I’ve flirted for worse reasons. I once got a VFX delay approved by making eye contact and licking the frosting off a cupcake.”

She says it like she’s proud. Like she’s amused. And maybe she is. It’s not personal to her. But it is to you. You’re still staring at the table. Still biting your tongue. Still trying to decide if you want to scream or cry or laugh in someone’s face.

Maya’s watching you now. Not glancing. Watching. “Y/N,” she says gently. “It’s not a big deal.”

And maybe it isn’t. To her. But it is to you.

You stand, slow and careful, the tension in your shoulders so taut it’s making your bones ache.

“Well,” you say, tone like glass. “Now that we’ve established ethics are optional and seduction’s a marketing strategy, can I go?”

“Y/N… ” Matt starts, but you cut him off with a smile that doesn’t touch your eyes.

“I’m fine with it. We’re in survival mode, right? Fuck nuance. Fuck professionalism. Whatever works.”

“Don’t be like that,” Sal mutters with an eye roll.

“No, I’m being practical. Isn’t that what we’re all doing?” You sling your bag over your shoulder, still not looking at Maya.

“Anyway, I’ve got a late lunch-slash-dinner with the exec producer of the cannibal project. We’re negotiating how much cannibalism is too much.”

Quinn, still recovering from the tension, pipes up. “Wait… how much is too much cannibalism?”

You pause at the door. Finally glance over your shoulder with a tight smile. “Oh, honey. There’s really no such thing.”

You walk out.

You don’t look back.

You don’t see the way Maya’s smile fades, how her fingers stop drumming on the table.

How she suddenly looks less smug and a little more like someone who’s just realized they might’ve played the wrong hand and lost more than they thought.

The air outside is cooler now, the light fading fast. Studio golf carts hum in the distance. Somewhere, a clapperboard snaps, another project rolling, another director who doesn’t make you feel like this.

You’re already halfway to the curb, bag slung over your shoulder, eyes fixed on the far end of the lot where the studio gate opens to the street.

Behind you, you hear footsteps. Familiar ones.

“Hey!”

You don’t slow. You don’t turn.

Maya catches up in two long strides, her voice sliding into that playful, practiced ease.

“So,” she says, like you’re still okay, like nothing’s wrong, “you wanna grab Thai and crash at mine? I’ve got that weird Turkish found-footage movie queued up, and I swear I won’t complain about the subtitles this time.”

You keep walking.

She tilts her head toward you, still smiling like this is a bit. “Or we could do Carrie again. You love watching her snap.”

You turn to her, calm. Cold. Detached. “I’m not coming over tonight.”

She frowns. “Wait, what?”

“I’ve got work. Projects to finalize. Schedules to lock.”

Her smile falters. Just a flicker. “So… what, you’re seriously not coming back with me?”

You shrug. “Not tonight.”

Maya stares. “Y/N. Come on. You drove with me.”

You nod, stepping toward the curb. “I’ll grab a cab.”

She’s quiet for half a second, just half. Then, sharper: “Because of what? The meeting?”

You don’t look at her. “Because I have work.”

“Jesus, it wasn’t personal. It was business. That’s what I do. I close. I get the win. You know that.”

You turn slowly, deliberately. You look her dead in the eye and smile. But it doesn’t reach anything soft. “Exactly,” you say. “And now I’m doing the same.”

She opens her mouth, but nothing comes out fast enough.

You step off the curb.

The cab door opens and look back at her once, just once, as you slide inside.

“It’s not personal, Maya. It’s business.” Then the door shuts and she’s left standing there, watching the car drive away.

The wine is already open within seconds of being home. You didn’t even bother with a glass, you just uncorked the bottle like a woman with intentions, grabbed a pint of ice cream from the freezer, and collapsed onto your couch with the kind of energy that screams, “I’m not spiraling, you are.”

Your laptop is balanced on your knees, casting flickering shadows across the living room as some grainy, overexposed Mario Bava deep cut plays. La Maschera del Demonio, maybe, or The Whip and the Body. Something bleak and gothic with slow tracking shots and thunder that never sounds quite real.

A black-clad woman is wailing in Italian. A man in a cape appears from behind a curtain and stares into the camera like he knows what you’ve done.

You take a swig of wine. Then a spoonful of ice cream. You’re totally fine.

You’re totally, completely fine.

You pause the film. Rewind twenty seconds. Rewatch the scene where the doomed heroine runs down a hallway lined with candles, breathless and wide-eyed and absolutely unaware of the masked figure stalking her from the shadows.

You mutter under your breath. “She deserves better.”

Another sip. Another bite. Another dramatic scream from the screen as you turn the volume up, drowning out the silence.

Your phone buzzes on the armrest beside you.

You glance at it.

<Maya: What’s the movie tonight?>

You stare at the message for a second. Then flip the phone face down again. You rewind the scene again and press play. Because you are not texting her back. You are not going to be the one who breaks.

You are a professional. You are a horror executive. You are a totally emotionally adjusted woman who definitely isn’t crying during black-and-white Italian horror and finishing a bottle of red wine alone on a Thursday night.

The screen flickers. The heroine screams again.

You raise your spoon to toast her. “To us, babe.”

And take another bite.

The movie is at its climax, strings are shrieking, lightning is cracking, and some tormented baroness shrieks as she runs through a crumbling monastery with wind machines going full throttle. There is fog everywhere. Candles begin exploding. Your wine bottle’s two-thirds empty. The ice cream has melted to soup in your lap.

You’re leaning forward on the couch, eyes wide, totally immersed, spoon hovering mid-air.

The killer is right behind her. You know it. She doesn’t. She’s crying. There’s thunder. The scream on screen hits its peak, piercing, orchestral, just as there’s a sudden, urgent knock on your front door.

BANG. BANG. BANG.

You scream. Loud. Guttural. The ice cream bowl launches out of your lap in a sticky arc, smacking your chest and dumping half-melted salted caramel across your dress. You nearly knock over the wine trying to stand up, heart thundering like you’re the one being chased through a crumbling cathedral.

Another knock, softer this time.

“Y/N?”

Your blood chills.

You shuffle toward the door in melted sugar and panic, flinging it open.

And there she is. Maya. Hair messy from the wind, hoodie zipped halfway over her usual chaos-couture, tote bag slung over one shoulder, looking way too calm for someone who just got a bowl of dairy launched in their general direction.

She takes one look at you, flushed, wild-eyed, wine-drunk, caramel-coated, and tilts her head.

“…You good?”

You blink at her. “Are you serious?”

“I knocked,” she says, stepping past you into the apartment like she owns it. “Very politely, I might add. You screamed like you were being murdered.”

“You timed it with a murder scene!”

Maya turns to face you and immediately clocks the full situation. Your dress is clinging to your stomach, ice cream down your chest, mascara smudged slightly from the general humidity of rage and Italian ghosts.

She raises a brow. “You’ve got ice cream on your…”

“I know,” you snap. “Thank you.”

She walks deeper into your apartment, glancing at the movie still playing, the open bottle of red, the half-eaten pint abandoned on the couch. She doesn’t say anything. Just looks.

And then she turns back to you. “Okay,” she says softly. “What’s going on?”

You blink. “I told you. I was working.”

“On what?” she asks. “Your blood alcohol tolerance?”

You huff. Cross your arms. The ice cream squelches again.

Maya takes a step closer. “Why didn’t you just tell me you were hurt?”

“Because it shouldn’t have hurt,” you say. “That’s the problem.”

A beat.

“I know you didn’t do anything wrong. I know it was harmless flirting. I know it was a strategy, okay? But I watched you charm the hell out of her and then laugh about it. Like it meant nothing.”

“Because it didn’t,” Maya says. “Not to me.”

You finally meet her eyes and it’s brutal. “But it meant something to me.”

That lands.

Maya steps forward. Gently this time. No swagger, no performative cool. Just Maya.

She touches your wrist, careful not to get caramel on herself. “I didn’t realize it would feel like that for you. I just… I thought you understood the game.”

You look down. You whisper it more than say it. “I did. I do. I just didn’t think you would play it with me in the room.”

Maya’s quiet for a long beat.

Then she steps back, just slightly, and gestures to the couch. “I’m going to go get a dish towel, and then you’re going to sit down, and we’re going to finish this batshit horror movie while I apologize for being a clueless asshole who doesn’t deserve you.”

You blink. “You brought a tote bag to my apartment.”

She smirks. “I always bring a tote bag. Your apartment has zero good snacks.”

You don’t stop her when she walks into the kitchen. You don’t stop her when she pulls a dish towel off the rack and comes back, crouching in front of you, gently blotting the sticky mess from your dress like she’s done it a hundred times — and maybe she has, in other ways.

You don’t stop her because you’re not ready to forgive her yet.

But you don’t want her to leave, either.

The movie still flickers faintly in the background, all moody strings and crumbling architecture. But neither of you are watching anymore. The wine bottle is nearly empty on the coffee table. The ice cream, long forgotten, has turned into a sticky puddle soaking into a throw blanket.

You shift in your seat and grimace. “I feel disgusting,” you mutter.

Maya, perched next to you with one knee tucked under herself and her hoodie sleeves pushed up to her elbows, smirks just a little. “Yeah, you do smell kinda like cream and emotional instability.”

You roll your eyes, but she catches the corner of your mouth twitching.

There’s a beat. Then you sigh and push yourself off the couch. “I need to shower. I’m basically a sticky wine ghost.”

You don’t expect her to follow.

But she does.

Steam rises slowly, fogging the edges of the mirror, curling against your bare shoulders. You’re under the water, hair soaked, hands resting against the tiled wall as you try to breathe out the day.

You don’t hear the door open.

You only notice when the curtain draws back and Maya slips in behind you naked and unapologetic, her skin already misted with steam.

She doesn’t say anything at first.

Just steps into the water with you.

You turn to face her and suddenly her hands are on you, warm and grounding. She runs her fingers over your waist, your hips, her touch tender, reverent. Her gaze flicks down your body like it’s the first time all over again.

She leans in to kiss your shoulder, your collarbones, then finally captures your lips. And it’s soft. Gentle. Slower than usual, like she’s not trying to pull you under, just hold you here.

“I’m sorry,” she murmurs against your lips.

You blink, water dripping down your cheek. “For what?”

“For not thinking,” she says. Her hands stay on your skin, thumbs stroking lazy circles against your ribs. “I was focused on the pitch. On getting her. I didn’t think about you sitting there. Watching.”

You don’t answer right away.

She presses another kiss to your temple. “I didn’t mean to make you feel like you didn’t matter.”

Her voice is low. Uncharacteristically small.

You reach for the soap and run it over your arms, just for something to do with your hands. “You didn’t make me feel like I didn’t matter. You made me feel like we don’t.”

That stops her dead.

You turn away slightly, facing the water. It cascades over your shoulders, your spine. For a second, you think maybe she won’t say anything. That she’ll back out, or brush it off.

But instead, her arms come around you from behind. She pulls you into her chest, wet skin against wet skin, and holds you like she can keep everything from spilling out.

“I was doing my job,” she says quietly.

“I know.”

“I flirt. I charm. I make things happen.”

“I know.”

She turns you back around and looks you straight in the eye. “But I don’t want to lose you over this.”

You stare at her before whispering gently “Maya… I can’t keep doing this.”

She stills. Eyes wide. Breath caught.

“You’re breaking up with me?” she asks, like it doesn’t compute. “You’re breaking up with me while I’m naked in your shower?”

It’s absurd, it’s laughable, it should be funny. But the look on your face tells her it’s anything but.

Your voice cracks. “No.” You shake your head, and now your eyes are full, not with rage, not with spite. Just ache. “I’m not breaking up with you. I’m just… I can’t keep being your secret.”

She doesn’t breathe.

“I can’t keep pretending we’re nothing. That I’m not yours. That you’re not mine.”

You take a shuddery breath. “I can’t act like I don’t love you.”

Maya’s face shifts like the words knocked the wind out of her.

Water falls steadily between you. The air is thick with heat and steam and silence.

Her hands slide up your waist, over your ribs, and cup your face like she’s holding something precious and fragile.

“You love me?” she whispers, like she doesn’t quite believe it. Like the words knocked the air out of her lungs.

You nod, eyes glistening. “Yeah. Yeah, I do.”

And then she kisses you. Her mouth crushes against yours, hot and desperate, and she crowds you against the tile like she can’t get close enough, like she’s starving for something only you can give her. Her hands slide down your back, over your hips, fingers digging into your skin with quiet hunger.

You moan into her mouth, and it lights a fuse in her.

Maya pulls back just enough to look at you, eyes wild and glassy. “Say it again.”

You swallow. “I love you.”

She kisses you again, biting your bottom lip, hands sliding between your thighs, making you gasp.

“Again,” she growls, lips at your neck now, sucking marks into your skin like she needs proof you belong to her.

“I… Maya!” you gasp, breath catching as her fingers find you, hot and slick under the spray. “I love you.”

“That’s right,” she murmurs, kissing down your collarbone, one hand splayed flat against your belly, holding you steady. “Say it for me.”

She drops to her knees. In the shower. On the tile.

And when she looks up at you, soaked, pupils blown, mouth open, you feel it in your chest, running up your spine, in your very soul.

“Maya…” you whisper, already trembling.

“I want to hear it when I make you fall apart,” she says, voice low and reverent. “Every time.”

And she does. Her mouth finds you, slow and unrelenting, tongue sliding over you as her hands hold your thighs open, firm and commanding. You cry out, shocked at how fast it builds, how full of everything it feels.

“I love you,” you whimper, fingers twisting in her hair.

“Again,” she murmurs against you.

“I love you… God, I- Maya!”

She moans at the sound of it, tongue circling harder, firmer, until your knees buckle and your voice breaks on a sob.

She catches you as you come undone, arms wrapping around your hips as you ride the wave of it, shaking under her mouth, gasping out the words like they’re the only ones left in you.

“I love you, fuck, I love you”

And when it’s over, when you’re sinking down into her arms, hearts pounding in unison under the spray, Maya presses a kiss to your temple.

The steam still clings to the walls as you both step out of the bathroom, wrapped in oversized towels. Your hair is damp, skin flushed, legs a little shaky. Maya guides you gently to the edge of the bed and nudges you to sit.

You do.

She doesn’t say anything right away, just moves in that calm, purposeful Maya way. She takes a smaller towel from your drawer, the one you usually use on your hair, and gently begins patting down your face. Your cheeks. Your nose. Your chin. She’s ridiculously tender with it.

“I love your smile,” she says quietly, not meeting your eyes just yet, towel working gently across your skin. “Even when it’s smug. Especially when it’s smug.”

You blink at her.

She’s serious. She smooths a few strands of wet hair off your forehead, drapes the towel over your shoulders.

“I love that you love those weird foreign horror movies I’ve never heard of,” she says. “But that you’re not too up your own ass about cinema to laugh with me at that diarrhoea zombie movie I worked on last week.”

You laugh, because God, that movie was awful.

She grins, soft and warm, but still a little nervous. “I love how you mouth along with lines from the recent Suspiria, but you still make fun of the lighting like a bitchy lighting designer.”

You shake your head. “It’s bad, Maya.”

“I know, babe. That’s what makes you special.”

She kneels in front of you again, towel bunched in her hands now, voice quieter. “I love touching you,” she says, hands running slowly along your arms. “I love knowing when you’re going to shiver before you do. I love the noises you make when you don’t know you’re making them.”

Your throat tightens.

She exhales. “I love that you never try to change me.”

She finally looks up. Meets your eyes. “I love that you see all the ugly, messy, strategic shit I do… and you still want me.”

You nod, because you do. God help you, you do. And then, finally, like she’s known it all along but just didn’t know how to say it until now, “I love you.”

You don’t speak. You just fall into her, towel sliding, skin to skin again, lips finding hers like gravity’s finally done its job.

And when you pull back, breathless and blinking hard, she smiles, a little lopsided. “Also, for the record,” she murmurs, “you looked really hot covered in ice cream.”

You laugh into her shoulder, and she holds you like she’s never letting go.

The towel around you is barely holding on.

Maya’s eyes are locked on yours like she’s trying to memorize this version of you, flushed, wet, hers.

“I love you,” she says again, voice a little raspier now, lower.

You don’t get a chance to reply before she surges forward and kisses you, deep, open, hungry. Her mouth drags against yours with so much heat it feels like the air might catch fire.

The towel around your body slips loose, pooling around your waist. Maya pulls back just far enough to look down.

“Fuck,” she whispers, reverent.

Then she’s on you, hands sliding up your torso, thumbs brushing the undersides of your breasts, fingers splayed like she’s staking a claim.

“You’re so-” she kisses the base of your throat, “fucking-” your sternum, “perfect.”

You exhale sharply when her mouth finds your nipple, her tongue circling, teasing, before she sucks it between her lips and groans against your skin.

“Maya,” you gasp, back arching into her.

“Lie down.”

The words are firm. Commanding. You obey.

You fall back against the bed and stretch out across the sheets, still damp from the shower, your legs falling open just enough that her gaze drops and her pupils blow wide. She strips her own towel off in one clean motion, crawling up your body like a woman possessed.

Straddling your thigh, she bends to kiss you again, deeper now, her hand already sliding down your stomach. Her fingers trail between your legs, and when she feels how wet you are, she moans your name like it’s a curse and a prayer at once.

“Say it again,” she whispers, stroking you with two fingers, slow and lazy.

You whimper. “Maya…”

“No,” she says, kissing along your jaw. “The other thing.”

You bite your lip. She presses her fingers inside you just enough to make your breath hitch.

“Say it.”

“I love you.”

She presses in deeper.

“Again.”

You cry out , it’s so much, almost too much, her fingers sliding inside you, her mouth at your neck, her free hand cupping your breast as she takes her time.

“I love you,” you gasp again, louder this time, like it’s being pulled straight out of you.

“Fuck, that’s it,” she growls.

She finds a rhythm , slow, hard and unrelenting and watches you unravel beneath her, every moan, every gasp, every whispered “I love you” making her move faster, rougher, until your thighs are shaking and your hands are clawing at the sheets.

“Maya, please…”

She leans down and whispers, “I want you to come saying it.”

And you do.

Your whole body tenses and then breaks, your back arching as you scream it into her mouth, the words tumbling out in a frantic, desperate rush.

“I love you, I love you, fuck, I love you!”

She kisses you through it, holding you down, drawing every last second of it out until you collapse beneath her, gasping, boneless.

But she doesn’t stop.

She shifts lower, kisses her way down your body, lips soft and open as she settles between your thighs like she belongs there, because she does.

“I’m not done,” she murmurs, right before her mouth is on you.

And then?

You forget the studio.

The pitch.

The pain.

You forget your own name.

There’s only Maya, her hands holding you open, her tongue working you like she’s starved, her eyes on you the entire time, like she needs to watch every flicker of pleasure she gives you.

She doesn’t stop until you’ve come once more sobbing her name, fingers in her hair, begging her to slow down. And only then does she crawl back up beside you, flushed and panting, lips swollen, eyes dark.

You can barely breathe.

She curls around you, kisses your temple.“I love you. I’m in love with you.”

You turn your head, meet her eyes, and whisper it again, “I love you too.”

Your body is trembling, breathless and boneless, still warm from the aftermath of what she just did to you. Your legs are barely working. Your heart is hammering.

Maya lies beside you on the bed, damp hair fanned out on your pillow, cheeks flushed, mouth swollen from the wreckage she left on your skin. Her thighs are slick where they’ve been rubbing together — not just from the shower. From watching you fall apart. From hearing you say you loved her. From owning it.

You roll onto your side, press a soft kiss to her shoulder.

She hums. Lazy. Dangerous. “You’re not done, are you?” she murmurs, fingers threading slowly through your hair.

“No,” you whisper, kissing down her arm, her wrist, her hip.

“Good,” she says, sliding one leg over your back. “Show me.”

You shift lower, trailing your lips over her stomach, her hipbones. You glance up once, asking without words.

She smiles. Leans back against the pillows and opens her legs wide. “I’m yours,” she says softly, voice like velvet and threat.

You nod, already dazed again, drunk on her, high on the way she gives you permission to adore her.

You press a kiss to the inside of her thigh. She tenses slightly in anticipation. Her fingers tighten in your hair. “Don’t tease.”

So you don’t. You flatten your tongue and lick, slow and deliberate, tasting how ready she already is for you. She groans, low and satisfied, hips rolling into your mouth like instinct.

“Fuck, that’s it,” she breathes. “You know exactly what I need, don’t you?”

You moan against her. The sound makes her twitch.

“Again,” she growls.

You do it again, longer this time, your tongue circling her clit before sucking her into your mouth gently, letting the pressure build exactly the way she likes it.

Maya gasps, her head falling back, one hand tightening in your hair. The other finds your jaw, holding you in place. Controlling your rhythm. Pacing your devotion.

“Don’t stop,” she pants. “God, don’t you fucking dare stop.”

You don’t.

You let her ride your face, moaning into her as she grinds against your mouth, wet and needy and completely undone. She’s breathing harder now, her abs tightening, thighs clenching around your head.

“Faster,” she whispers, voice cracking. “Fuck, right there… right there…”

You press your tongue harder, flicking in the way she taught you, the way she loves, and you feel it when it hits her, her whole body going tense, her moans breaking into choked, desperate pleas.

“Oh my God yes, fuck, don’t stop, don’t you dare-”

She comes hard, gasping your name, thighs trembling around your head, and she doesn’t let go. She holds you there, rides it out, breathing like she’s been running for miles.

When she finally eases back, you look up with your lips shiny, your jaw aching, your eyes wide and she’s beaming.

“Goddamn,” she whispers, pulling you up by your hair into a filthy, wet kiss. “You’re mine.”

You nod, breathless. “Yours.”

“All of you.”

“Yes.”

She kisses your neck, your mouth, your cheek. “Good girl.”

You nearly whimper.

She wraps you in her arms then, possessive and tender all at once, and whispers, “I love you.”

And this time, you know she means every word of it.

The sunlight spills through her floor-to-ceiling curtains in that slow, creamy way that only ever happens after a night like last night.

The sheets are twisted around your waist. Your legs are tangled with hers. You can still taste her on your lips. Her fingers are tracing lazy lines along your ribs, and every few seconds, she leans down and presses a kiss somewhere on your face, your cheek, your jaw, the tip of your nose, like she’s mapping her own little galaxy.

You’re barely awake, but you know what day it is.

The meeting.

The one with her.

You open your eyes and see Maya already smiling at you, her eyes soft, hair in a messy bun barely holding on, her voice a low rasp from hours of loving you senseless.

“I love your face,” she murmurs, kissing your temple. “I love your morning voice. I love the tiny little frown you get when you’re pretending not to be needy.”

“I’m not pretending,” you mumble into her pillow. “I’m just quietly suffering.”

Maya laughs. “You’re so dramatic in the mornings.”

You shift, curling against her a little tighter, refusing to let her get up yet. Your fingers trail across the curve of her hip. “Do you have to be dangerously hot and persuasive today?”

She kisses the tip of your nose. “I do.”

You pout. You actually pout.

And she grins, soaking it in. “You’re jealous.”

“Don’t say it like it’s cute.”

“It is cute.”

You glare. She rolls you onto your back and straddles your waist, pinning you effortlessly with just her body and that look — the one that says she owns you, and your stupid jealous little heart.

“I’m yours,” she says, voice low and honest now, hands framing your face. “Okay? I love you. No amount of power flirting is gonna change that.”

You want to believe it. You do believe it.

But as she climbs off you and starts getting ready, pulling on a pair of cargo pants that shouldn’t be that flattering, shrugging into a Loewe crop jacket, layering her gold chains, the ache creeps in again.

You sit up on your elbows, watching her slick her hair back in the mirror. Her rings are already on. Her lips are glossy. Her confidence is radiating off her like a scent.

She’s gorgeous.

Deadly.

And she’s about to walk into a room where someone else wants to be devoured by that exact energy.

She catches your reflection watching her. Turns, mouth quirked. “Don’t start spiraling,” she says softly. “Come to the meeting. Watch me charm her and keep my hands to myself.”

You raise an eyebrow. “You think that’s going to help?”

She walks back over to the bed, leans down, and kisses you. Slow. Firm. Certain. “I think you’re gonna love watching her realize she’s got no shot.”

You swallow hard.

She presses her forehead to yours. “Put on something terrifying and chic,” she whispers. “Make me nervous.”

You laugh but the need is still there. The ache.

And she feels it too. “Come on,” she says, pulling you up by the hand. “Let’s go make this bitch fall in love with the studio and make fucking millions.��

You pull on your clothes, still half aching, half reassured.

And tell yourself: She loves me. She loves me. She loves me.

But it doesn’t stop the jealousy from thrumming.

#maya mason x reader #maya mason smut #maya mason #agatha harkness x reader #kathryn hahn #agatha harkness x fem!reader #kathryn hahn x reader #agatha x reader #agatha harkness x reader smut #kathryn hahn x fem!reader

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lovetei · 2 months ago

Note

hello! I love your work and I wanted to request (if it's possible) the continuation of that ask where the brothers get their backs blown by Dom!MC, I would like to see the same scenario with the undateables instead because that first ask WAS SOO GOOD

I forgot what work this is, how can I forget my own work 😭

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MC was affected by this mysterious potion that makes them crave for some back-breaking fuck

Warnings: No proofreading, grammar mistakes, spelling mistakes, smut, no censoring, reader is Implied to be wearing strap or having cock (a big one), fingering them, wrong use of car hood, choking, air deprivation, wrong use of ties, ovestimulation

Parts: Demon brothers, Side Characters

Links: Masterlist, Rules

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DIAVOLO

He was busy signing paperworks in his room

Then you suddenly bursted in

You look... Disheveled

Your pupils are blown and your eyes are unfocused

You tried to wave it off, but he can be quiet good at extracting information

Oh, so you ate that.

Fuck

"Nghhh!!~ Ah— Hon!" He has good physique so he thought there would be no problem with helping you solve your...problem. You slapped your palm on his mouth and pounded harder.

"Mhm! Mhmpp!!" he's crying, he's fucking crying. You're abusing his hole so much, it hurts. His large hands gripped the metal bars of his bed, trying to get away just to be pulled back by the hair, "Don't do that, Hon..." You said in such a condescending tone while leaning on his shoulder.

BARBATOS

He's just peacefully cooking in the kitchen when you entered

And started eating every ingredient you find on sight

This is why he told you to not eat anything you see without knowing what it is first...

He felt like a common whore. Laying side ways on the messy counter, clothes still on with his pants just pulled down enough for a quick fuck, like a dirty sex bunny. He gripped the edge of the counter, "Haa~ ah— hic! Slow d-down...!" His tongue was lolled out and drool escaped on the corner of his mouth "Y-You're going to— AUGH!!~ dislocate my hips!!~"

His hands immediately slapped on his mouth as soon as you started ramming harder. With such big cock slammed in his poor hole and your finger pressing so rough on that one spot, cum oozed down his cock and added to the puddle on the floor.

SIMEON

Huh?

Oh no! MC, maybe there's another way.

None, so you bent him over.

"T-This is ugh!!~~ cruel~!" His tongue lolled out in such a lewd way. Your cock plunged deep, and deep and deep in him as you hold him up in the air, legs bent to touch his chest.

"Why are you acting so holy now, angel~" you dropped him on the bed and lifted his hips, just how he likes it. His glasses fell upwards as he let out a moan meant for porn "You like this position right?~"

He nodded feverishly, "Mhm hm!~ The bestt— Ngh!!~~" What a well trained slut.

SOLOMON

Oh this...

This is all too familiar...

He just...

He just got pounded yesterday...

He can't possibly-

"AaAhhh— Can't b-breath! N-Noo—" just as he was clawing at your arm that is tightly wrapped around his neck, your hand pressed on his cock head, blocking his cum from coming out.

He looked at you in disbelief "Y-You won't do that... I... I've been getting punished since yesterday you won't—" as you give his ass a last thrust, right into his prostate. He felt his balls tightening and he arched his back screaming. "Let go! A-Ahh!~ please I'm begging y-yOu!!"

MEPHISTOPHELES

How I-is that supposed to be any of his business.

You ate that because you wanted to!

Yes, he handed it to you! It's not like he knows it has his much effect...

It's pathetic, utterly pathetic how wide he's spreading his legs for you, how hard he's gripping your shoulders for leverage because he's sure he would move away from you from how hard you're pounding him, and that's the least thing he wanted.

"H-Hate me you said! Y-You said you hate me!!~~" He was just pouting nonsense, it's always like this, good dick turns them dumb. He was sobbing, tearing up "I-Is that why— AUGH!~ you're b-bullying me..?!~~"

RAPHAEL

How unfortunate he is to be your target reliever

To be honest, you haven't tainted him as much as the others

So maybe... This is a good chance

He didn't know how you convinced him to wear it, this heavy metal collar and chain leash it's... "Raphael~ where does it hurt? Does it hurt here?" You teased while pointing at his cock.

"J-Just be quick..." He held his cock between his thighs as if protecting it from any further stimulation making you snicker. He then leaned down, his face planted on the pillow. Oh~ he's a fast learner.

THIRTEEN

This is insane

At first, she laughed at you

And then...

She felt the danger

She's moaning so desperately, how unlike of her. "P-Pounding so rough!!~ show some r-respect!" her words are muffled behind the thick blanket she kept her face covered with. "Huuuhh??~" Your tone is degrading as your pace quickened.

"Knowing you're the one who offered your cunt, you sure talk big about respect." you heard her growl making you chuckle as you slap her ass. "You seem to like that blanket so much, you should take it as my gift. I'll—" Pound "Make sure to leave my scent in it."

#obey me #obey me headcanons #obey me nightbringer #obey me shall we date #obey me scenarios #obey me x reader #obey me fluff #obey me smut #obey me diavolo #obey me barbatos #obey me simeon #obey me solomon #obey me mephistopheles #obey me raphael #obey me thirteen

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shariasweet · 3 months ago

Text

˚ ༘ ೀ⋆｡˚ 𝒟irty 'little secret

l.heeseung 𝒙 f.reader

𝓦c ::: roughly 0.8k 𐙚 𝓢harinote ::: brother's best friend is one of my fave tropes... yet I don't think i've ever written for it :( ALSO not proofread cause omfg please (I'll do it later) 𐙚 warnin𝓰.ᐟ ::: brother's best friend · reader is 21 · oral (f) · kissing · pet names · unprotected sex [be safe!!!] · cum eating (?) | spit · dacryphilia [kinda, not really] · not proofread, like I said.

you were never the biggest fan of your older brother. in fact, you liked to think that anyone unfortunate enough to actually know him wasn’t.

he was a dick—plain and simple. though, arguably, so was his best friend. but for some reason, you never seemed to mind that quite as much.

ever since sunghoon brought him home his freshman year of college, something inside you had stirred at the sight of his stupid honey skin and his stupid gorgeous hair—face and his nose... god that nose.

you couldn't help but stare at the older boy... you'd be out of your mind not to take advantage of the opportunity to admire such a sight—heeseung looked like the kind of guy you only saw on TV or social media.

though, it's not like your brother would let you anywhere near him and heeseung anyways.

"heeseung doesn’t want to hang out with some little girl. go away."

your older brother wasn't only a dick—but a pain in the ass too.

you'd just stepped into the kitchen for a cup of water, not to bother them... yet he'd already tried to run you off.

"whatever, hoon. I just wanted some water." you rolled your eyes so hard you're sure they could've gotten stuck if you weren't careful.

"yeah, yeah, whatever. come on, heeseung. 'don’t want to keep jimin waiting, do you?" he teased his friend.

"dude, shut up," heeseung muttered, pushing himself up from his seat... your breath caught in your throat noticing the slight bit of skin peeking from beneath his shirt as he stretched up. no way in hell you'd ever have a chance with... that.

but as he passed you, he lingered for just a second—long enough to ruffle your hair and long enough to look down at you with a smirk. "later, princess." he'd waved, soon following your brother in suit out the door.

god, that felt like ages ago—though, it was only two years ago give or take.

and now, all these months, years later, you were finally home from college. it was supposed to be a surprise to your mother, she'd begged you to come home during the summer.

you came home expecting a peaceful summer to catch up with your family and asshaat brother.

except that wouldn't happen because he was here too.

"woah, look who finally decided to show up," sunghoon snickered from the couch, stretching lazily.

"oh, fuck off, sunghoon," you snapped.

the familiar sibling rivalry kicked in instantly, causing your parents to intervene—running from down stairs, completely surprised to see you after almost a year.

though your little family reunion was cut short by the sound of the bathroom door unlocking. and then—him. heeseung stepped out, running a hand through his dark hair, looking effortlessly good the same way he did your junior year of high school.

“heeseung,” your brother said, glancing over his shoulder. "oh, y/n's home, by the way." idiot, you swore... as if you weren’t sitting right there.

"oh, hey." he nodded.

"h-hi, heeseung."

the first few days of your stay you felt strange... strange because it was your first time home in... a while and strange because the feeling of being watched haunted you throughout your own home.

heeseung... he was looking at you.

taking in the way your hair fell over your shoulders... how snug your shirt seemed to cling around your body or... or how perfect your tits sat in said shirt.

twentyone looked good on you.

"so," he leans against the counter beside you, fingers drumming lazily against the countertop. his eyes are anything but lazy, they deliberately flicker over your face, down to the curve of your throat, to your collarbones, and then back up again.

your grip tightens around the edge of the marble island center of your kitchen. "oh, heeseung. what's up?" you gulp down, hard. if there's one thing heeseung has always been good at, it's making you nervous.

he exhales a quiet chuckle, shaking his head. "what's up?" he repeats, amused by the flushed shade of red creeping up your neck. "nothing, nothing… just thought we should catch up. it’s been a while since we’ve all seen you, princess..."

the nickname lands differently now—it's less playful and more... serious? it rolls off his tongue dripping with a sickening sweetness, sending a slow shiver down your spine.

you turn to fully face him, but the moment you do, he shifts closer, his large frame seeming to cage you against the cool counter. "how've you been, baby?"

"i-i've been good," you manage, voice barely above a whisper as you choke on your words.

heeseung hums, low and approving, tilting his head as he watches you—really watches you... taking in the way your eyes dart around and the way your throat bobs.

"just good?" he smiles teasingly.

your breath catches once more as he leans in, his arm brushing against yours, his scent swarming around you.

"'and how’s college treating you?"

you can hear the smirk in his voice before you even dare to look up.

"a-also good," you stammer, pulse hammering in your ears as you manage to lock eyes with him. "well I guess that makes sense," he's so close you can feel his breath fanning across your face.

his grin deepens. he knows exactly what he’s doing—however, before he can get any closer, he suddenly peels himself off of you. finally allowing you the opportunity to take a breath of fresh, cool air. "things would be going well for a good girl like you, wouldn't they?"

you nod, unsure of what else to do. "I guess... I guess so."

"i didn’t come to bother you for no reason, y’know." his tone shifts. It’s far softer this time.

your brows lift slightly. "oh?"

"i really did miss you…" he chews on his bottom lip.

it’s not a complete lie.

you were always sunghoon’s cute little sister—off-limits, but easy on the eyes, you were something pretty to look at whenever he got tired of your brother’s antics.

but still, he realizes he missed more than that.

he missed the way you used to light up every room you walked into. he really misses the whole 'school flower' thing you had going for you... the way that even at eighteen, you’d already left an impression on him that no girl at his college ever had.

"i know your parents’ll want to hang out with you," he continues, watching you closely. "and as much as you guys won’t admit it, you and hoon are practically attached at the hip."

you can’t help but laugh because, well… he’s right, you and your dickhead brother are attached at the hip.

heeseung grins at your reaction. "i just wanted to come get dibs before anyone else could and i lost my spot."

your heart stutters, but you mask it with a smile. this is something high school you could've never imagined. "that’s... that's really sweet, heeseung. i’d love to spend some time with you."

score.

"perfect. you remember where my room is, right?" heeseung pauses, tilting his head as if he’s really thinking about it—"you ‘wanna come around about… ten, eleven? we can watch a movie or something." his smile is contagious, you hardly catch yourself grinning along with him.

you shift on your feet, still hyper-aware of how close he’s standing. "the guest bedroom?" you chuckle softly, quirking your eyebrow.

"our guest bedroom," he corrects with a smirk.

the invitation alone is enough to send your thoughts spiraling, the lee heeseung had just invited you into his bedroom. be cool, y/n. you think to yourself.

"fine… as long as it’s not that stupid movie you and sunghoon always watch." you manage the snarky remark.

heeseung’s brows lift in amusement, his typical lazy grin tugging at his lips. "oh? you don’t like it?"

you shake your head, staring down at your fingers as they fidget with the hem of your sleeve. "it's just… you guys have watched it a lot. I’ve watched it a lot.”

"wow," he exhales, hand flying to his chest like you’ve just wounded him. "that’s cold, princess."

your cheeks burn at the nickname, you dont think you’ll ever get used to it. “I’m just being… honest.” you stare up into his eyes, his gaze is piercing as he doesn’t shy away from your sudden eye contact.

heeseung watches you for a moment, something flickering behind his eyes before he lets out a low chuckle. "fine, fine… no toy story," he concedes.

you nod, relieved, though the nervous flutter in your stomach doesn’t settle.

but before either of you can say anything else, sunghoon’s voice cuts through the air, calling for heeseung from upstairs.

heeseung sighs, throwing you one last glance before pushing off the counter. "guess i’ll see you later then," he murmurs, voice quieter now, like it’s meant just for you.and as he disappears up the stairs, you exhale shakily, heart pounding at the thought of what later might bring.

when the clock strikes ten, you find yourself lingering outside his door, fresh out of the shower with your heart hammering against your chest.

your hands feel all clammy and your nerves are bad.

you have to force yourself to knock—when it’s so soft you barely even hear it yourself.

but he does.

the door swings open, and there he is, standing in a dimly lit room, hoodie hanging loose around his frame with his sweats slung low on his hips. his lips twitch at the sight of you… tiny pajama shorts and the cutest little top. "you look nervous," he teases, stepping aside to let you in.

"i’m not," you lie through our teeth.

he chuckles, closing the door behind you. "sure you aren’t, c’mere." heeseung’s hand latches onto your wrist dragging you further into the room. he leads you to the bed where his laptop is propped open, some random movie that isn’t toy story playing on the screen. you sit beside him where his hand pats the mattress next to you.

you’re stiff as a board, while he lounges comfortably, one arm resting behind his head.

and then—slowly, he shifts, one of his arms draping over the back of the bed, curling around your shoulders as he pulls you in closer. your breath hitches as the heat of his body sinks into yours, the weight of his arm making your entire body heat up.

"relax, princess," he murmurs, lips seriously close to your ear. "i don’t bite."

you swallow hard, forcing yourself to focus on the screen, but then his fingers brush against your bare shoulder, heeseung hums, as if pleased by your reaction. "cute," he muses, letting his fingers trace down your arm, featherlight and slow. you can practically feel your stomach bubbling with eagerness. you’ve never been this close to heeseung. sunghoon wouldn’t allow it—and he’d flip, if he knew you were in bed with him. but, god, you can’t find the desperation of wanting your brother’s best friend to touch you even more.

"you’re so nervous… don’t tell me you’ve never been this close to a guy before."

your face burns. "i have," you mumble, though the way your body reacts to his touch completely betrays you. “I-i’m in college,” you ramble, “obviously i’ve… i’ve y’know, been with guys or whatever.”

"mhmm," he hums, clearly unconvinced. his fingers continue their dance over your skin, up to your collarbone, and along your jaw before he carefully grabs your face to look at him… tucking a loose strand of hair behind your ear.

and then, just as you suck in a shaky breath, he leans in, close enough that you can feel his lips ghost over your cheek.

"should i stop?" he whispers against your skin.

you shake your head. “I need you to use your words, y/n.” he frowns. fuck, if you made it out of this alive… you’d be sure to go into great detail for your best friend. though you’re not sure she’d believe you actually got into bed with heesung. “I-i don’t want you to stop.” you whimper.

heesung’s frown melts into something darker, something almost smug, and it sends a fresh wave of heat curling through you. his fingers tighten their grip—just slightly—but enough to make you shiver.

“see? that wasn’t so hard, was it?” his voice is low, teasing, but there’s an edge of restraint there, like he’s holding himself back. like your words alone have made it harder for him to stay in control.

you swallow, pulse fluttering as his gaze drags over your face, searching, memorizing. your breath stutters when he shifts, the weight of him pressing down, surrounding you, making escape impossible—not that you’d ever want to.

“you want more,” he murmurs, brushing his lips just barely against your jaw, your ear, as if savoring the way you tremble beneath him. “so be good for me, and i’ll give you everything.”

and then, before you can think, before you can breathe—he does.

heesung hums, low and approving, his fingers already slipping beneath the hem of your shirt. his touch is slow, deliberate, tracing up your ribs, mapping out the heat of your skin like he wants to memorize every inch of you.

“this in the way?” he asks, though he doesn’t wait for an answer. in one smooth motion, he tugs the fabric of your shirt up and over your head, tossing it somewhere behind him without a second thought.

his gaze darkens as it drags over you, and you can feel it—burning, searing, making you squirm beneath him, clad in your bra and shorts.

“fuck,” he breathes, almost to himself. then his hands are on you again, warmer than the air against your exposed skin, sliding down your sides, lingering at your waist.

the waistband of your shorts is next, and he hooks his fingers there, beneath your panties and the elastic of your shorts... glancing up at you through heavy-lidded eyes clouded with lust.

“'think these'll get in the way too?” he murmurs, teasing, but you can hear the hunger woven into his voice, feel the tension in the way his fingers flex.

as if he’ll tear them off if you make him wait too long.

you nod. In one swift motion, he yanks them down, leaving you bare as he buries his face in your neck. his breath fans over your skin, sending shivers racing down your spine. without thinking, you arch into his touch, as though it’s the most natural thing in the world.

“whenever you’re ready…” his voice is low, barely above a whisper as he leans into your ear.

your fingers clutch at his shirt, tugging at the hem. “mmm… p-please…”

you notice his gaze darkening—his eyes stagger across the expanse of your skin… the sultry expression of pure desperation etched across your face. “that’s all?” he cocks his head, letting the silence stretch as though he was expecting more. “please what, princess?”

you swallow hard, heat creeping up your skin. you know what he wants. “p-please touch me,” you choke out, embarrassed.

his smirk deepens as he watches your lashes flutter—your eyes brimming with tears. “see?” he coos, tilting your head to look at him with his fingers. “that wasn’t so hard, now was it?”

before you can answer, he peels his shirt over his head in one swift motion.

you barely have time to process the sharp toning of his torso before his lips crash into yours. the kiss is hungry, his hands fervently paw at your sides, slithering up your back to unclasp your bra.

once the cool air hits your bare skin, you can’t help but to gasp. the swell of your breasts fall into his waiting palms, his fingers tweak your nipples between their dexterous, steady tips. heeseung’s mouth never leaves yours, swallowing every breathy moan as he discards your bra, tossing it aside with your hoodie and shorts. his tongue swipes against your bottom lip—forcing your mouth open so that he can intertwine your muscles.

“taste so sweet, princess…” he murmurs against your swollen lips. “you this sweet everywhere?”

the low rumble of his laugh sends sparks flying, and before you can reply, his teeth sink into your neck. you jolt, gasping as he marks you. it stings, but only for a second as he continues to nip and suck on your skin. “I-I don’t… ah! I don’t know…” you stammer, breath hitching.

you’re sure there’ll be a flattering bruise in the morning left from his biting… one that hopefully no one will question.

he hums, dragging slow, open-mouthed kisses down your jaw, your collarbones… your breasts… your stomach. each press of his lips is deliberate, each touch leaves a trail of heat in its wake, making you feel pleasurably hot.

he doesn’t stop his assault until he’s face-to-face with the plush of your thighs, fingertips grazing the sensitive skin surrounding your navel. your head falls back against the headboard, chest rising and falling in shallow breaths as you feel him closer approaching your aching cunt.

“dreamt of this for so long,” he mutters between kisses, lips dragging up your inner thigh. “last summer…” he pauses, breath hot against your skin. “that stupid fucking bikini…” another kiss, closer this time. “god, it was so hard pretending I wasn’t staring in front of your brother, your parents…”

you feel your thighs twitch as he exhales against you, indulging in the delicious aroma of your arousal… each syllable of his words only make you ache more, and more.

“I wanted to rip that skimpy little top off you… bend you over the damn poolside table for everyone to see.”

“f-fuck hee…”

“what? you would've liked that?” the teasing tone in his voice returns, as he plunges his hands between your legs—they separate your thighs in one hasty motion. there’s no time to process any of it before he’s nuzzling into you cunt.

no one’s ever eaten you out before.

heeseung licks a fat stripe up your cunt, collecting every bit of your slick as he laps over your clit. “o-oh..! ohmygodohmygod, heeseung!” one of your hand shoots up to clasp your mouth shut. heeseung takes the other in the palm of his own, gently tangling your fingers in the roots of his hair. “pull on it, pretty girl.” he demands.

the foreign feeling of his tongue flexing against your sopping cunt leaves you feeling dizzy, eyes rolling into the back of your head as you babble out complete nonsense.

and just when you thought it couldn’t get any better—that your head couldn’t be sent any further into the clouds… he pushes two of those long, thick fingers between the snug warmth of your silken gummy walls, earning an almost pornographic mewl to erupt from your throat.

“feeling good?” his brown eyes sparkle, they dart your face admiring the view of your mouth hung open and your brows knit together as his fingers curl inside of you. “mm close! oh, fuck! I’m so close, heeseung! hah…”

“I know, baby… just hold on.” heeseung purred—he resumed his prior actions of making out with your pussy, jaw slack as he pushed his fingers as deeply inside of you as he could manage.

your fists clenched around his sheets as your stomach wound itself up… your orgasm threatening to wash over you.

heeseung’s fingers pressed against the spongy spot buried within you once more, a scissoring motion of his to fingers accompanying his previous abuse. “ffffuck!”

“there you go.” a smirk tugs on the corners of his lips. He allowed you to ride our the high, tongue swiping your cunt once more to savour the mess of creamy slick pooling at your entrance and around his fingers.

“good girl.” he carefully sat up, bringing his body to hang over you as he planted yet another kiss onto your lips. “say ‘ah’, sweet girl.”

of course, you obeyed… forcing your puffy lips to gape so that he could leave a glob of his spit on your tongue. “taste yourself…” you clamp your mouth shut, doing as he asked. “swallow…” another command comes out rushed, rolling off of his tongue. your throat bobbed, heat pooling in your stomach at the way he watches you—his dark eyes full with satisfaction.

before you can catch your breath, his mouth is on yours again, this time slower, deeper—he presses his lips against yours savoring the taste of you on his tongue (yet again).

“h-hee…” you squeak, your voice barely above a whisper.

“hm?” his hum vibrates against your lips, full of patience.

you tug at the waistband of his sweatpants, fingers curling into the fabric. “i want…” your breath catches in your throat as his forehead rests against yours, the warmth of his skin making you feel lightheaded with longing.

“i want you.” your pout is clear, yearning—an attempt to keep him from making you say it. but you know better.

he always makes you say it.

before he can tease you or ask for more, you tug at his waist again, fingers tightening. you really mean it. “i want your dick… please.” your breath stutters, heart hammering against your ribs. “please fuck me.”

“aw, baby…” heeseung can’t help but find you so adorable—your soft whining pleas to fuck you and the way your eyes are are glassy as the stare into his own… not to mention your fingers digging into the material of his pants. your sudden boldness is endearing.

“that’s what you want? ‘want me to fuck you so good you forget about anyone else?”

you nod dumbly without thinking.

“p-please i want that so bad… so bad it hurts.” you frown.

heeseung takes your hand, cupping his bulge and you feel the damp spot that’s formed whilst he humped against the bed, eating your out.

he usually would’ve made you wait—fucked your throat or fingered you open some more… however, you asking is all it takes, heeseung yanks his pants down and when does—you’re in awe. he’s big, just like you imagined.

his tip flushes an angry red, blushing where it meets the girthy length of his cock. your mouth drools at the sight of each adorning vein, thy pulse much like the head of his dick, which is leaking sticky pearls of precum.

“enjoying yourself?” he interrupts your thoughts… you nod, not even pretending as though you weren’t admiring his dick and it’s slight curve to the left. "can I suck you off?" you question, boldly, earning a chuckle from the male. "maybe next time, baby... but i'm glad you're enjoying ‘cause i’m about to give you even more to enjoy,” he grins.

heeseung doesn’t give you a warning—just the sudden, firm pressure of his hand pressing against your lower stomach, making you gasp as he breaches your entrance, pushing inside of you. he’s so. fucking. handsome.

his brows furrow together as his face contorts into something of pleasure. a hand runs through his hair as he bottoms out, balls laying snuggly against your ass before he begins thrusting.

“o-oh, yeah…” he huffs. “tight fuckin’ cunt… ‘best pussy i’ve… fuck! I-i’ve had…”

each drag of his cock feels like what you’d imagine to be the equivalent to heaven. he fills you up so well—tip kissing your cervix as heeseung’s hips fuck into you at a steady pace. You tuck your lip between your teeth to keep quiet as his pace becomes more relentless.

“‘wanna hear you, princess…” he snaps his hips into you. “you were just so loud… c’mon make some noise for heeseungie, yeah? let me know h-how good i make you, shit! how good i make you feel...”

he makes you feel good. really, really fucking good, however, you remeber where you are… your parents room is right down the hall—not to mention your pain in the ass brother.

you know he’d blew up if he walked in on this… his little sister folded with her legs up as his best friend stroked himself inside of her like a madman.

“oh…” heeseung nodded. “I know… ‘scared ‘hoon’ll hear you?” you shake your head. he laughs, knowing that that is actually it.

“It’s okay, yeah? I’m fucking you so good it’ll be worth it if we get in trouble. Isn’t that right?” his hands grip around your thighs pushing them into your upper half—really folding you in half, so that his cock can bully it’s way further into your cunt.

“h-hee…” you moan ever so slightly. the new position allows you to feel him much deeper than you did before. “what was that, princess?”

“fuck!” you squeal. “f-feel you in my tummy, oh my fucking… ah!” the relentless pace picks up as he slams into you again, and again. “‘gonna cum all over my cock?”

you nod. “s-shitt! ‘I-i’ll do it! ‘gonna cum all over your, ohmygodohh oh, oh!” you gasp, before you can get your sentence out your body is trembling with pleasure. your second orgasm comes crashing over you.

“god, y/n… fuck,” heeseung groans, his thrusts are steady and relentless. “do that again… clench around me.”

you’re sensitive with your body still trembling, you do as he asks, eager to please—tightening around him, squeezing… and it must work, because within moments, his head falls back, his hips falter, and a deep, guttural moan rips from his throat as hot white spurts of his release spill inside you.

“good girl,” he breathes, voice thick with pleasure. “good… fucking girl.”

he collapses onto you, bodies flushed and slick with sweat, bare skin sticking together as you both try to catch your breath.

“you okay?” he asks, voice hoarse and worn.

“y-yeah.” you nod, lips curling into a tired smile.

heeseung shifts, turning to look at you. “and how was it, princess?” the nickname is lighthearted as always, though now, it carries a different meaning only the two of you’ll share.

you giggle, cheeks warm as you meet his gaze. “amazing.”

he grins, wide and satisfied. “i’m glad…” a beat of silence passes before he’s sitting up again. “let’s clean you up, hm? you can sleep in here… with me, tonight.” he grins.

“can i really?” you tiredly sit up on your elbows. “what about..?”

“don’t worry about him, baby.” he chuckles, “we both know how late sunghoon sleeps in.”

your brother does love to sleep in…

still, as heeseung helps you up, pressing a soft kiss to your temple before leading you to the bathroom, the thought barely lingers. because right now, the only thing that matters is the warmth of his hand in yours and the promise lingering in his smile.

#shariasweet ༉‧₊˚.#enhypen smut #enha smut #lee heesung smut #heeseung smut #enhypen hard hours #enhypen hard thoughts #enha hard thoughts #enha hard hours

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