#Ninth Arch | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

enhaflixer · 3 months ago

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CUMMING OF AGE

bsfs brother!Heeseung x f!reader - when you ask him to teach you how to masturbate. (pure porn with plot. MDNI 18+, explicit, masturbation, cunnilingus, phone sex, ANGST, fluff too so its fine.) “If she’s not cumming, she’s not listening to her pussy.” “And if she won’t listen…” “I’ll make her.”

You’ve always had a hate-hate relationship with masturbation.

Not the “haha I don’t know what I’m doing” kind. Not the shy, innocent kind. The kind where you tried, over and over again, and every time it ended in that same aching, pathetic way—panties soaked, fingers numb, pussy throbbing, and absolutely nothing to show for it.

No finish. No orgasm. Not even a fucking twitch of satisfaction.

You rubbed and rubbed, like everyone said to. You found your clit. You circled it. Pressed it. Flicked it. Tried soft and slow, then fast and desperate. Tried with spit, with lotion, with fucking coconut oil once. But nothing ever felt right. Just this frustrating hum of almost. Like your body was teetering on the edge of something big and just… refused to jump.

You’d end up sore. Agitated. Your legs would shake, but not the good kind. Your pussy would swell, throbbing like she was mocking you for trying.

It made you feel broken. Or worse—boring. Like your body was wired wrong. Like you’d missed the most basic feminine skill everyone else seemed to be born with.

Girls talked about cumming like it was breathing. Like they could do it in five minutes flat with one hand and a good imagination. You’d hear them talk about shaking through the sheets, arching off the bed, seeing stars—and you’d smile and nod and laugh along, pretending like you got it, like you knew what it was like to get wrecked by your own hand.

You’d never even come close.

You tried toys. You bought a vibrator and nearly cried when it did nothing but make your arms go numb. You tried grinding on pillows until the friction made you raw. You tried porn. You even tried watching yourself once in the mirror like some kind of twisted self-help therapy. Nothing worked.

You’d touch and touch and chase and beg for it in your head—please, just this once, just let me finish, please—and still end up breathless, sticky, empty.

You’d cry sometimes. Just a little. From the frustration of it. From the absolute humiliation of being so fucking horny and not being able to do anything about it.

You hated that about yourself. Hated the way your body seemed to enjoy the build and not the release. Hated the way your clit would throb for attention and then get overwhelmed the second you gave her any. Hated the need. The noise. The mess with no reward.

But the worst part—the actual worst part—was how much you still wanted it. How much you still tried. Like a dog chasing its own tail. Like some needy little loser who couldn’t leave it alone.

You were eighteen, for fuck’s sake. You were supposed to know your body by now. You were supposed to be able to make yourself cum. You were supposed to own your pleasure.

Instead, you were stuck with a pussy that got wet at the idea of being touched and then shut down the second you did.

It made you feel fucking insane.

So you gave up. Mostly. You still touched yourself when you needed to—when it built up too much and made your thighs ache. But it wasn’t about cumming anymore. It was maintenance. A reset button. A pressure valve. You did it in the dark, quietly, quickly, just to shut your body up.

You didn’t even think about pleasure anymore.

You didn’t dare.

Evie—Heejoo, but you only ever called her that when you wanted to piss her off—was your best friend in the world. Ride-or-die since ninth grade, bonded over a shared hatred of your chem teacher and the fact that neither of you fit into your school’s carefully manicured social circles.

Where you were sharp and quick with your mouth, she was soft-spoken and wide-eyed, just sweet enough to disarm anyone who got too close. You balanced each other out. She calmed your storm. You stirred hers.

You were over at her house so often it barely felt like visiting anymore. You knew the code to their garage door. You had your own toothbrush in her bathroom. Her mom kept your favorite cereal in the pantry like clockwork. You even had a drawer in her room, mostly old hoodies and stolen pajama shorts that smelled like her perfume.

It wasn’t unusual for you to spend the weekend there, or three nights in a row, or an entire spring break. Her parents didn’t mind. They liked knowing where you both were—liked having an extra body in the house, even if they never said it out loud.

And then there was Heeseung.

Her older brother. Four years up. Barely a presence.

When you were younger, he was just the older guy who sulked in his room and stole her chargers. Sometimes he’d give you a ride when Evie asked, sometimes he’d walk past you in the kitchen and grunt a greeting, but that was about it. He was there, and then he wasn’t—off to college, off to god knows where, vanishing from your life as quickly as he’d drifted through it.

You had a tiny crush on him once, freshman year. The kind that sparked quick and stupid, fed by his lazy smirk and the way he wore his backwards cap while fixing his car in the driveway. It died fast—suffocated by time and distance and his complete disinterest in acknowledging your existence beyond a nod or a side-eye.

By the time he moved back home post-grad, you barely noticed. He was older now, busier, always in his room with the door closed, voice low behind it, like he was on constant phone calls or late-night games or… something.

You didn’t think about him much. He was just Evie’s brother. Part of the background. White noise.

Your focus was always Evie.

She was the one who held your hair when you puked. The one who lent you a dress before every shitty date. The one who knocked on the bathroom door when you were taking too long and said, “You better not be edge-cumming again, bitch,” like it was the most normal sentence in the world.

She talked about sex like it was just part of the air. Blunt. Effortless. She could make herself cum in three minutes flat. She said it with confidence, like breathing.

You hated how easily it came to her. You loved her anyway.

You always felt safe in her house. Safe in her bed, tangled up under a shared blanket, legs overlapping like twins born too far apart. Her room smelled like vanilla and lip gloss and safety. It felt like yours.

The house settled around you like it always did—quiet, gentle, familiar in a way that made your muscles loosen and your brain drift. Even the silence felt padded here. The hum of the fridge downstairs, the occasional pop of cooling pipes, the subtle click of the thermostat shifting—background noise you’d grown so used to, it almost felt like home.

Evie was out cold beside you, one arm thrown carelessly across your stomach, her breath hot against your ribs. She always slept fast after wine. She always slept on you, too—like her body never quite understood boundaries even after all these years. You didn’t mind. It was comforting, the weight of her. Like a grounding wire for the anxious, electric static building low in your belly.

Sleep wasn’t coming for you, though.

You’d been lying there in the dark for the better part of an hour, phone dimmed to nearly unreadable brightness, eyes burning from the glow. Nothing on your feed caught your attention. You’d scrolled past the same content three times already, thumb swiping out of pure muscle memory.

Something restless twisted beneath your skin, persistent and irritating. Not quite horniness, not quite insomnia—just that same pulsing tension that had been sitting heavy between your legs all night. Like your body was trying to tell you something without using words. You shifted under the blanket, trying not to disturb Evie, thighs pressing tighter together to relieve the dull ache. It only made it worse.

The urge to do something about it had been growing for hours.

You’d thought about sneaking off to the bathroom. You’d done it before—quiet, quick, businesslike. Just enough friction to take the edge off before falling asleep, still unsatisfied but too tired to care. The idea barely tempted you anymore. You already knew how it would end: the usual mess of spit-slick fingers, your clit swollen and sore, pussy wet and pulsing and still refusing to give you anything real.

Just the thought of trying again made you clench your jaw.

It was pathetic, the way your body teased you. Wet for no reason. Needy without payout. Over and over again, like clockwork. Like punishment.

You turned your phone off with a quiet sigh and let the screen go black.

For a moment, all you could hear was the creak of the floorboards expanding under the weight of a settling house. A branch tapping against the window. The subtle drag of Evie’s breathing. You stared at the ceiling, tired but tense, willing yourself to shut down the frustration building behind your ribs.

A man’s voice, deep and casual, barely audible through the cracked bedroom doors. Not enough to make out words. Not yet. Just the soft cadence of speech, rising and falling like a secret being shared too close to the edge of the world.

Heeseung’s door was open. Or cracked. Just enough to let a sliver of sound spill out. You hadn’t even realized he was home tonight.

Your body stilled, like it always did when you felt watched—except this time, you were the one doing the watching. Listening, technically. Just barely.

There was a pause, then a laugh. Not his. Another voice. Someone else. Male. Maybe one of his friends from school, the ones who came and went without warning. You couldn’t place the sound, and you didn’t care.

Your focus sharpened the second Heeseung spoke again.

“It’s not that hard. Girls make it harder than it is."

“If she’s not cumming, she’s not listening to her pussy.”

The sentence dropped like a stone in the middle of your chest.

Not whispered. Not dirty. Just… stated. Like a law. Like fact.

Your fingers flexed unconsciously against the blanket. Heat flushed your neck and settled low in your belly, familiar and unwelcome. You didn’t move. Couldn’t.

There was something about the way he said it. Not performative. Not like he was trying to sound cool. Just calm. Confident. Like the kind of guy who got women off without effort and never thought twice about why.

Every hair on your arm lifted. He didn’t stop there.

“And if she won’t listen…I’ll make her.”

No laughter followed that. No teasing. Just a quiet moment where it hung in the air, unchallenged.

You lay frozen in the dark, heart thudding, mouth slightly open. Your legs ached under the blanket, thighs tense and pressed together. You weren’t just turned on—you were caught. Cornered by something you weren’t supposed to hear and couldn’t let go of.

Something clicked. Not like a revelation, not some dramatic internal monologue, just… a shift. A tilt in the floor beneath your feet. A door opening in a room you didn’t realize you were trapped in.

You didn’t even know what you wanted in that moment.

But for the first time in your life, you wondered—really wondered—what your body would feel like under instructions that weren’t your own.

You tried not to think about it for the rest of the day. Swore you wouldn’t spiral.

You kept the overheard words tucked somewhere tight in your chest, smothered under fake laughter and half-listened stories while Evie walked you through her latest dating app disasters. You made it through brunch, through an entire Target run, through two face masks and one trashy Netflix documentary—and you almost convinced yourself you were over it.

But when the house quieted again that night—when Evie fell asleep curled up on the far side of the bed with her arm draped over a pillow instead of you—you gave in.

You waited a while. Just in case she wasn’t fully out. The kind of sleep that could crack open with the creak of floorboards.

And when her breathing evened out, soft and deep and oblivious, you slid out from under the blanket, grabbed your phone, and slipped into the hallway.

The bathroom door closed with a soft click behind you.

You didn’t turn the light on right away. Just stood there for a second in the dark, breathing.

The air was cooler here. The tiles cold against your feet. The smell of Evie’s shampoo still clung to the room—vanilla and something floral, sticky-sweet. You stared at your reflection in the mirror above the sink, barely visible in the silver sliver of hallway light. Your face looked flushed. Too open. Like something had already been peeled back.

You sat on the closed toilet lid, tugged your hoodie over your thighs, and pulled your phone into your lap.

No buildup. No browsing. You knew what you were looking for.

The video you always came back to. The closest thing you’d ever found to what worked. A deep voice. Slow instructions. Just audio—nothing to watch, nothing to focus on but sound.

It wasn’t him, but it didn’t have to be. Not yet.

Your underwear stuck to the heat between your thighs as you slid it down. Still wet from the tension that had been building since that morning. From the second you saw Heeseung in the kitchen and felt your legs press together automatically.

The wetness should’ve been a good sign.

But you already knew how this would go.

You played the video. Turned the volume down low. Closed your eyes.

Your fingers found your clit easily. Rubbed gentle circles, the way the voice said. You tried to breathe through it, tried to slow down, to listen.

There was too much pressure too soon. Your skin twitched with every touch. The angle was wrong. The rhythm never quite synced. Your body jerked between feeling almost there and feeling absolutely nothing.

You tried harder.

Tried picturing something—someone. His voice. His mouth. The way he looked at you this morning like you weren’t just Evie’s friend, like he saw something else.

That made your fingers move faster. Your hips twitch up from the seat, trying to find something—anything—that would tip you over.

But it never came.

Just heat. Just sweat. Just the same stinging tension in your thighs and the wave that built up, crested, and refused to break.

Your hand dropped. Your chest heaved with a breath that sounded too much like a sob.

You sat there for a full minute in silence, pussy swollen, twitching, soaking your hand—and still nothing. You hadn’t cum. Not even close.

Not even fucking close.

Your palm dragged across your inner thigh as you reached for toilet paper, the wet slick of your own arousal catching against your skin, obscene and bitter and useless. You wiped your hand clean, flushed, washed it under the tap in a daze.

Your reflection stared back at you in the mirror, flushed cheeks, wild eyes, bottom lip bitten raw.

This wasn’t working.

You couldn’t do this by yourself. Not anymore.

The shame didn’t even hit you until you opened the door, stepped back into the hall, and looked toward Heeseung’s room.

You didn’t remember walking from the bathroom to his door. Not really. Your body moved on instinct, fingers still damp with failure, breath shallow and uneven like you’d been running—not down a hallway, but in circles inside your own skin. Everything felt hot and wrong, like you were standing too close to something dangerous and still leaning closer.

The light from under his door was soft, pale blue. The kind of glow that came from a computer screen and sleepless hours. It made the hallway feel colder. Your skin felt clammy beneath your hoodie, thighs still tacky with your own arousal, pulse thudding hard behind your ears. You didn’t even try to calm yourself before raising your hand. There wasn’t enough time. There wasn’t enough anything left.

You knocked.

Soft, quick. Regretted it immediately.

Nothing.

The silence on the other side stretched just long enough to make you feel stupid. You should’ve gone back to Evie’s room. Should’ve locked the bathroom door and buried your face in your hands like you always did. Should’ve swallowed the shame and left it to rot where it always did: at the bottom of your throat.

Your hand was already dropping when the doorknob turned.

Heeseung opened the door halfway, leaning into the frame, and for a second you couldn’t speak. You weren’t expecting him to look like that—hoodie sleeves pushed up to his forearms, collar askew, hair a damp mess like he’d run his hands through it one too many times. His sweatshorts hung low on his hips, legs bare, skin flushed warm like he’d just come out of the shower… or just come. You had no way of knowing which. And it made your brain short-circuit either way.

He didn’t look surprised to see you. Just confused.

His eyes dragged down your body with a slow kind of calculation, and you swore you saw the moment they caught on the way your thighs were pressed together, your bare legs twitching under the hem of your hoodie. The way your breath hitched in your throat. The way your fingers—still wet, still trembling—curled tighter at your side.

He blinked once, brows pulling in slightly.

“You good?”

The question was simple, quiet. But it hit like an echo in a room with no furniture. You were not good. Not even close.

Your voice came out before you could soften it. Flat, direct. “Do you have a girlfriend?”

He blinked again. Caught off guard this time.

“…What?”

“I just need to know,” you said quickly, words tumbling over each other. “Before I say anything. It matters.”

He stared at you for a beat, mouth twitching like he wasn’t sure if he should be amused or suspicious.

“No. I don’t.”

You exhaled like someone had untied a knot inside your chest.

“Fuck.”

His eyes narrowed slightly. “What?”

“If you said yes,” you muttered, eyes darting to the floor, “I would’ve had an excuse not to ask you.”

That made him pause.

He shifted his weight, crossed his arms over his chest, leaned into the doorframe like he was settling in. His voice was a little lower when he asked, “Ask me what?”

Your whole body burned. There was no easy way to say it. No casual phrasing. No safe distance between you and the truth anymore. You didn’t have the energy to dance around it.

“You said something last night,” you started, forcing yourself to look at him. “About girls who can’t finish. About how they’re not listening to their bodies.”

He watched you carefully. No expression, just the slow, measured study of a man waiting for the rest.

“I heard it,” you added. “By accident. But it’s been stuck in my head. And I thought—I don’t know, I thought maybe you were right.”

Still nothing. Just his gaze crawling over your face, down to your knees, like he was trying to see where this was going before letting himself speak.

You swallowed, the taste of failure still thick in your throat. “I tried again tonight. Bathroom. Just now. I’ve been trying for years, and it’s always the same. Nothing works. I can’t finish. I touch myself, and it just—goes nowhere.”

Your cheeks burned. You didn’t even know why you were telling him all this. You barely knew the guy. The last time you’d had a real conversation was probably three birthdays ago when he offered you a ride and you said no because he smelled like weed and fuckboy cologne.

But here you were. Standing in front of him like some half-dressed, sweat-slick confession, spilling everything.

And he still hadn’t said a word.

Your next breath shook as it left you.

“I don’t want you to touch me,” you said, quieter now. “I just want to ask… if you’d tell me what to do.”

That got something out of him. A small breath through his nose, not quite a laugh, not quite disbelief. His eyes dropped—lower this time—to your legs again, to the edge of your hoodie, to the bare skin flushed and prickling under the hallway air.

He nodded once toward you, chin tilting. “Your hand’s still wet.”

You froze.

His voice was low, unreadable. “You tried that hard, huh?”

You didn’t answer. You couldn’t.

He stepped back.

Just a few inches. Just enough to open the door wider. The light from inside poured out around him, cool and soft and full of static.

He held your gaze.

“Come in. Close the door behind you.”

The door shuts with a soft click behind you, and just like that, the house disappears. Evie’s room, the hallway, your entire carefully contained world—it all drops away. There’s only the low glow of his monitor casting pale blue light across the carpet and the quiet hum of something electric in the corner, like the room itself is holding its breath.

You hover near the door for a second, not sure what to do with your hands, your legs, your shame.

Heeseung’s already sitting, legs wide in his desk chair, turned toward you like he was waiting the whole night for this. He shifts, pushes himself up slightly, and drags the chair forward—lazily, unbothered—until it sits right in front of the bed. Close enough that if you spread your legs, he’d have a front-row seat.

Then he flips the chair around, straddling it backwards like some cocky delinquent in detention, arms crossed over the backrest, chin resting casually on top. His expression doesn’t change. He just watches you.

“Go ahead,” he says, voice calm and low, like this is just another Tuesday night. “Sit.”

You make your way to the bed, legs tense, breath shallow, and perch at the edge like it might bite. Your thighs clench on instinct, hoodie pulled low, trying to shield what you already know he’s seen. You’re still warm from the bathroom. Still soaked. Still aching.

His eyes drift down. Slow. Lazy. No shame.

You fidget.

Heeseung doesn’t move. “Don’t get shy on me now. You came in here asking for a masturbation lesson, not a bedtime story.”

Your lips twitch. You almost laugh. Almost.

He lifts his chin. “Tell me what you usually do.”

The question lands harder than it should. Not because it’s dirty, but because it’s so simple.

You blink. “Like… where I touch?”

“Yeah.”

You hesitate. “I usually just go straight to my clit.”

“Figures.” He doesn’t miss a beat. “And then what? Rub the fuck out of it ‘til it gets sore and wonder why it doesn’t work?”

Your mouth falls open in a small gasp. “Excuse me?”

He shrugs one shoulder, unbothered. “Don’t take it personal. That’s what most girls do. It’s not your fault you think the goal is speed over sense.”

You don’t respond, but your silence is answer enough.

He leans in a little, forearms resting on the chair back, gaze glued to your bare thighs. There’s no hunger in it—not yet. Just observation. Like he’s assessing you.

“If your pussy had a voice,” he says smoothly, “she’d be screaming at you to chill the fuck out.”

You’re quiet for a long second. Because the worst part is… he’s not wrong.

He watches you squirm, and something like amusement passes over his features. Not cruel, but smug.

“Take your time,” he says, gentler now. “You rush her, she locks up. Doesn’t matter how wet you are.”

“…She?” you murmur, lifting a brow.

Heeseung shrugs again, like it’s obvious. “Yeah. She.” His eyes flick to yours. “You don’t gotta name her or write poetry about her, but you should probably stop treating her like a vending machine.”

Your laugh breaks before you can stop it. Quick and sharp, nerves bleeding out of your throat. “You’re so annoying.”

“And yet, you’re still here,” he says with a smirk, eyes dark. “Go on. Show me how you start.”

Everything tightens. You feel the weight of his voice low in your belly.

You don’t move right away.

He raises a brow. “You said you didn’t want me to touch you. That’s cool. But I need to see what you’re doing wrong.”

Your breath hitches.

Your hand moves on instinct—slow, shaky—and dips beneath the hem of your hoodie, then under the band of your panties. You’re already wet. Embarrassingly wet. And when your fingers graze over your clit, you flinch. It’s too sensitive. Too much. Your hips jerk a little, and you pretend not to notice the way his eyes follow the motion.

You rub. Once. Twice. It’s not bad. It’s what you always do.

But still—nothing clicks.

Heeseung tilts his head. “You’re too stiff.”

“I’m nervous,” you admit quietly.

“Don’t be.” His voice drops half an octave. “You look hot.”

The way he says it—it doesn’t sound like a compliment. Just a fact. Like he’s telling you what time it is. Like your soaked fingers and clenched thighs are something he’s been picturing all night.

“You’re thinking too much,” he adds. “Trying to force it instead of feel it.”

Your hand stills.

He leans forward slightly, his voice quieter now, more intimate. “Try this. Press your hand flat. Just hold her. No rubbing. No tapping. Just… feel her.”

You hesitate, then obey.

The flat of your hand settles between your legs, heat blooming up your arm from the contact. Your whole body clenches around it.

“Feel that?”

You nod. Barely.

“That’s what she likes,” he murmurs. “You’ve been poking at her like she’s a fucking keyboard. No wonder she’s not putting out.”

You let out a breathy laugh—half scandalized, half aroused. “You’re unbelievable.”

“And you’re soaking through your panties,” he says, deadpan.

Your breath catches. Heeseung doesn’t laugh. Doesn’t look away.

He sits there like he’s got all the time in the world. Like he’s doing you a favor. Like he’s enjoying this. You’re not even sure he’s hard yet—but he will be. You can feel it building. Between you. In you.

He lets the moment hang.

Then: “Now—slow circles. Don’t speed up unless she tells you to.”

“She doesn’t talk,” you whisper, teasing without confidence.

His gaze is heavy. Steady.

“She does,” he says, voice like heat sliding under your skin. “You just haven’t been listening.”

The room feels hotter now.

Not just the air—your skin, your mouth, your thighs. Sweat clings to the backs of your knees, damp beneath the bunched-up hoodie, and your panties are so wet they’re practically glued to one thigh. Your hips keep twitching without your permission, rolling up slightly with every pass of your fingers. It’s not graceful. It’s not some porn fantasy. It’s messy and uneven and real, and Heeseung is watching every second of it like it’s the only thing worth watching.

You keep thinking you should feel embarrassed. Ashamed. You’re spread open on his bed, hand stuffed between your legs, whining softly every time you stroke a little too hard and have to ease back again—but you’re too far gone now to stop. Your cheeks are flushed, lashes wet, lips parted, and you can’t look away from him.

He hasn’t blinked once.

Heeseung is still straddling the backward chair, elbows resting on the top, chin on one hand like this is casual. Normal. Like you’re just some half-naked girl jerking off in front of him for practice and he’s your substitute teacher for the night.

The only thing that’s changed is his posture.

His knees are spread wider than before. His forearms are tense. One hand grips the edge of the chair a little tighter every time your body jerks, and you don’t miss the way his jaw flexes every time your breath stutters or your voice cracks.

You’re doing this to him.

But not enough.

Not enough to make it stop hurting. Not enough to make the ache go away. Not enough to finish.

You’re trying. God, you’re trying.

Your fingers rub in slow circles, not too fast now. You’re listening. You are. But your body keeps tensing at the edge, like it’s scared to fall off the cliff it’s been building for years. Your hand’s cramping. Your clit throbs. Your stomach clenches like you’re close—and then it dips, again and again.

It’s good. So good.

But it’s not enough.

You choke on a frustrated sound, somewhere between a sob and a moan, and your free hand fists the blanket beneath you like it’s the only thing keeping you grounded.

Heeseung speaks, finally, voice low and steady. “Still rushing her.”

“I’m not,” you whisper.

“You are. I can see it.”

You shake your head, breath stuttering. “I’m not trying to—I swear, I’m—” You gasp. “It’s just—it’s not—”

You stop. Words catch in your throat. Your hips are rocking now, involuntarily, chasing a sensation that keeps pulling away the second you get close. Your fingers are wet, your pussy’s pulsing, and it still feels like you’re just rubbing up against a wall.

“It’s not enough,” you breathe out, broken. “I—I can’t—fuck—she’s not listening.”

Heeseung leans forward slightly, something sharp flashing in his eyes.

“Oh, she’s listening,” he says. “You’re just not talking to her the right way.”

You whimper. “Then tell me what to say.”

That makes his mouth twitch—just barely. Like he’s been waiting for that.

“Tell me what she’s feeling first.”

“I—” Your voice cracks. “She’s tight. Warm. I feel her—pulsing. Like she wants something but—she’s not opening.”

He tilts his head slightly, gaze dark. “She wants to be filled.”

You nod.

“No,” he says. “Say it.”

Your chest heaves. Your hand hasn’t stopped moving, rubbing slow, desperate circles around your clit. “She wants to be filled.”

“Say it like you mean it.”

“She wants to be fucking filled,” you whine. “She’s throbbing—she’s soaking—fuck, I can feel her squeezing nothing.”

Heeseung exhales slowly, eyes flicking down between your legs again.

“There you go,” he murmurs. “Now she’s talking.”

Your fingers glide lower, catching more slick and sliding back up. Everything’s soaked. You’re dripping down onto the sheets, and your thighs are trembling from the strain of keeping your hips lifted just right.

“She needs more,” you pant. “She’s clenching—she’s starving—”

Heeseung’s hand flexes around the edge of the chair again. His voice drops, almost to a growl. “So feed her.”

You moan—high and breathy—and press harder, circling your clit faster now, the way your body wants. Your lips are wet, your fingers slipping, but it doesn’t matter. Everything is slick and hot and alive.

“You’re soaked,” he mutters, eyes burning into you. “Look at your fucking fingers.”

You do. It’s obscene. Your hand shines in the light, your fingers coated in slick. You barely recognize your own body like this. Ruined. Responsive.

“She’s begging,” he says softly. “And you’re finally listening.”

You whine, eyes squeezing shut. Your free hand presses against your lower belly, trying to hold the heat in. Your pussy twitches at the pressure.

“She’s so fucking greedy,” you gasp. “She won’t stop pulling—I can’t—I can’t keep up—”

“You don’t have to,” he says. “She knows what she’s doing. Let her take it.”

You don’t even realize how loud you’ve gotten until you hear yourself moan again—shameless, cracked open, shaking from the inside out.

Your legs spread wider. You’re not trying to hide anymore. Not from him. Not from yourself.

You’re right there.

You’re going to break.

He’s just watching. Like it’s his favorite thing he’s ever seen.

You’re right on the edge, and this time it’s not teasing.

It’s sharp. Fast. Inevitable.

Your legs are trembling now, hips jerking with every motion, and your fingers are soaked—slipping against your clit, coating your inner thighs, dripping down the crease of your ass like your body’s trying to fuck itself open. Every stroke sends another wave of tension through you, and there’s no holding it anymore. Your body is begging. Your pussy’s leaking, twitching, clenching around nothing—and Heeseung watches like it’s the most natural thing in the world.

You don’t even realize you’re moaning until you hear it echo back at you in the small room. High-pitched. Desperate. Wet.

The sound of your pussy is louder now too. Sticky and obscene, each rub slicker than the last. You can hear it every time you roll your hips into your palm.

Heeseung doesn’t say a word for a second too long.

You lift your head, eyes glazed over, panting.

His eyes are darker now. Half-lidded. Focused on your pussy like he’s reading it better than your face.

He shifts in his chair. Spreads his knees wider. His hand dips into the front of his sweatshorts, slow and casual, like he can’t ignore it anymore. You catch a glimpse of his fingers wrapping around himself—and your breath catches so hard your vision blurs.

He’s so hard.

His voice comes out deeper. Filthy. Measured like it’s the only thing anchoring him in the room.

“Look at that messy little cunt.”

Your body jerks at the word. You’ve never heard it said like that. Never felt it hit like that.

Heeseung strokes himself once, slow and firm under the fabric.

“She’s drooling all over your fingers. So fucking hungry. Bet she’s never been this loud for you before.”

“She hasn’t,” you breathe. “She never—she never—”

“You’ve been starving her,” he says, still jerking himself lazily. “Touching her like she’s a problem instead of a fucking meal.”

Your hand speeds up, and he sees it. Hears the slap of slick. You’re humping into your fingers now, sloppy and desperate and so close you could scream.

Heeseung leans forward, one elbow braced against the back of the chair.

“You wanna cum, baby?”

You nod frantically, but it’s not enough.

“Use your words.”

Your voice comes out cracked. “Yes. Please—I wanna cum—I need it—”

“Need what?” he pushes.

“I need her to fucking break,” you sob. “She’s clenching—she’s begging—she needs to cum, she needs it—”

“Then let her,” he growls. “Don’t fucking hold it. Let her make a mess.”

You whimper, fingers frantic, back arching off the bed.

And that’s when he says it—low and hot and foul.

“Let her fuck your fingers, slut.”

You snap.

Your body locks up, then shatters. You cum so hard your legs shake, hips jerking forward, thighs squeezing around your own hand as your pussy gushes over your fingers in sticky, messy waves. The moan that rips from your throat is broken, cracked, half-wet from tears.

It doesn’t hit you right away.

At first, there’s just white. Blinding. A full-body seizure of pleasure as your cunt clenches around nothing, soaking your own fingers, mouth open in a moan that doesn’t even sound like you.

It crashes over you fast. Wet. Messy.

You cum harder than you ever have in your life—harder than you thought was even possible—and your body just keeps going, hips jerking, slick dripping past your knuckles, your voice cracking on every gasp.

Heeseung is still there.

You know he is. You can feel his eyes on you, feel his breath in the space between your bodies, but you can’t look at him. Not right now. Not like this.

And then it fades.

That warm, bright static in your brain flickers out. Your thighs twitch. Your hand finally drops, fingers soaked, wrist aching, clit too sensitive to touch again.

What’s left is the sound of your breathing. The slick, wet mess beneath your hips. The embarrassment flooding in all at once like a second wave.

Reality slams back into you hard.

You’re laid out across his bed—sweaty, flushed, thighs spread wide and soaked all the way down to the crease of your ass. Your pussy’s still twitching, swollen and glistening, your panties bunched at one knee, hoodie halfway pushed up your stomach.

Your fingers shine in the low light. Still wet. Still shaking.

You sit up fast, panic sweeping over your skin like ice water. “Shit—fuck.”

Your hand fumbles to pull your hoodie down, yanking it over your thighs, shoving your panties back into place even though they’re absolutely soaked through. The fabric clings wetly to your pussy and only makes the mess feel worse.

Heeseung hasn’t moved.

Still in the chair. Still one hand inside his shorts. He looks completely unbothered. Calm. Like you didn’t just cum your entire soul out in front of him.

You can’t meet his eyes.

He watches you fuss with the hem of your hoodie, your hands still trembling slightly as you try to make yourself look decent.

“Didn’t say stop,” he says mildly.

You glare at him, cheeks burning. “I came. Pretty sure that’s the goal, right?”

He shrugs one shoulder. “Just surprised you’re acting all shy now. That pussy was practically talking thirty seconds ago.”

“Jesus—” you squeeze your eyes shut, bury your face in your hands.

Heeseung grins. Not mean. Not mocking. Just amused.

“You do realize how loud you were, right?” he adds. “I thought the bed was gonna snap in half.”

“Please stop talking,” you groan, voice muffled.

“You were crying,” he says like it’s a compliment, hand still lazily palming himself under his shorts. “That shit was beautiful.”

You peek at him through your fingers. He’s still hard. Still watching you with that same steady calm, like this is fine. Like this is normal.

He doesn’t even seem fazed.

That somehow makes the ache between your legs flare again. Weak, overstimulated, but greedy.

You clear your throat. “I didn’t realize I—um. That I could… do that.”

He raises an eyebrow. “Cum?”

You shoot him a look.

Heeseung laughs, finally letting go of himself. “You’ve been fighting her for years. All I did was give you directions.”

You tuck your knees up into your chest, arms wrapped around them. You feel like you just stripped naked in front of someone who stayed fully clothed—and now he’s just lounging there like you didn’t just show him the most private part of yourself.

You sit in that awkward silence for a few seconds longer.

Heeseung stretches, chair creaking slightly. “So,” he says, tone casual. “Lesson two tomorrow?”

You blink.

“…There’s a second lesson?”

He smiles slow, eyes dropping to your thighs again. “You think she’s done learning?”

Your pussy twitches beneath your soaked panties.

Your legs are still weak from the first night when you leave.

Just a few days back home. Just a quick visit. You didn’t think it would matter—but the second you cross the county line, your pussy starts aching like she knows she’s been abandoned. Like she misses his voice already.

You think about texting him before you even unpack your overnight bag.

It starts that fast—barely through the front door, barely through dinner with your parents, barely through pretending to care about someone’s new side hustle or whatever cousin just had a baby, and already your mind is slipping.

Already you’re restless. Already your body feels too awake. You can still feel the slick sticking to the inside of your thighs from last night, from the way he sat in that chair like he was doing you a favor while you touched yourself for the first time like it meant something. It hasn’t gone away. The ache stayed with you.

That trembling throb between your legs that didn’t fade after one orgasm—or two—or three. And now, here you are. Sitting in your childhood bedroom like you didn’t just learn how to listen to your pussy in someone else’s bed with someone else’s voice in your ear.

You last all of twelve hours. Maybe thirteen if you count sleep, but that’s cheating. You keep checking your phone like a freak. Not even for a message—just to see his name.

You scroll through the notifications like maybe he’ll magically show up. You open his contact. Stare at the little circle icon. You type a text. Delete it.

Type again. Delete. Pace the room. Pull your hair up. Let it fall. Lie on the bed. Toss the blanket off. Roll onto your stomach, then your back, then sit up again because your body’s too hot and your thoughts won’t stop dragging back to the sound of his voice saying “Good girl. She’s listening now.”

You try to distract yourself. Put music on. Stare at the ceiling. Scroll through reels. But the tension is building and it’s not casual. It’s deep. It’s mean.

Like your pussy’s crawling up your spine and whispering call him over and over again. And finally, like a fucking addict, you give in.

You don’t try to be subtle. Your fingers tremble as you type the message—“Can I call you?”—and hit send before you can regret it. Your breath catches in your throat. Heart pounding. Shame twisting in your gut like you’ve already crossed a line and he hasn’t even replied. But then your phone buzzes. Two texts in a row. You click without thinking.

No. I’ll call you.

Speaker on. Hands ready. Nothing else.

You don’t even get a second to prepare. The call comes in instantly, and you fumble to answer it, press speaker, toss the phone onto your pillow and sit back, legs shaking under your blanket. You’re wearing nothing but a big t-shirt—no bra, no panties. Like your body already knew what was coming.

His voice is in your ear the second the line connects.

Low. Thick. Wrecked.

“You waited all day just to fuck yourself to my voice, didn’t you?”

The sound alone makes your thighs clamp together. You can’t answer. You don’t know what to say. You feel called out, ruined, exposed, and he hasn’t even seen you.

“You’re pathetic,” he breathes, and it’s not cruel—it’s reverent. Like he’s turned on by the depth of your desperation. “You left for less than twenty-four hours and she’s already starving.”

Your breath comes out shaky. “She hasn’t shut up.”

“I bet. That little pussy’s been crying for attention, hasn’t she? Soaking your panties, throbbing for no reason. Did you even try to touch her?”

Your hand slides down your stomach. Shame floods your chest. “I tried last night.”

“And?”

Your fingers drift over your mound, soft and slow.

“…Didn’t work.”

“Of course it didn’t.” He doesn’t miss a beat. “Because she’s not trained to your fingers. She’s trained to my voice.”

You nearly choke.

“Take the blanket off.”

You do.

“T-shirt stays. I want you messy under it. Like a filthy little secret.”

You obey, chest rising. The air hits your bare skin and your nipples pebble instantly under the thin cotton. You slide your hand under the hem and find yourself dripping already—your folds slippery and warm, your clit throbbing at the first brush.

“Fuck. You’re already wet.”

You don’t answer.

“Don’t ignore me. Say it.”

You whimper. “I’m wet.”

“Where?”

Your hand slides lower. “Everywhere.”

“Let me hear it.”

You drag your fingers through your folds, then lift them to the mic.

Squish. Slick. Wet.

“Jesus Christ,” he breathes. “She’s fucking leaking for me.”

“She won’t stop,” you pant. “She’s been clenching—she’s needy. I can’t—I can’t even think straight.”

“She doesn’t need you to think. She needs you to listen.”

You nod like he can see you.

“You touching your clit yet?”

“No,” you whisper. “Just teasing.”

“Don’t tease her. Feed her.”

You obey. Your fingers find your clit and press slow, warm circles into the swollen skin. Your hips twitch immediately. Your body jolts with relief. Like it’s been waiting for this.

“Fuck. That’s it. Let her roll her hips. Let her grind on your fingers.”

You do.

And you moan. Loud. Wet. Pathetic.

“You sound like you’re crying.”

“I might be,” you choke out. “I’m—I’ve been on edge all day. She’s screaming—”

“Then shut her up.”

Your fingers move faster. Your breath turns ragged. The slick is everywhere now—coating your palm, sliding down your ass, soaking the sheets beneath you. You can hear it—slap, slap, slap—and you know he can too.

“God, listen to her,” he says. “She’s fucking talking again. Slapping wet, loud as hell, crying to be filled.”

Your thighs start to shake.

“Don’t you dare stop.”

“Heeseung—fuck, I’m close—”

“She wants to cum. So let her.”

You cum hard, back arching, legs tensed, voice cracking open around a sob as your pussy convulses around nothing—just your fingers, just your shame, just his voice dragging it out of you with nothing but command.

“Again,” he growls. “Don’t you dare take your hand off her. You begged for this. You waited all fucking day for it.”

You keep going. Because you can’t stop. Because this is his now.

You don’t get a break.

Heeseung doesn’t let you.

After that first call—the one where you came so hard you swore you saw stars—you thought maybe the tension would ease up. Maybe you’d get to breathe. But you don’t. Because the second you wake up the next morning, there’s already a text waiting for you.

Morning. She hungry?

Your pussy clenches on reflex.

You bite your lip, cheeks flushing under the covers.

Yes.

His reply is instant.

Good. edge yourself until you’re shaking. No cumming. No cheating. You’ll send me a pic of your fingers when you’re done.

That’s it. No teasing. No sweet talk. Just commands. Direct. Cruel. And of course—you obey.

You finger yourself that morning with shaking hands, grinding into your palm in the silence of your old bedroom with one hand over your mouth to muffle your cries. You stop just short of release three times. Your panties are soaked. The sheets beneath you are ruined.

You send the photo.

Two slick fingers, gleaming. One droplet hanging from your wrist like a taunt.

He doesn’t reply until hours later.

Beautiful. Don’t clean her up. Let her stick to your skin. I want her to haunt you all day.

That’s how it starts.

Sometimes it’s a call. Sometimes it’s just a photo prompt. Sometimes it’s voice notes—low, slow, whispered filth that you replay in the bathroom on full volume with your thighs clenched so tight you can barely breathe.

Another day: make a mess on your favorite pair of panties. Send proof. Don’t wash them. Fold them and put them in your drawer like a secret. Like she remembers.

When you can’t call—family dinners, company in the house, a wedding event—he doesn’t complain. He just adapts.

He sends you three voice notes in a row, each one filthier than the last.

“Are you wearing panties right now?”

“She’s wet just from this, isn’t she?”

“Put your phone between your legs. Let my voice buzz against her while you grind.”

You do. In the middle of the day. On the edge of your childhood bed. With the door locked and your hand clamped over your mouth to muffle the sound of you cumming on command.

Every time you text him, he knows what you need before you say it.

On your knees. Two fingers. Say my name when you finish. That’s all.

You cum like a trained animal.

By the end of the fourth day, you’re overstimulated and aching. Your cunt stays warm. Your clit stays swollen. You can’t think straight without hearing his voice. You can’t fall asleep without a pillow between your legs and your phone under your ear, replaying the way he said your name like it tasted good.

He doesn’t let you get comfortable.

I want her ruined by the time you get back. Wet stains on your thighs. Bruised from your own fingers. No excuses. You belong to me now, yeah?

You’re at the dinner table when the text comes in.

There’s a bowl of pasta in front of you. Your uncle’s talking about traffic. Your mom’s pouring more wine. And your phone buzzes in your lap—one tiny, harmless vibration you almost ignore until you see the name on your lockscreen.

Heeseung.

Your chest tightens immediately. A hot ripple runs down your spine. You unlock it under the table, heart already picking up speed, thighs pressed tight together like that’s gonna help anything.

You expect a voice note. Maybe an instruction. Instead, it’s just a single message.

Don’t open this here. I’m serious.

You excuse yourself. Bathroom. You try to walk casually, but your legs feel unstable, like your body knows what’s coming and is bracing for it. You shut the door. Lock it. Sit down on the closed toilet seat. And then you open the message.

It’s not a photo. Not a voice note. Just a block of text.

And it destroys you.

I want you dripping. Right now. I want your thighs sticky. I want your pussy hot and twitching and swollen like she’s just been edged for an hour and she’s still not allowed to cum. I want her pulsing around nothing. Squeezing air. Leaking like she misses my cock even though she’s never had it. That’s how good I want her trained. That she misses me even though I’ve never fucked her. I want you to slide your hand into your panties and feel her spit for me. Feel how filthy she’s gotten just from reading my words. Not even hearing my voice. Just letters on a screen and she’s frothing like a brainless little thing. I want her throbbing. Sore. Pink. Aching. I want you to pull your panties to the side and look at what I’ve done to you. How she opens for nothing. How she clenches for nothing. How she cries, fucking cries, when she doesn’t get touched. I want her messy. Slutty. Wet enough to embarrass you. Wet enough you can’t clean it up with one tissue. Wet enough that if someone walked into that bathroom right now, they’d smell her. No fingers. Not yet. Just pressure. Palm down. Let her hump. Let her grind. Let her get yourself dirty. She knows what to do. She doesn’t need permission anymore. You’re gonna leak down your leg just reading this, aren’t you? She’s already twitching. Already soaking. She knows what she is now. A thing that exists to be used. To be made wet. To be trained.

You stare at your screen. Eyes wide. Chest heaving.

And you feel it—that slow, steady drip.

You slide your hand down between your legs and whimper when your fingers meet your panties—soaked through. Hot and sticky, your folds puffy and swollen, everything throbbing with need.

You spread your legs wider. There’s no stopping it. You have to.

You push your panties aside, just like he said, and when you look down, your cunt is shining. Slick lips parted, clit swollen and begging, a string of wet clinging between your folds when you breathe too hard.

You cup her with your whole palm and rock once.

You grind again. Harder. The heel of your hand pressing directly on your clit. Your hips move faster, panting now, forehead pressed against your bent knee as your pussy humps your own hand like she’s starved.

You’re fucking yourself with no fingers. Just pressure. Just filth. Just his words rotting your brain and your pussy loving it.

You don’t stop until your legs lock, jaw clenched tight to muffle the moan that rips through your throat. Your pussy convulses, grinding down hard, cumming in waves against your own palm until you’re crying silently, thighs soaked, panties a mess, body twitching from the force of it.

When it’s over, you’re wrecked. You sit there in silence. Breathing heavy. Panties still pulled to the side, hand drenched, cunt gaping and twitching like she’s still looking for him.

You snap a photo.

Not of your face. Just your hand. Soaked. Ruined. Slick covering your wrist, dripping down your knuckles.

You send it. No caption. A minute later, his reply lights up your screen.

That’s how she’s supposed to look. Every day until you get home.

You don’t even knock.

You could, but what’s the point? He told you to come over as soon as you got back. No texts. No warning. Just a short message yesterday night:

You better show up dripping.

And you are.

The shorts you wore are damp at the crotch, your hoodie clinging to the sweat on your lower back. Every shift of your thighs against the car seat on the drive over made you squirm. By the time you’re standing in front of his door, your cunt is throbbing. Empty. Trained. Starving.

He opens it like he already knew you were there.

Barefoot. Hoodie. Nothing underneath.

He stares at you for a second, quiet. His eyes drop to your legs, to the way you’re fidgeting, clenching, trying not to press your thighs together. He doesn’t smile. He doesn’t speak.

Just opens the door wider and lets you in.

You step past him. Silent. Heat prickling under your skin. His presence is loud, even without words. You can feel the pressure building already—your pussy knows. She’s aware. Aware of the air, of the scent of him, of how close he is now after five days of only hearing him through a speaker.

He closes the door behind you. And waits.

You turn to him, hands still curled into your sleeves. “I did everything.”

He lifts a brow. “Yeah?”

You nod. Swallow hard. “Every day.”

Heeseung steps forward slowly. Stops in front of you. His eyes flick down, over your body, like he’s looking for confirmation.

“You leaking?”

Your breath catches. “Yes.”

“Prove it.”

Your heart slams against your ribs. But you don’t hesitate.

Your fingers hook into the waistband of your shorts and tug them down in one smooth motion. They hit the floor and you step out of them, bare underneath, thighs sticky and glistening. Your hoodie barely covers your hips now. One inch higher and he’d see everything.

He doesn’t touch you.

“Show me,” he says, voice low.

Your breath hitches again—but you drop to your knees. Not because he asked. Because your body knows what to do now.

You kneel between his feet on the hardwood floor, hands moving to part your thighs so he can see. You pull the hoodie up to your waist and slide two fingers between your folds—dripping. It spreads so easily. Glossy. Viscous. Your pussy folds open for your own touch like it’s nothing new. Like she’s been practicing all week.

You keep your eyes on him the whole time.

And when your fingers come back up, soaked and glistening, you hold them out. Heeseung watches you in silence.

Then leans forward, slow and deliberate. He takes your fingers into his mouth and sucks—deep, slow, tongue curling around them like it’s a reward.

Your hips jerk slightly. Your cunt clenches hard. He pulls off with a wet pop and stares down at you.

“She tastes trained.”

You nod.

“She beg yet?”

You exhale. “She never shut up.”

He clicks his tongue. “Yeah?”

Then he grabs your jaw. Fingers firm but not rough, tilting your face up to his.

“You want her filled?”

You nod again. “Please.”

“Not yet,” he says. “She’s not ready.”

“I’m ready—she’s so ready, I’ve been—”

“I don’t care what you think. You’re not here to make decisions. You’re here to do what I say.” He lets go of your face. “You wanna get fed? Earn it. Lay down. Show me how she begs.”

You scramble onto the bed.

Flat on your back. Legs spread. Cunt on display. Dripping.

You’re already on your back, knees drawn up, thighs spread and trembling, cunt pulsing with heat that’s been building all week. You don’t try to hide it. You can’t. Your pussy’s wet. Loud. Lips glossy and parted, folds flushed and twitching like she knows the moment has finally come. She’s been teased. Trained. Denied. You’ve been filling her with fingers and pressure and your own voice, but never this. Never him. And now he’s standing at the edge of the bed, staring down at you like he’s finally ready to eat.

But he doesn’t touch you first.

He picks your shorts up off the floor, turns them inside out—and finds your soaked panties tangled in the legs. He peels them out slowly, sticky with your slick, the thin fabric darkened and clinging to itself. You watch, breath caught, legs still open, burning with shame as he brings them up to his face.

And sniffs.

Deep.

He inhales like it’s a fucking ritual. Eyes half-lidded. Thumb pressing into the crotch to smear the wetness around before dragging it across his lip. His tongue flicks out—tastes it.

“Jesus fuck,” he mutters under his breath. “She’s been marinating in this.”

Your body jolts. Your hands fist the sheets.

“She’s loud, too.” His voice drops lower. “I haven’t even touched her and she’s already talking. Look at her. Fucking twitching. Dripping. Spreading herself open like she knows who she belongs to.”

“Heeseung—” You whimper.

“Shut up.”

He tosses your panties to the side and climbs onto the bed, slow and smooth, eyes never leaving your cunt. He settles between your legs and just kneels there for a moment. Breathing her in. Hands on your thighs. Pushing them wider. Spreading you so open you can feel the air hit your slick.

You’re soaked. You know it. You can feel it, the slick sliding down into the dip of your ass, the way your folds part with every breath, your clit poking out, hot and swollen.

He just stares.

“You fucking trained her like this,” he mutters, almost to himself. “You really did it. Came like a good little slut every night just to keep her hungry.”

“She’s starving,” you whisper, voice shaking.

“I can see that.”

His thumbs press into the crease of your thighs, holding you open. His face lowers. Inches away. His breath hits your folds and your hips twitch violently.

He doesn’t lick you.

Not yet.

He just hovers. His nose skims your inner thigh. Then up. Right up the slick slit, dragging his breath across your folds until your body shudders. He breathes her in again—this time slower. Longer. Right at the source.

“God,” he mutters. “She fucking smells like obedience.”

You sob.

And then he spits.

Right on your pussy.

Hot. Heavy. Messy.

It splashes over your clit, drips between your folds, mixes with your slick and makes everything worse.

Your hips roll. You can’t stop it.

“Don’t you fucking move,” he growls. “She’s getting attention. She better stay still.”

And finally—finally—his tongue drags up your slit. A long, slow lick from hole to clit that ends with his mouth wrapped around it, sucking hard.

Your hands fly to his hair. Your spine arches off the bed.

But he pins you with one forearm across your stomach and doesn’t stop.

He eats you like a man starved. Like you’ve been feeding her for him. Keeping her ready. Keeping her needy. His mouth is everywhere—tongue licking up everything you’ve been saving, spit and slick and mess pooling under your ass while he moans into you.

“That’s it,” he groans against your clit. “Let me taste five fucking days of begging.”

You cry out, thighs clenching.

But he slaps your pussy with his hand—sharp, wet, punishing.

“Open.”

You go limp. You can’t fight it. You don’t want to.

He eats you like it’s personal. Tongue flat. Licking. Circling. Spitting again. Your clit’s too swollen, too sensitive, but he doesn’t care. He mumbles into you—filth you can barely understand because he’s too focused on devouring.

“She’s so fucking loud. She won’t shut up. You hear that?”

You do.

Your pussy makes noise with every lick—squelching, wet, obscene.

“I didn’t even fuck her yet,” he growls. “And she’s already creaming.”

You try to cum. You try.

But he pulls back just as your thighs start to shake, just as your stomach seizes.

“Nope. She’s not getting fed all the way until I’ve felt her on my cock.”

You nod frantically, fingers gripping the sheets, desperate.

Heeseung leans back, licking his lips, chin soaked, eyes wild.

“She’s ready,” he says. “She’s starving.”

He’s already got two fingers hooked inside you when he tells you to open your mouth.

Not to kiss him. Not to speak. Just to take it.

He shoves his fingers past your lips—soaked in your own slick, the same fingers he’s been curling deep inside your cunt, dragging against that spot that makes your eyes roll back. You gag around them, moaning as the taste floods your tongue—salty, sour, yours. He pushes them down onto your tongue, presses hard until your spit leaks out around them and drips down your chin.

“Swallow it,” he mutters, eyes locked on your face. “That’s what obedience tastes like.”

You do. Of course you do.

Because you’d do anything he says.

And he knows it.

He wipes the slick from your lips with his thumb, drags it down your throat, then shifts forward—kneeling between your trembling thighs, lining himself up with your soaked entrance like he’s been waiting years for this moment.

You stare down at his cock, thick and flushed and leaking at the tip, and your whole body tenses. You’re already open, already dripping, already fucked dumb—but none of it’s going to prepare you for this.

“Look at her,” he mutters under his breath, dragging the head of his cock through your folds, smearing pre-cum across your clit. “She’s fucking begging.”

“She wants it,” you pant, voice shaking. “Please—”

He doesn’t give you time to finish.

He presses in—slow, deep, cruel.

The stretch hits you all at once. Your back arches. Your breath leaves you in a choked gasp, and your pussy clenches hardaround him, sucking him in inch by inch like she never wants to let him go.

“Ohhh, fuck,” he groans. “She’s trained alright.”

You moan. Loud. Desperate. Writhing beneath him as he bottoms out, his hips flush against your ass, his cock buried all the way to the base.

She’s full.

Finally fucking full.

Your cunt grips him tight, fluttering around his cock like she’s been starving for it—and she has. Every inch of him hits something you didn’t know existed. Your body shakes under the pressure. You’re soaked. Stuffed. Used. And you want more.

“Say it,” he growls. “Say what she is.”

“She’s yours,” you gasp. “She’s a hole—your hole—she’s been waiting for this—”

He pulls out halfway, then slams back in.

You scream.

“You’re goddamn right she’s mine,” he snarls. “You trained her just to take my cock.”

You nod frantically, crying now, pleasure too thick in your throat to hold back.

He starts to fuck you in earnest—hard, relentless, loud. Skin slapping skin. His cock slick from your wetness, dragging through every twitch and squeeze, pressing deep, deeper, forcing your body to stay open for him. You feel it in your stomach. Your spine. Your fucking brain.

Every thrust knocks your thoughts loose. And you want to thank him. You want to feel him. You want to taste him.

So you lift your head—try to kiss him.

You lean up, lips parting, mouth open and begging.

He pulls back.

His hand grabs your throat, presses you flat into the mattress. You gasp, eyes wide, blinking up at him in confusion. He smiles. Cruel. Mocking.

“No,” he says coldly. “You don’t deserve to be kissed.”

Your breath shatters.

“Kisses are for good girls,” he spits. “You’re just a trained little hole.”

Your pussy clenches around him so violently he groans.

“That’s all you are now, isn’t it?” he sneers. “A stupid little cunt that opens on command. You get used, not kissed.”

Tears spill over your cheeks.

And you cum. Just like that.

From the words. From the shame. From the humiliation.

Your pussy spasms around his cock, soaking both of you as you scream into his hand still wrapped around your throat. Your hips jerk. Your vision goes white. But he doesn’t stop.

He fucks you through it, hips pounding, cock punching into your oversensitive cunt like he’s trying to reprogram you from the inside out.

“That’s it,” he pants. “Let her milk me. Let her show me how much she needed this.”

You’re sobbing. Gasping. Too wrecked to speak.

“Fucking knew it,” he groans. “You were never gonna be satisfied until you got split open.”

He leans down, mouth right by your ear.

“But don’t ever reach for a kiss again. Sluts like you don’t get kissed.”

You’re already limp when he flips you.

Your body gives out so easily—shoulders pressed into the mattress, arms numb, legs trembling, hips cocked up on instinct the second he yanks you onto your stomach. His hands drag you by the waist like a ragdoll. Like something boneless, brainless, ruined. Your face is buried in the pillow. Your cheek sticks to the fabric. You’re crying, still, but there’s no shame left. Just the raw ache of your cunt pulsing around nothing—because he pulled out.

You whine, pathetic and wordless, hips rolling back into the air, leaking down your thighs.

“Still hungry?” he mutters behind you.

You nod into the pillow.

“Say it.”

“She’s empty,” you whimper. “She’s twitching—she wants you back in—she’s not done—she’s never done—”

You gasp when the head of his cock slides back in. Just the tip.

He doesn’t give you the rest.

You wiggle. Cry. Press your ass back against him and moan when your folds stretch again, split open all over his length.

“You trained her to take it,” he says. “Now you’re gonna train her to keep it.”

He presses forward.

His cock buries to the hilt in one brutal thrust, and your whole body spasms. Your hands claw at the sheets. Your cunt clenches so violently it forces a sob out of your chest, high-pitched and broken. You’re still sensitive. Still throbbing from the last orgasm. But he doesn’t care.

He starts fucking you again like he owns you.

The slap of skin echoes in the room, wet and obscene, his cock pounding into your raw pussy like she’s just a hole to conquer. You don’t even try to move anymore. Your body takes it. Open, obedient, used.

“You like that?” he pants. “You like being my little fucktoy?”

“Yeah, you do. You’re trained now. A good little cocksleeve who comes when she’s told. Cries when she’s full. Cums from being humiliated.”

“I do,” you choke out. “I’m yours—I’m your toy—just your fucktoy—use me—use her—”

“That’s it,” he growls. “That’s what she wanted, isn’t it? Not kindness. Not kisses. Just cock. Just someone to shove it in and remind her she’s nothing but a messy, wet little pussy.”

He thrusts harder. You scream into the sheets.

“She’s so loud,” he snarls. “So fucking wet. She’s gushing. Every time I pull out she cries.”

You don’t even recognize your own voice when you cum again.

It’s raw. Ugly. Loud.

You scream—clawing at the sheets, nails ripping fabric, your body wracked with spasms as you squirt all over his cock, wet exploding out of you in waves, soaking the bed, your stomach, your thighs. You can’t stop it. You don’t want to.

He fucks you through it—harder.

“Let her break,” he growls. “Let her fucking split.”

And when your body finally collapses, hips falling, spine trembling, Heeseung doesn’t even slow down.

He grabs your hips, hauls you up, and drives in deep one more time—and stays there. His cock pulses inside you. Thick. Hot. Flooding you.

You feel it. You feel his cum shoot deep, thick ropes filling your already ruined pussy until your belly aches with it.

He stays inside. Keeps you cockwarmed, plugged full, hands rubbing down your spine like this is the aftercare.

Not words. Not love. Just being kept full. Like you should be.

You barely breathe. Your eyes are glassy. Your mouth’s open. You feel him lean over you. Feel the slow drag of his lips against your ear.

“You’re not starved anymore,” he whispers. “She’s fed now. Finally.”

You nod. Barely. Weak. Fucked out. His cock twitches.

“She’s still twitching,” he murmurs. “She wants to sleep like this.”

You wake up to the burn in your thighs.

The stretch. The ache. That slick-dried, too-sensitive sting between your legs from being filled for hours without a break. Your skin’s flushed. Clammy. You shift slightly under the covers, still half-asleep, and you feel it—him.

Still there. Still inside you.

You blink. Breathe. Try to make sense of your body—but the pressure between your legs is still warm. Your cunt clenches instinctively, and his cock twitches in response.

A slow, deep ache spreads in your gut.

His arm is draped over your waist. His chest is pressed against your back. He’s asleep—soft breaths on your shoulder, jaw resting against the side of your head. And his cock is still buried to the base in your pussy. Warm. Heavy. Plugging you full like it belongs there.

But something else creeps in too.

You lie there for a moment. Silent. Still. Pussy fluttering, heartbeat slowing, and that awful little ache growing in your chest. The one that started the second he pulled away last night. The one that settled into your ribs when you reached for him and he said “You don’t deserve to be kissed.”

You swallow. You whisper it before you even think about it.

“Are you really not gonna kiss me?”

It’s soft. Not needy. Just… there.

His breath shifts against your skin. His arm tightens slightly around your waist.

You almost regret asking.

Until he exhales through his nose and mutters, voice rough and low and real, “I’m still fucking inside you, you brat. You think I’m gonna spend the whole night cockwarming my favorite pussy and not kiss her in the morning?”

You twist under him, face flushed, and turn your head over your shoulder—and his mouth is already there.

No hesitation. He kisses you hard.

Mouth slanting over yours, tongue sliding in with no patience, lips full and hot and filthy with morning breath and spit. You moan into it, deep and broken, cunt clenching around his cock again like she’s reacting to the kiss like it’s touch.

His hand grips your jaw, thumb dragging over your cheek as he devours your mouth. He licks into you like he means it—like you’ve earned it—like he’s been wanting to do it since before he ever called you a slut.

You’re whimpering into his mouth when it happens.

Your lips slide against his, sticky with spit, your breath still uneven from how long you spent crying into the pillow, your cunt still fluttering weakly around his cock. He hasn’t pulled out. He’s still inside you. Still twitching, half-hard again already, thick and warm, stretching your still-leaking pussy while your body curls back into him, needy and clingy and soft in a way you didn’t get to be last night.

His hand cups your jaw now. Gentle. Finally. His thumb drags along your lower lip, slow and possessive, like he’s re-learning your mouth after denying it. His tongue pushes into you with unhurried filth, and your hips shift just barely, like your cunt’s trying to pull more of him in. Like she doesn’t even know how to be empty anymore.

And then you hear it.

“Heeseung?”

It’s distant. Not loud. Sleepy. But your blood freezes.

“Hey—have you seen Y/N?”

Evie. She’s awake. The breath dies in your throat.

Your eyes fly open. Heeseung’s hand freezes on your jaw. Your whole body locks. His cock is still deep inside you, softening now, but still heavy. Still leaking. You can feel him dripping down your inner thighs as your brain flips inside out with panic.

“Shit,” you mouth, barely audible.

Heeseung exhales through his nose, calm, but his arm is already tightening around your waist like he’s trying to figure out his next move in real time.

“Y/N?” she calls again. “Where’d you go?”

You scramble out of the bed like you’ve been shot. Legs wobbly. Pussy sore. You trip over the blanket as you reach for your discarded clothes, yanking your hoodie on over your head, trying not to scream as your shorts catch on your ankle. You’re still soaked, your panties still twisted around your thigh from where he shoved them earlier, and you can feel his cum still inside you, wet and hot and fucking obvious.

Heeseung’s already sitting up, dragging his hoodie on, running a hand through his hair to make it look like he just woke up.

You’re panicking. “Do I go back to her room? What do I do—what if she’s in the hallway—?”

Heeseung stands up, grabs your shoulders, kisses your forehead once—quick, mocking, cocky—like this is funny to him.

“Bathroom. Now.”

You sprint for it. Just as he opens his door.

His voice is casual. Sleep-rough.

“Yo.”

“You seen Y/N? I woke up and she wasn’t in bed. Her stuff’s still there though.”

Heeseung stretches in the doorway, voice smooth as fucking silk.

“Nah, haven’t seen her. She probably went to the bathroom.”

“She didn’t text me.”

“She probably didn’t want to wake you.”

You’re crouched in the bathroom, hands over your mouth, hoodie soaked at the hem, thighs still trembling. You glance down and see a smear of his cum on your leg, glistening in the morning light like a neon sign of guilt.

“Whatever. Tell her I’m making pancakes.”

“Will do.”

Door shuts. Heeseung turns, leans into the bathroom, finds you crouched by the sink.

“You owe me.”

You punch his chest.

He grabs your wrist. Kisses it.

“Don’t worry,” he whispers, voice low. “You’ll pay me back tonight."

It’s early.

Evie’s downstairs making coffee. You can hear the clinking of mugs, the stupid hum of whatever playlist she plays when she’s in a good mood.

You’re in Heeseung’s lap. Hoodie on. No underwear. His back’s against the headboard, his cock deep inside you, and you’re grinding slowly—hips circling, cunt fluttering, hands pressed to his chest to keep yourself upright.

You’re not allowed to bounce. Not allowed to moan.

Just slow, controlled rolls—like you’re milking him without giving yourself away.

“You sound like you want her to know,” he whispers against your throat.

You shake your head. Breathe through your nose. Keep moving.

“Then be quiet, baby. Or I’ll hold your mouth and your hips still, and you won’t cum at all.”

You almost cry. He grabs your ass. Tilts your hips just right.

“If she walks in, you better keep her name off your lips while I fill you up.”

You do. Barely.

You cum with your hand clamped over your mouth, twitching around his cock like you were made for it—and Heeseung cums seconds later, low and quiet, mouth on your collarbone.

Downstairs?

Evie sings along to the chorus.

It’s disgusting.

There’s no other word for it.

You’re on all fours, face buried in Heeseung’s mattress, drooling, moaning, thighs trembling with every wet squelch of his fingers plunging into you from behind. His mouth is glued to your cunt, spit running down his chin, tongue working your clit in slow, sloppy laps while one hand spreads you open—and the other, lower, slick with your cum, is rubbing tight circles around your asshole.

You’re whining his name. Filthy. Wordless. Brain-melted.

“Fuck, she’s drooling for it,” he mutters into your pussy. “She wants both. She’s ready. One in her ass, two in her cunt—you wanna be stretched like a proper little hole, huh?”

Your face is soaked. Your body’s trembling. Your pussy flutters around his fingers, slick squelching with every slow drag in and out. Your rim clenches, raw and wet from the friction. You try to answer, but all that comes out is a pathetic sob.

“Say it,” he growls. “Say what she wants.”

“I want it,” you gasp, voice cracking. “I want you to open my ass—wanna be full, wanna cum like a fucktoy—please—please—”

And then—

“Y/N?”

You hear your name like it’s being spoken through a tunnel.

You freeze.

Every muscle in your body locks.

Heeseung doesn’t move.

You can feel his tongue hovering right at your clit. His finger is still circling your asshole.

And then you both look up.

In the doorway. Mouth open. Eyes wide. Chest heaving.

Evie.

Her face doesn’t go red. It goes white. Like her blood just dropped to her feet.

She stares at your body—at your back arched, knees wide, your ass open, Heeseung’s hand buried between your cheeks, your best friend’s brother with his mouth on you and your spit in his beard.

And then she gags. Audibly. Violently.

Her whole body jolts forward like she’s about to puke right there in the hallway.

“Oh my—fucking—god—” she chokes. “What the—what the FUCK—”

She turns. Presses her palm to the wall. Leans into it. Her other hand clamps over her mouth and you see her shoulders jerk. Once. Twice. A horrible, broken sound crawls out of her throat.

“No—no—no—no, no, no—”

She’s panicking.

Can’t breathe. Her body is shaking so hard you think she might collapse.

“Evie—” you start, voice already wet. “Evie, please—please just listen—”

“DON’T.”

The scream hits like a slap.

“Don’t talk to me. Don’t—don’t even say my fucking name—”

You’re sobbing now. Reaching for the blanket. Falling off the bed. Barely able to pull your hoodie down over your sticky, twitching body.

Heeseung moves. Not fast enough. Still shirtless. Still hard. His fingers still glistening.

“Heejoo—”

“DON’T. CALL ME THAT.” Her voice is shrill, raw, wrecked. “You’re my fucking brother.”

She looks at you. Like she doesn’t even know you.

And then her expression cracks completely.

Her face contorts—pain, betrayal, disgust, hatred—all in one devastating collapse.

“You were inside her,” she whispers, and her voice breaks. “You had your—your—you were licking her while you were fingering her ass—”

“You’re both fucking insane.”

You crawl toward her. Not thinking. Just begging. Your knees burn. Your hands shake.

“Evie—please—please just let me explain—”

She flinches.

Flinches.

Like your voice touched her skin. Then she goes still. Her breathing slows. Her hands drop to her sides.

She looks empty.

“Don’t come near me.”

Her voice is flat now. Robotic.

“Don’t talk to me. Don’t look at me. Don’t even fucking breathe in my direction.”

You can’t speak. Can’t move. She steps back.

Looks at Heeseung. Then at you.

“You’re both dead to me.”

You don’t remember the walk home.

You don’t remember grabbing your phone, or leaving the house, or what the weather was like. You don’t remember how long you cried, or how many people stared, or how fucking long it took for the heat between your legs to fade into something cold and ugly. You just remember sitting on your bedroom floor—hoodie still wet between your thighs, your underwear balled up in your pocket—and trying to breathe without choking on it.

Because it doesn’t stop. The image. Her face.

Evie, hand over her mouth. Evie, gagging. Evie, stepping back like you were something dirty.

She meant it. Every word.

“Don’t talk to me. Don’t look at me. Don’t fucking breathe in my direction.”

She meant it.

You try to text her that night. You don’t even know what to say. There are three different messages in your drafts: one with just her name. One that says “I’m sorry.” One that says nothing at all.

They don’t send. You’ve been blocked.

He doesn’t text either. You don’t even know if he can.

The silence is so big it feels like a second death. You lie in bed every night with your phone face-up on your pillow, waiting for it to light up with anything. A call. A voice note. Just a name.

It never comes.

But you still feel him. In your body. In your bones.

Every time you try to sleep, your body curls like it’s expecting to be filled.

Some nights you wake up sweating—panting, pussy twitching—because you dreamed of his voice again.

You still miss him. Even after all of it. Even after how it ended.

Even after Evie’s face broke in half at the sight of you—wet, spread open, her brother’s finger sliding into your ass while you begged for more.

You still miss him. And that’s the part that makes you sick.

It’s been nearly two weeks since you watched Evie recoil in that doorway, hand clamped over her mouth like she was actually going to vomit.

You can’t erase the memory of her face—how disgust bled into betrayal, how her gaze slid right past you like you didn’t exist, then landed on Heeseung as if he were some twisted stranger in her own home. You tried to bury the image, tried to make it small and unimportant, but it lives in your chest now, swelling every time you breathe.

You haven’t talked to either of them since. Not one word to her, not a single text to him.

It’s as if the world paused on that moment: her voice ripping through the room, your body half-naked, his spit drying on your thighs, your stomach churning with guilt.

Now the doorbell rings, and somehow you already know who’s on the other side.

You open it slowly, hesitation weighing on every movement of your hand.

Heeseung stands there in a wrinkled hoodie, dark circles stamped beneath his eyes. He looks thinner—like the shape of him has caved in from the inside out. His hair is unstyled, his shoulders hunched, and the way he stares at you feels desperate.

Neither of you speak for a few seconds, the silence pressing into your lungs.

Then you break it, because you can’t handle him looking at you like that. “Why are you here?” Your voice comes out flat, echoing the numbness you’ve been living in.

Heeseung swallows, gaze skittering between your face and the ground.

“I had to see you.”

The words feel like they’re meant to fix something, but all they do is twist the knife. You give a hollow laugh, but there’s no humor in it.

“You already saw enough.”

He exhales shakily, bringing a hand up to scrub at the back of his neck.

“I’m not asking you to forgive me,” he says, eyes flicking up to meet yours. “I know that’s not—there’s nothing I can—” He trails off, struggling, guilt carved into every line of his face. When he finally speaks again, his voice strains.

“You think we haven’t replayed it a hundred fucking times?” he asks. “The door. The blanket. You moaning. Me—God—we were still fucking with each other right there, even when she—”

“Stop.” Your voice cracks. “Don’t say it.”

“We saw her face,” his voice keeps going, low and fast and pained. “We saw it, and we still didn’t stop, like fucking animals. I see it every time I close my eyes. I hear her say my name like I was never hers, like you were never her friend.”

You speak,

“I can’t look at you without hearing her gag.”

The confession slashes the air, and his lips part like you’ve slapped him.

“I can’t hear your name without remembering what it felt like to be in her house, in her family, doing… that, while she thought I was asleep down the hall.”

For a moment, neither of you breathe. Then he forces himself to speak, voice cracking.

“I know. I fucking know, and I hate that we didn’t let go even when we heard her. I hate that she looked at us like we were monsters. I hate that part of me still wanted to stay inside you, and part of you still wanted me there, when we should’ve both stopped.”

You close your eyes, replaying Evie’s strangled gasp in your head, recalling the numb disbelief that followed when she told you not to speak, not to look, not to fucking breathe in her direction.

“I can’t talk to you,” you whisper, voice trembling despite your best efforts. “I can’t even hear your name without feeling sick.”

He swallows and nods, like he’s been waiting for those exact words. “I’m sorry,” he says, and he sounds like he’s about to shatter. “I won’t—if you never want to see me again, I understand.” He drags in a breath that rattles in his chest. “I just needed to know you were… alive.”

For a moment, you want to ask him if he’s okay too, if he’s been eating or sleeping, if he wakes up sweating like you do. But you lock it down, because you can’t afford to care right now.

“Well,” you say, and your voice is colder than you intend, “now you’ve seen me. Congratulations.”

A faint tremor passes through him, and he nods once. There’s nothing else. No lecture, no pleading. He just steps back, shoulders slumped, and turns away.

It happens in the grocery store, of all places. You’re pushing a half-empty cart down the cereal aisle, trying not to think about how much quieter life has been since you lost your best friend and the boy you broke her heart with. You’re scanning the shelves for something to distract you when you catch sight of a familiar figure at the other end of the row.

Your heart lurches, your fingers tightening on the cart handle as your stomach flips.

Because there, frowning at the boxes of cereal, is Evie—or Heejoo, or however she wants to be called now. You don’t have time to decide whether you should turn and run or force a hollow smile. She glances up, and your eyes meet. Neither of you moves.

The aisle feels too narrow. Her cart sits between you, an invisible barrier.

She looks different—her hair is shorter or maybe just pulled back in a careless ponytail, dark smudges under her eyes, shoulders tense. She seems hollowed out in the same way you feel.

Some part of you wants to say hey or I miss you or please talk to me, but the words dissolve in your throat. She’s the one who steps forward first, letting her cart roll behind her. Her heels click on the tile, echoing your every heartbeat.

“Having fun?” she asks, and it doesn’t sound like a question so much as a thinly-veiled jab.

You grip the handle of your cart, mouth suddenly too dry to speak.

“Evie—”

“Don’t call me that,” she snaps, eyes flicking away like the name itself stings. “You don’t get to pretend we’re okay. You don’t get to act like we’re still friends.”

Her arms fold across her chest, nostrils flaring with each breath, and you feel your own pulse jump in your neck. “I—I’m sorry,” you manage, voice trembling. It’s not enough, you know that.

She scoffs, a breathy, humorless sound. “That’s it? You’re sorry? You think that magically fixes everything?” She gestures sharply, and you notice how tightly she’s clenching her fists. “You screwed around with my brother like it was nothing, and I walked in on—” Her voice breaks, face twisting as she fights off the memory. “I was just the idiot friend who never saw it coming, right?”

Shame flares in your cheeks. You hold your ground, though it hurts to meet her eyes. “I know I betrayed you,” you say. “We—God, I don’t even have the words for how messed up it was. We both knew better. We both let it happen.”

Her hand lifts to cut you off, shaking with the effort. “You think it’s just that you hurt me?” Her voice wobbles between anger and heartbreak. “You hurt him too, you realize that? He was my brother, you were my best friend, and you both blew yourselves up in front of me. Like you had no idea what it would cost.”

Your stomach knots in a way you haven’t felt before. She’s right. It wasn’t just her—it wasn’t just you. It was all three of you, tangling and twisting until it snapped. “I know,” you say more quietly. “And we’re all paying for it. He’s… he’s not okay. I’m not okay. And you’re definitely not okay. There’s no part of this that isn’t broken.”

She lets out a short, bitter laugh. “Do you think that helps? Hearing you say it’s broken doesn’t change the fact that I can’t even look at either of you without wanting to scream.”

You bow your head, voice almost inaudible. “I wish I could take it back.”

She swallows, and for a fraction of a second, the hostility in her eyes flickers with pain. “Well, you can’t.” Her grip tightens on the cart handle until her knuckles whiten, and she exhales shakily.

“I want my brother back, you know. I want my friend back. But I don’t get either of those things, because you two decided to… to destroy what we had.”

Your throat closes up, tears pricking at your eyes. “I’m sorry.”

She stares for another few seconds, jaw clenched as she holds herself together. Then she moves around you, snatching her cart by the handle, the wheels squeaking in protest.

“Enjoy the produce,” she mutters under her breath, voice dripping with bitterness as she passes.

It doesn’t happen overnight.

There’s no single conversation that wipes the slate clean, no perfect gesture that makes Evie’s betrayal vanish, no magic wand that repairs the gaping wound in your chest.

But over time—slow, grudging, step by hesitant step—you all begin to realize that staying in this darkness is killing you. Staying strangers, orbiting the same guilt without looking one another in the eye, is worse than facing the truth. And that truth is messy, fragile, and riddled with scars.

It begins with Evie texting you, late at night, a week after the grocery store encounter.

Just three words: We need to talk.

You stare at the screen for a solid minute, heart pounding like it’s trying to break out of your chest.

Your hands shake as you reply, Yeah, okay.

That’s all. No apology, no second-guessing, just acceptance. You wait for her to say when or where, but she doesn’t text back until the next afternoon, telling you to meet her at the park near her house.

And then she clarifies: Just you.

You show up after sunset, nerves jangling in every limb, expecting hostility, or silence, or both.

Instead, you find Evie sitting on a faded wooden bench under a flickering streetlight. She looks smaller than you remember, knees drawn up under her chin, arms hugging herself for warmth. As you approach, you open your mouth to say something—anything—but she holds up a hand, shaking her head.

“Don’t,” she says, voice tight. “Not yet.”

You stand there, awkward and guilty, waiting for her permission to speak.

She lowers her hand and sighs, staring at a patch of dead grass near her feet. “I asked you here because… this is killing me,” she mutters. “Being this angry all the time. Hating you. Hating him. I can’t keep up with it. It’s turning me into someone I don’t recognize.”

Her words break something inside your chest, and your throat goes thick. You sit down on the far edge of the bench, leaving a wide space between you, unsure if you’re allowed to be any closer. “I… I know,” you manage, voice unsteady. “I feel it too. It’s like I’m rotting on the inside.”

She nods once, gaze flicking to you before sliding away again. “I’m not saying I forgive you,” she warns, and you nod, heart pounding. “I’m just saying I don’t want this to be my life anymore. This—rage. It’s not me.”

She exhales, shoulders curling inward. “And I loved you. You were my best friend. And he… he’s my brother, and I loved him too. So how did we all end up here?”

Silence lingers. You fight back tears that threaten to spill.

“We messed up,” you whisper, voice cracking. “We both did. Me and him. We used your house, your trust, your everything for our own messed-up… needs, and it was stupid and selfish and we ended up shattering everything.” You swallow a lump in your throat. “I know none of that fixes it. But I swear to you, we never wanted to hurt you.”

Evie laughs bitterly, a hollow sound. “Well, you did. And I can’t pretend you didn’t.”

Her gaze shifts to the distance, to the halo of light under the streetlamp. “But I don’t know if I can keep hating you. Or him.”

She hesitates, words coming out slow. “I saw him last week. He looked—God, I hardly recognized him. Like a ghost of himself.”

You nod, biting back the urge to defend him or to ask a dozen questions. “He’s… not doing great,” you say simply, remembering his hollow cheeks, the way his voice cracked when he said he couldn’t sleep.

She wraps her arms tighter around herself, rocking slightly. “Neither are we,” she points out. “None of us are okay. And I guess that’s what I’m realizing. That we’re all stuck in the same crater, staring at the same wreckage. Maybe we shouldn’t be trying to fix it on our own.”

Your eyes burn with unshed tears. “What do you want to do?” you ask, feeling the weight of her words press into your chest.

She’s quiet for a long moment. Then she looks directly at you, tears shimmering at the edges of her eyes. “I want us to talk,” she says. “All three of us. In one place. I want us to put it all on the table, no hiding, no running out. Because if there’s any chance of moving forward—together or apart—we have to face it."

“I’ll text him,” she says, voice ragged. “Don’t expect miracles. But I can’t do this alone.”

A teardrop escapes your lashes and slips down your cheek. “Neither can I,” you whisper. “Thank you.”

She doesn’t respond, just stands up and motions for you to follow.

Evie’s living room is dimly lit, and the air feels thicker than it should—as if everything you’ve said to each other in the last hour is still hovering in the space between. Outside, it’s already dark, the muffled hum of passing cars bleeding in through the windows. You’re all drained—physically, emotionally—yet no one moves to leave. Not yet. It’s not finished.

Evie is perched on the armchair, knees drawn close to her chest. You’re on one end of the couch, Heeseung on the other, and there’s still a gulf of guilt and confusion separating you. But you can feel the conversation building toward something bigger than apologies or confessions of regret.

Evie tugs at the sleeves of her sweater. She glances between you and her brother, mouth pinched tight, but her voice is gentler than before.

“I’m not pretending this is easy,” she begins, clearing her throat. “We’ve all hurt each other. I just want to know what you… what you both actually feel.” Her gaze settles on you, question clear in her eyes. “Do you two even care about each other beyond… beyond whatever it was you were doing?”

You swallow, your mouth dry. This is the moment you’ve been pushing down for weeks, refusing to think about. The reason you woke up gasping sometimes, alone in your bed, missing a warmth you never should have craved in the first place. You take a shaky breath, feeling your pulse hammer in your temples.

“I—” you begin, then stop. Your voice wavers, but you force yourself to speak. “I’m in love with him.”

It comes out bare, unpolished, stripped of excuses. You feel the words echo in your chest, leaving you vulnerable. Across the room, Evie’s eyes widen for half a second, and you can see her guard tighten, just a bit.

Heeseung exhales sharply, his head snapping up. You can’t bring yourself to meet his gaze. Instead, you focus on the floor, heart pounding.

“I know,” you continue, voice trembling, “that he might not feel the same way. I know we started this all wrong, that I messed up your trust, that I hurt you”—you glance at Evie—“and maybe I don’t deserve a happy ending. But I can’t keep pretending I don’t love him just because I’m ashamed of how we got here.”

Evie inhales like she’s bracing for another blow, her arms tightening around her knees.

“You’re saying you love him, even if he doesn’t love you back?” she asks, carefully, like she’s afraid of the answer.

You let out a breath that feels like it’s been caged in your ribs for months.

“Yes. It’s not… it’s not his responsibility. If it’s one-sided, that’s on me.” You glance fleetingly at Heeseung, face flushing. “I don’t expect anything from him, or from you. I just—” Your voice cracks. “I needed to say it out loud.”

Silence envelops the room, charged with tension. Heeseung is staring at you, eyes wide and glossy, like you’ve knocked the air from his lungs. Evie shifts, chewing on the inside of her lip.

Heeseung finally speaks, voice rough.

“You… love me?”

You manage a small, trembling nod. “I do,” you say, meeting his gaze at last. “And if you don’t love me back, that’s okay. I know how messed up this is. I’m ready to… to accept that.”

He looks startled, as if no part of him expected you to be okay with that possibility. His hands flex on his knees, knuckles blanching. Then he breathes out, shoulders sagging.

“God,” he murmurs, shaking his head. “You’re unbelievably stupid.”

You flinch, heart jolting—though there’s no real malice in his tone, only a shaky awe and raw disbelief that seems to be tying him in knots. He forces himself to meet Evie’s eyes for a flicker of a second, as if silently asking for permission to go on.

“Don’t call her that,” Evie snaps, voice quivering at the edges. She fixes him with a sharp glare, arms folded tight across her chest. “I don’t care how you meant it—she’s not stupid, and you don’t get to insult her in front of me.”

“Shut the fuck up Evie, one second,” He turns to you, “Because you think I’m not in love with you? That I’d leave you hanging with all this guilt?”

Your heart stutters, the floor tilting under you. “Heeseung…”

“I’m in love with you too,” he says, and the words hang in the air with tangible weight. “I can’t believe you’d be ready to walk away, believing it was one-sided. That you’d… accept it. God, do you have any idea how much it hurts to see you in so much pain, thinking I don’t feel the same?”

A soft sound escapes your throat—some blend of relief and shock—and tears gather at the edges of your vision. Across the room, Evie exhales shakily, her eyes fluttering closed for a moment. You can see the swirl of emotions crossing her features: anger, hurt, jealousy, and underneath it all, a lingering care for you both.

Heeseung scrubs a hand over his face, then looks to Evie, voice trembling.

“I love her. I know I messed up. We messed up. We never should’ve lied. But I can’t take back how I feel.”

Evie drags in a deep breath. She pushes herself up from the armchair, pacing a short line across the living room. Her head is down, hands in her hair. When she finally looks at you both, there’s pain in her eyes, but not the same raw fury as before.

“Jesus,” she mutters. “You two…” She chews the inside of her cheek. “I hate what you did. I hate how you did it. But if you love each other—really love each other—I can’t tell you not to.”

Her shoulders slump. “I want to be angry forever, but… seeing you like this, I—” She presses her lips together, tears brimming, then sets her jaw. “I guess I just want us to find a way to exist without destroying each other.”

A thick silence fills the space. Your chest feels ready to burst from conflicting emotions—gratitude, guilt, longing, terror. You look at Evie and see the ghost of the best friend you once knew, who might be willing to stand beside you again one day, even if it won’t ever be the same.

You open your mouth.

“I know it won’t be easy,” you say softly. “I don’t expect you to forgive everything in one night. But maybe… maybe we can start moving forward?”

Evie dashes a tear off her cheek and gives a tiny nod.

“Yeah,” she whispers. “Maybe.”

Heeseung watches her, watches you, then rises from the couch. He hesitates, like he’s not sure if he’s allowed to touch you. You stand up, heart pounding, and drift closer. Neither of you quite meets in the middle, leaving a careful gap where all your remorse hangs. But it’s less than before.

Evie clears her throat, hugging herself.

“I can’t stay down here with you two being… whatever you are. I need time, okay?”

You nod quickly.

“Of course.”

Heeseung nods as well, voice soft.

“Anything you need.”

She steps back, wiping her eyes, and there’s a hint of a weary smile ghosting across her face, like she’s relieved but not sure how to show it.

“You two can talk, or… or go, or do whatever. I just…” Her breath catches. “I’m gonna go upstairs. That’s all I can handle right now.”

You don’t stop her.

Then you turn to him, tears slipping down your cheeks, a tremulous hope fluttering in your chest. He lifts a hand—tentative, like he’s scared to break you—and cups your cheek, thumb brushing your damp skin.

He exhales shakily.

“I love you,” he murmurs, the words raw with emotion. “I’m sorry for everything.”

You nod, voice catching in your throat as you rest your hand over his.

“I’m sorry too,” you whisper. “But I love you, and maybe… that’s something we can start with.”

His eyes close in something like relief, and he presses a soft, uncertain kiss to your temple. It isn’t a triumphant moment, not the kind of romantic victory you might’ve once imagined. It’s tender, laced with guilt and fear. But it’s also real—genuine and fragile, the only piece of warmth you’ve had in a long time.

Things shift slowly, almost imperceptibly at first. You and Heeseung start keeping your distance whenever Evie’s around—no subtle hand-holding, no lingering touches, certainly no sneaking off to lock yourselves behind the nearest door.

It’s not that you’re ashamed of each other; it’s that you can’t stand the thought of rubbing your relationship in her face. You both know you’re lucky she’s even letting you in the same room without storming out.

So you dial it back. You let your bodies stop running the show.

It’s harder than you expect—he still sets your nerves on fire by simply looking at you—but you remind yourself that Evie’s feelings matter, that you owe her more than just half-hearted consideration. You give her space, which means giving yourselves space too.

No sex. No heavy make-out sessions. No pressed-up-against-a-wall confessions. Just… time and gentle contact.

Heeseung seems as restless as you.

Sometimes, when it’s late and you’re on a phone call—whispering so Evie won’t hear through the walls—he sounds downright desperate.

You can hear his breath catch when you say you miss him, can practically feel the tension radiating through the receiver.

Yet both of you agree: this is how it has to be for now. If you want Evie to believe that what you have is more than just an addiction to each other’s bodies, you need to show her you can exist outside a bed.

So you go on dates. Real dates. Movie theaters, yes, but also bookstore trips, late-night drives to nowhere, strolling through a local fair when it rolls into town.

You hold hands only if you’re well away from Evie’s neighborhood—fearful that any small sign of affection might break the thin thread of tolerance she’s extended.

The first time you walk along the riverside in the evening, sipping cheap coffee from a convenience store, it hits you that you’ve never really done this part before: the tentative, day-to-day romance of building a real relationship. It’s both comforting and nerve-wracking.

You can feel the charge sparking under your skin every time he smiles at you, like you’re seconds away from losing your careful resolve.

But you don’t. Neither of you wants to risk undoing the fragile progress with Evie.

And that progress is slow, but present.

She doesn’t cringe as much when you and Heeseung enter a room together.

She no longer flinches if you happen to stand on the same side of the kitchen.

Maybe sometimes she rolls her eyes, but she doesn’t snap. You see the tension in her shoulders when you’re all in the same space, though—like she’s bracing for some new betrayal.

You can’t blame her. You still offer to leave the moment you sense her discomfort rising. Surprisingly, she’s started telling you to stay.

But the real sign that things might be healing comes one weekend night when Evie texts you, out of the blue:

Girls’ night?

She doesn’t dress it up with a cute emoji or an explanation; it’s bare bones, almost clinical. And you stare at your phone with your heart hammering, wondering if this is a test, or maybe a begrudging olive branch.

You answer with a shaky yes, and spend the next few hours trying not to read too much into it. You tell Heeseung you’ll be hanging out with Evie, and he just smiles—wide and genuine, telling you to have fun, to text him if you need anything.

Evie’s room hasn’t changed much since the night you snuck out of it to see Heeseung. The layout is the same, the posters the same, the bedspread the same. It all feels loaded with history.

She sits cross-legged on her bed, handing you a soda—no alcohol tonight, no false bravado. You sense she wants you both stone-cold sober for whatever might be said.

There’s an awkward pause, and then she gestures for you to sit, too.

For a while, conversation comes in bursts: updates about random classmates, stories from her day at work, small talk about the show you both used to binge-watch together. It’s stiff, but not hostile.

She picks at her blanket, and you notice how she won’t hold your gaze for too long. Yet each minute that passes without snapping or bitterness feels like a victory.

Eventually, she slides a bag of nail polish across the bed toward you. “You, um… you still like doing this, right? It’s been a while,” she mumbles, glancing at your nails.

It’s such a small gesture, but it makes your throat tighten. You nod, and she exhales something that might be relief.

For a solid hour, the two of you paint and chatter, as if practicing how to be friends again. Her shoulders are less rigid. You’re careful not to misstep. Neither of you mentions Heeseung.

At least not directly. But you feel his presence in the air, the unspoken pivot point around which your every interaction revolves. It’s only when Evie finally fixes you with a long, assessing look, half-concern and half-uncertainty, that the moment arrives.

“Are you two, like… okay?” she asks. Her voice is laced with discomfort, but there’s no hatred in it. “You said no more sneaking around. But are you—happy?”

You swallow hard, carefully blowing on your newly painted nails. “We’re… doing our best,” you say. “Trying to be good for each other. Not just physically.”

She nods, lips twisting like she’s turning over your words in her mind. “I guess… that’s what I wanted to know,” she admits softly. “It still weirds me out sometimes, but I’d rather it matter to you than be some… fling.”

A wave of gratitude surges in your chest, making it hard to speak. You nod. “It matters,” you whisper. “I swear.”

She blinks a few times, then sets her nail polish aside. The tension in her shoulders relaxes just enough that her spine curves against the headboard, more comfortable than you’ve seen her in weeks. “Good,” she murmurs, tone stilted but earnest. “Don’t… don’t make me regret trying to rebuild this, okay?”

Your own shoulders slump in relief. “I won’t,” you promise. Your voice shakes with the weight of it. “And if I ever do, you can—and should—kick my ass.”

That draws a small, genuine laugh from her—a sound you haven’t heard in what feels like ages. She nods, letting the humor fill the space that was once suffocating with tension. “Deal,” she says.

You stay up later than expected—talking about nonsense, painting your nails in mismatched colors, occasionally lapsing into awkward silences.

But each time, one of you breaks it before the air can go stale. By the time midnight rolls around, you’ve settled into a strange new normal: not quite what you were before the betrayal, but not strangers anymore. Something between you is mending, fragile but real.

When you leave, she walks you to the front door. It’s still weird, stepping out into the hallway where so much damage happened.

But Evie’s behind you, not in front, and you can’t help feeling that the dynamic has changed in a way that actually might last. You glance back at her, and though she still looks tired, she doesn’t look hostile or betrayed. Maybe just… cautious. It’s enough.

“Night,” she says, one hand resting on the doorknob.

“Night,” you reply, voice quiet. “Thanks, again.”

She nods and closes the door gently behind you—no slamming, no huffing. Just a simple, private goodbye.

As you slip into the night, you realize you’re smiling, mind already whirring with what you’ll tell Heeseung when you see him next. You catch yourself wondering if you’ll meet up for another date soon. Or if you’ll just call him on the way home, excitedly spilling the details of your slow but tangible progress with Evie.

The new place is barely furnished. A couch that’s still covered in plastic. A mattress on the floor. Takeout containers littering the kitchen counter. The floorboards creak with every step. The windows are wide open, and there are no curtains yet. It’s not home—not really—but it’s his.

And most importantly, it’s finally, blessedly, fucking private.

When he opens the door and lets you in, he doesn’t kiss you right away. He just watches you step inside like you’re something he’s trying to memorize. His hands stay in the pocket of his hoodie. His jaw’s tight. His eyes flicker to the bag in your hand, then to your shoes, then up your legs so slowly it makes you feel exposed even though you’re still fully dressed.

You don’t say anything at first. You set the wine down on the counter. You take in the space—empty and echoing—but your skin’s already buzzing. You hear the door close behind you with a soft click, and something shifts.

He clears his throat.

“I haven’t kissed you yet,” he says, voice low. “Not really.”

You turn to look at him. “No.”

There’s a beat.

“Can I?”

You nod.

And that’s it. That’s all it takes.

His hands are on your face before you can blink, warm and rough and needing. The kiss starts soft, but only for a breath. Then it turns—hungry, desperate, filthy. Your back hits the counter with a thud, his tongue already in your mouth, his body pressing into yours like he’s trying to crawl inside you through your lips.

You moan into him, and he groans, deep in his throat, like the sound broke whatever shred of self-control he was hanging onto.

“You have no idea,” he pants, mouth hot against your jaw, “how long I’ve wanted to ruin you in peace.”

Your shirt’s pulled up before you can answer, his mouth already sucking marks down your neck. His hands are everywhere—gripping your tits through your bra, unbuttoning your jeans, fingers slipping into your waistband like he owns the place. Like he owns you.

You gasp as his hand slides between your legs, cupping you through your underwear, his breath catching when he feels the heat there.

“Already wet?” he mutters, voice ragged. “Fucking knew it.”

He yanks your jeans down to your ankles, then sinks to his knees on the kitchen tile without another word. His hands push your legs apart, pulling one up to rest over his shoulder. And when his mouth presses to the soaked fabric of your panties, you cry out—sharp, helpless, needy.

“You wore these knowing I’d take them off with my teeth, didn’t you?” he growls, dragging the fabric aside with his nose, his tongue already lapping through your folds like he’s been waiting for this for months.

You can barely breathe. One hand flies to the counter for balance, the other fists in his hair. He licks you with obscene, wet sounds, groaning into your pussy like the taste is sending him over the edge. You grind against his face shamelessly, whining when he flattens his tongue and drags it up through your slit, over and over again.

“Fuck, Heeseung—please—”

He pulls back just enough to spit directly on your clit. “What do you need, baby?” he pants, thumb spreading it around with tight, deliberate pressure. “You want me to make you cum with my mouth like a good little whore? Is that it?”

You nod frantically, hips rocking against his hand.

“I missed this pussy,” he mutters, diving back in. “Missed how fucking loud she is.”

And she is. Your pussy’s wet, sloppy, noisy, every flick of his tongue echoing off the bare walls. You cum hard, legs shaking around his shoulders, crying out his name as your vision blurs.

But he’s not done.

He stands, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, then grabs you by the waist and turns you around, bending you over the counter.

“No more pretending,” he growls in your ear. “No more quiet. You’re gonna scream for me this time.”

He pulls your panties down and spreads you open, groaning like a man unhinged.

“God, you’re dripping. You fucking missed this too, didn’t you?”

You try to answer, but he’s already stroking his cock against your folds, rubbing the head through the mess between your legs, smearing it everywhere.

“Say it,” he demands.

“Yes—yes, I missed it—fuck, Heeseung, I missed your cock—”

He sinks into you in one sharp, brutal thrust, and you wail.

No condom. No pause. Just the stretch of him filling you up in one smooth, devastating stroke.

“Oh my God,” he groans. “You’re fucking swallowing me.”

You’re moaning, writhing, drooling onto the counter. He doesn’t start slow. He doesn’t give you time. He fucks you—relentless, pounding, like he’s been waiting to do this since the moment you first touched him.

Your ass slaps against his thighs with every thrust. Your pussy is loud, the kind of wet, messy squelch that would embarrass you if you could think.

He slaps your ass hard, making you jolt forward. “Listen to her,” he growls. “She’s been crying for me.”

You don’t stop him. You beg for more.

He grabs your arms and pulls you back onto him, using your own body to fuck you harder.

“Keep taking it,” he snarls. “Be my good little cumrag, just like you used to be.”

You scream. You scream for him.

You cum again, sobbing into the crook of your arm, your entire body trembling.

He pulls out and flips you around, lifts you up onto the counter again, and kisses you like he’s devouring you from the inside out. Your legs are trembling so hard you can barely hold them up, but he spreads them open and spits straight onto your cunt, rubbing it in with two fingers, moaning when you jolt at the sensitivity.

“Wanna fuck you on the floor next,” he mutters against your lips. “Wanna fuck you on the mattress, on the couch, against every wall. Wanna ruin this apartment with the sound of your pussy screaming for me.”

You grab his face, breath ragged. “Then do it.”

He throws you over his shoulder and carries you to the mattress on the floor, where he fucks you in every position he’s ever imagined. He keeps you cockdrunk and leaking. When your voice gives out, he fucks you in silence. When your legs stop working, he props them up and keeps going. And when he finally cums—inside you, deep, claiming—he doesn’t pull out.

He just collapses on top of you, both of you drenched in sweat and slick and the aftermath of something feral.

You can’t move.

You don’t want to.

You just lie there, shaking, full, used, satisfied in a way that makes you dizzy.

Heeseung kisses your shoulder and whispers against your skin.

“I’m never being patient again.”

TL: @naurwayyyyy @ziiao @somuchdard @ijustwannareadstuff20 @ddolleri @beariegyu @zzhengyu @annybah @seonhoon @elairah @dreamy-carat @geniejunn @kristynaaah @zoemeltigloos @mellowgalaxystrawberry @inlovewithningning @vveebee @m3wkledreamy @lovelycassy @highway-143 @koizekomi @tiny-shiny @simbabyikeu @cristy-101 @bloomiize @dearestdreamies @enhaverse713586 @cybe4ss @starniras @wonuziex @sol3chu @simj4k3

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yois2aki · 4 months ago

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wc. 1.3k

caleb gives me tiktok bf energy.

btw reader has freckles in this... sorry i hate giving reader physical aspects but i think he'd be a sucker for freckles 😔😔😔

“this is a trap.”

caleb eyed you warily as you set up your phone, a mischievous smile playing on your lips. he had been through enough of your little social media games to know when something was dangerous territory, and this? this was a minefield.

“you realize there’s no way for me to win this, right?” he muttered, arms crossed.

you grinned. “oh, come on, it’s just for fun.”

“that’s what you said last time,” he grumbled. “then you pouted for an hour because i ranked going shopping together last.”

“okay, but that was an injustice.”

caleb groaned, pinching the bridge of his nose before sighing in defeat. “fine. let’s just get this over with.”

you clapped excitedly, hitting ‘start’ on the ranking filter as the first body part popped up.

1. hands

he barely hesitated. “fifth.”

you gasped. “fifth?!”

he side-eyed you. “do you want me to be honest or not?”

you huffed. “fine. but you better put my legs below that or we’re fighting.”

he smirked. “we’ll see.”

2. legs

he pressed fourth without a second thought.

“caleb.”

“what?” he said, completely unfazed.

you glared at him. “so my hands are below my legs?”

he shrugged. “it’s the truth.”

you groaned dramatically, flopping against the couch. “i don't want to play this with you anymore.”

he chuckled. “too late now.”

3. eyes

his expression softened slightly.

“first,” he said immediately.

your lips parted slightly, caught off guard by how fast he answered. “…really?”

he turned his head slightly, glancing at you, and for a second, his violet eyes held something softer, something quieter.

“yeah,” he murmured. “really.”

your heart did a little flip, but before you could dwell on it, the next body part popped up.

4. lips

caleb exhaled, staring at the screen like it had personally betrayed him.

you smirked. “what, struggling?”

“not struggling,” he muttered, pressing second after a long pause.

you raised an eyebrow. “so my lips are second to my eyes?”

he shot you a look. “you know how i feel about your lips. but i look into your eyes every day. that has to count for something.”

your cheeks warmed slightly, but before you could let it get to your head, the next one appeared.

5. collarbone

without hesitation, he pressed ninth.

you gasped.

“ninth?!”

“what?” he said, completely unbothered.

“my collarbone is at the bottom?!”

“there are ten slots,” he reminded you. “it could be worse.”

“oh, you're so sleeping on the—”

before you could finish, the next one appeared.

6. voice

his eyebrows twitched.

he pressed third.

you blinked. “…my voice?”

he shrugged. “it’s nice. i like hearing you talk.”

your heart did another weird little flip. you quickly masked it with a smirk. “so what you’re saying is, my voice is sexier than my hands?”

he groaned. “i regret this already.”

7. stomach

he looked at the screen for a second before pressing sixth.

you narrowed your eyes. “explain.”

he took a sip from his drink. “it's nice to nap on.”

you flushed slightly. “caleb.”

he smirked but didn’t say anything else.

8. back

he hummed in thought before pressing eighth.

you relaxed slightly. “okay, that’s fair.”

he arched a brow. “oh, so you accept this ranking, but not the collarbone?”

“obviously.”

he shook his head. “ridiculous.”

9. neck

he pressed seventh.

you side-eyed him. “you’re thinking of something, aren’t you?”

“not at all.”

“liar.”

he just smirked.

10. freckles

he pressed first.

your breath hitched.

“…wait.” you furrowed your brows. “but you already put my eyes first.”

he exhaled, shaking his head. “no. i take it back. freckles should be first.”

he tried to tap the screen to change it, but the filter locked in the ranking.

caleb stared at the screen. then at you. then back at the screen.

“…you planned this.”

you burst out laughing. “i didn’t! but i knew you’d try to change it!”

he groaned, dragging a hand down his face. “this is exactly why i said this was a trap.”

you grinned. “so, my freckles win?”

caleb sighed, rubbing his temples.

“…yeah,” he muttered. “they win.”

you leaned in, smirking. “told you this would be fun.”

“for you, maybe,” he grumbled, but the way he was watching you—like the freckles scattered across your cheeks had just ruined him completely—told a different story.

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ljf613 · 2 years ago

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Alright, Chanukah starts tonight, which means it's time for me to finally make a post about different kinds of menorahs.

This right here? This is the Temple Menorah:

There's some debate over whether the branches were straight or curved, but here's a few things we do know:

It had seven branches of equal length.

It was made of one solid piece of gold

It was at least five feet tall.

It used pure olive oil.

The Temple Menorah is what people mean when they talk about The Menorah. It's what you'll see on historical or commemorative artifacts such as the Arch of Titus in Rome or Israeli currency:

During the time when the Temple stood in Jerusalem, the High Priest lit all seven flames on this Menorah every day (using the aforementioned pure olive oil):

No one lights this on Chanukah.

This is a Chanukah menorah:

There are countless variations, but here are the important things:

It has eight branches of equal length, plus a ninth "helper" branch, known as the shamash, which is set apart from the rest of the branches and used to light the others.

It can be made of any material.

It is usually used with wax candles or oil, but, if necessary, one can use anything that burns.

In Hebrew, this kind of menorah is called a chanukiah.

Some Chanukah menorahs, like the one shown above, have the shamash in the middle. Others have it on the side:

Regardless, this kind of menorah is the one that has been lit by Jews on Chanukah for thousands of years. It's the menorah you'll seen in photographs of Jewish households, including this famous picture taken in Germany in 1931:

(The message written on the back of the photo reads: "Death to Judah"/ So the flag says/ "Judah will live forever"/ So the light answers)

On Chanukah, whoever is lighting the menorah will first light the shamash, then the number of candles corresponding to whichever night of Chanukah it is. The first night, only the rightmost candle is lit, the second night the two rightmost, etc. (The newest candle is always lit first):

Again, a valid Chanukah menorah has eight branches of equal length, along with a shamash. There is no such thing as a Chanukah menorah with six branches of equal length and a longer seventh branch, and no valid Chanukah menorah has eight branches of completely different lengths.

If you see either of the above designs (or anything similar) on Chanukah-themed decor, it tells you the creator has absolutely no idea what they're doing and couldn't be bothered to do more than two seconds of research to make sure their product was accurate. Anyone who knows anything about the holiday will laugh at these. (They may buy them anyway, especially if that's all that's available-- my new Chanukah sweater has an invalid menorah pattern, but it's adorable, so I'm still going to wear it. But I am also laughing about it and invite you all to do the same.)

Anyway, have a happy Chanukah, everyone!

#real life #jumblr #thoughts #menorah #chanukah #hanukkah #arch of titus #history lesson #the more you know #all queued up

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hotchscoffeecup · 11 months ago

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stuck

summary: stuck inside an elevator with your boss, aaron hotchner, isn’t what you had in mind when you left work late. perhaps, you can get your supervisor to relax just a little. SFW

tags: minor blood, stuck inside an elevator

pairing: hotch x reader

word count: 3k

a late birthday fic for muffin <3

“Alright, goodnight Hotch. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

“Are you sure you’re going to be alright?”

“Hotch, it’s late. I’m tired. It’s hotter than hell outside. Trust me, when I tell you that all I need is some late night takeout, a shower, and eight hours of uninterrupted sleep.” You let out a short laugh. “I’ll be fine.”

He nods in farewell; offering a tired, albeit, tight smile before parting ways and moving toward his SUV a few spots down from your sedan. It had been a long day, and an even longer evening. The rest of the team had gone home hours ago, but Hotch had volunteered to stay behind and help you on your case report. Your skin bristles at the thought of the last 72 hours and you feel the tension pulling each one of your muscles as you reach into your purse and feel for your keys. After a few seconds of rifling around, your brow knits together when you don’t come across the key fob.

Releasing an exasperated sigh, your shoulders slump. “Dammit.”

“Everything okay?” Hotch asks, pausing after opening his car door.

You incline your head and wave a hand through the air. “Yeah, I just left my keys on my desk.”

A car door slams and the sound of Hotch’s footsteps echo as he moves towards you. “I’ll walk with you.”

You blow out a breath and wave him off. “No, go home. It’s just going to be a few extra minutes. Go see Jack.”

“He’s with his aunt until tomorrow evening, then hopefully I’ll get to spend the entire weekend with him before duty calls.” He gestures towards the elevator. “It’s no trouble, really,” he insists.

You can’t help but feel like a nuisance, but you don’t argue any further. A humid breeze blows through the parking garage and thunder rumbles off in the distance. Hotch presses the button to summon the elevator and as the gears rumble to life both of your cells start pinging.

Hotch reaches into his pants pocket as you reach into your purse. You both check your cells where a severe thunderstorm warning flashes across the screen.

“Hotch, really, you can go.”

Hotch arches a brow, sparing you a look that says not-a-chance as the doors open. “Come on, if the weather kicks up before we get back down, I’ll drive you home.”

He stretches an arm out to hold the door and you reluctantly step inside, accepting that he’s not going to leave.

You push the button for the ninth floor and cross your arms over your chest. “My car can handle a little rain, Hotch.”

He blows out a breath and shakes his head. “With the weather they’re calling for, your car will become a boat.”

“Careful, Hotch. That was almost a joke.”

A smirk tugs at the corner of his mouth, but he doesn’t reply.

The elevator pings as you ascend higher and higher. By the time the elevator crawls past floor four the sound of rain pounding against the building echoes inside the elevator.

“Damn,” you curse quietly. “I can only imagine what 95 is going to look like with this going on.”

“I’m sure it’ll—” A loud clap of thunder explodes outside, cutting Aaron off.

You startle, gasping loudly and feeling yourself immediately flush red with embarrassment. Your eyes flicker over to Hotch and he looks calm and collected, unshaken by the burst of sound.

Suddenly, the lights go out and the elevator screeches to a halt, throwing you off balance. You stumble as the elevator rocks violently and in your heels, you’re unable to catch yourself before you fall forward and hit your head against the wall; dropping your purse and scattering its contents in the process.

Pain splits your brow and your hand flies to your forehead. Blood, sticky and wet, trickles into your eye and you wince. The emergency lights kick on as you and Hotch both collect yourselves and stand.

“Are you ok?” Hotch asks.

“I hit my head.”

“Here, let me take a look.”

His hand curls under your arm as he uses the other to tilt your chin up. His eyes are hard in the dim red light.

“I can’t tell how deep it is in this lighting.” He presses his lips together and reaches for his cell. “Dammit!”

“Let me guess,” you say. “No signal.”

He snaps his phone shut. “None, what about you?”

“My entire life is on the floor right now,” you quip, gesturing at the ground.

“Right, sorry.” His eyes scan the ground and quickly locate your phone. He scoops it up and after flipping it open, he shakes his head with an exasperated sigh.

“Well,” you reply. “Guess we better make ourselves comfortable until the generators kick in.”

You kneel down and begin sweeping your belongings toward you. Hotch crouches and helps you without asking.

“Let’s at least see what you might have that I can use to help clean it up and stop the bleeding.”

“Oh yeah, let me just reach into my Mary Poppins bag here and pull out an EMT’s jump bag.”

He aims a hard look at you that he usually reserves for whenever Penelope makes a comment that teeters the line with HR.

“I’m the one with my head split open, I think I’m allowed to be sarcastic right now.”

Hotch breathes out sharply. “Split open, that’s a tad dramatic, don’t you think?”

“Two zingers in a row, Hotch. I’m impressed.” He shakes his head but even in the dim lighting, you don’t miss the smile on his lips. He picks up a couple of items and hands them to you. “Here’s your,” he pauses to examine the items in his hand. “Lipstick and tampons.”

A furious heat races to your cheeks as you snatch them out of his hand and shove them in your purse.

“Wait, give me one of those. I can use it to stop the bleeding.”

“Hotch, I’m not giving you a tampon.”

He levels you with another hard stare and when he says your name, you can hear the amusement in his voice. “It’s either that or your sweater, and I know that was a gift from JJ on your birthday. Besides, I was married for a long time. I’m not embarrassed by tampons or pads. You know I keep a supply in my desk, right?”

Your brow pinches, but a smile plays about your face. “Ok, I’ll bite,” you say as you pass him one. “Why?”

He pauses before tearing open the packaging. “You wouldn’t happen to have any hand sanitizer in there, would you?”

It takes you seconds to find the mini Purell inside your handbag and pass it to him. He squeezes some into his hands and scrubs it over his skin. “One time, Penelope dropped a file off in my office. She was in a rush and not acting like herself. I could tell she was stressed.” He tears open the plastic and pushes the cotton portion of the tampon out of the applicator. “I asked her if she was okay and boy, was that the wrong question to ask.” Hotch turns his head, looking around. “Ah, thought I saw that.” He scoops your half finished water bottle off the ground and pours a small bit of water onto the cotton to break it up. After working it into a small square, he gently presses it against the split in your brow. You wince and he apologizes. “She burst into tears and told me that her cycle had snuck up out of nowhere and she was unprepared and needed to run to the drug store. I told her not to worry and that I’d go for her. I’d forgotten to ask what exactly she wanted me to get, so I bought a little of everything. She took what she needed and I told her that I’d keep the rest in the lower left drawer of my desk in case an emergency ever arose again.”

“Hotch, that’s actually really sweet.”

He feigns a pained look, eyes crinkling at the corners. “Your use of the word actually cuts pretty deep, you know?” He lifts the makeshift bandage and inspects the injury. “It’s still bleeding. I’m afraid you might need stitches.”

You blow out a breath. “Great, and what do I tell them? Hey, I fell face first into an elevator panel. Patch me up!”

Hotch chuckles and applies more pressure to the wound. You hiss and again, he apologizes.

“It’s okay,” you say and realize this is probably the closest you’ve ever been to your supervisor. In fact, from this angle you notice just how long and thick his dark lashes are; the way his coffee colored eyes glimmer in the low lighting.

Holy shit, what are you thinking? That’s your boss you’re ogling.

“It’s hot.”

You blink out of your momentary stupor. “I’m sorry, what?”

“In here,” Aaron answers.

“Well yeah, the AC is out with the power. What do you think is taking the generators so long to kick in?”

Hotch’s brow furrows as his eyes flick about the space. “I’m not sure. It’s highly unusual though.”

You shrug out of your sweater and take over holding the makeshift bandage against your forehead, your fingers brushing against his hand as you do so. Bunching your sweater into a ball, you place it behind you and lie back.

Hotch laughs awkwardly. “What are you doing?”

“It seems like we’re going to be stuck here awhile, might as well make myself comfortable.”

He pushes himself to his feet and presses the emergency call button. You’re not shocked when the only response is static. You watch as he paces, pushing the button every few minutes.

“This is where Reid would say something like ‘the definition of insanity is trying the same thing over and over again and expecting a different result.’”

Hotch tucks his hand against his belt and pushes his suit jacket back with his other fingers. It's a gesture you’re all too familiar with, the one he uses when he’s exasperated. He swipes at the perspiration beading on his forehead with his opposite sleeve.

“So, what, we just wait?”

A smirk pulls at your lips. This shouldn’t amuse you as much as it does, especially given the fact that you have a head injury and probably need to get checked out.

“What’s so funny?”

“You’re so,” you hedge, searching for the word, “high strung.”

Hotch’s brow climbs toward his hairline. “Excuse me?”

Did you hit a nerve? It was a fairly bold statement to make. Situation be damned, he was still your boss. “I don’t know, Hotch.” You release a short laugh. “You can’t really be in control all the time, can you?”

“Doesn’t this team have an agreement to not profile each other?”

You roll your eyes and prop yourself up on an elbow, wincing as pain pulses behind your eye. Hotch’s lips part as he instinctively moves toward you and you wave him off. “It’s not about profiling, Hotch, look at you. Stop trying to solve everything all the time and just say ‘hey, this shit sucks!’”

He holds your eye for a moment, his expression unreadable.

“You’re right,” he says. He shrugs out of his suit jacket and drops onto the floor beside you. “This shit sucks.”

You smile and he returns one. It looks good on him. It’s something he doesn’t do often enough.

“Let me check your head.” He leans forward and you let him inspect the gash in your forehead. “I think the bleeding stopped.” Placing his palm against your jaw, he tilts your head toward the red emergency lights. “Everything looks,” his eyes glimmer and drop to linger on yours. “Fine.”

Your lips part, but you don’t find words. Has Hotch ever looked at you like this? Well, that implies he's looking at you a certain type of way. You clear your throat and Hotch drops his hand.

“Sorry,” he whispers.

The words are out of your mouth before you can think. “Are you?”

He says your name then, barely a whisper. He’s so close, close enough for you to smell his aftershave. You feel your heart rate begin to pick up, pulse pounding in your ears. Hotch’s chin dips and his lips are a hair's breadth away from yours. Before anything can happen, the elevator’s gears suddenly grind to life. The sudden jolt of movement causes your foreheads to bump together and you groan as pain splinters behind your eye.

Hotch immediately apologizes and holds your face in his hands, making sure the minor collision didn’t reopen the wound that had barely stopped bleeding as is.

Your hand reaches up to cup his against your cheek and you meet his concerned eyes. “I’m fine, Hotch.”

He holds your gaze for a moment before dipping his head. “Okay,” he says tightly. “Okay, let’s get you up. There’s a first aid kit in the break room.” He grabs hold of your forearm and loops an arm around your waist before helping you to your feet. You stumble as you rise to your full height, your blood not yet having the chance to properly circulate through your body.

Hotch’s grip tightens around your waist and you place a steadying head against his chest; fingers splayed against the muscular plane beneath the fabric of his dress shirt.

Only when the elevator dings, signaling your arrival at the 9th floor do you remember that it's your boss with his arm around you right now. You startle apart and laugh awkwardly.

“Here, let me—” His voice trails off as he drops to a crouching position and sweeps the remaining items of yours off the floor along with his jacket and your sweater.

You walk in semi-comfortable silence, letting Hotch lead the way to the break room. When you arrive, you let him pull out a chair for you and take a seat. He moves quickly, rummaging through cabinets until he locates the first aid kit. He sits opposite from you and opens the white box. After pulling on a pair of disposable gloves, he makes quick work of opening several gauze pads. He squeezes rubbing alcohol onto the gauze and apologizes in advance.

“It’s going to sting,” he cautions as he begins cleaning the area around the wound and the blood that had dripped down your cheek.

“I’m a big girl, Hotch. My dad cleaned my skinned knees when I was a kid.”

Hotch chuckles, and it rumbles low in his throat. “I certainly hope you don’t see me as your father.”

You nearly choke on your own spit and feel a furious heat blossom across your face. Hotch sees this and the smile stays plastered on his face. He presses the alcohol soaked cotton to the wound.

You hiss at the contact and dig your nails into your palms. “Fuck!” you curse, though it’s mixed with sharp laughter. “I don’t remember it stinging that much!”

Hotch laughs as he apologizes and works as quickly as he can to clean the affected area. “Don’t say I didn’t warn you.” He finishes up and applies two butterfly bandages, which effectively close the gash. He discards the gloves and soiled gauze. After washing his hands, he uses a disinfectant wipe to sanitize the table and replaces the first aid kit in the cabinet.

“Efficient, as always.” You observe.

“I’ll have to fill out an incident report,” he says as he wipes his hands on his pants.

“Yeah, but that can wait until Monday.”

Hotch presses his lips together, not liking the sound of that.

“Oh, come on Aaron!”

His brow quirks. “Aaron? You never call me by my first name.”

You smile and gesture toward your forehead. “Head injury, I don’t know what I’m talking about.”

“It’s nice,” he says, a dimple in his cheek on show as he smiles. His expression shifts immediately towards worry. “Though, you might actually have a mild concussion. We should probably get you to a doctor.”

You wave him off. “A doctor is just going to tell me to rest, take ibuprofen, don’t sleep the first night, et cetera, et cetera…Frankly, I’d rather avoid the bill.”

“There's a protocol for this…paper work, workers comp.”

You slap your hands against your thighs. “Fine!” you relent. “Let’s go!”

Hotch smiles, relief evident on his face. “I’ll grab the paperwork.” You scoop your sweater and purse into your arms as he dashes out of the break room.

As you make your way back toward the elevator, Hotch joins you. “Forgetting something?”

Your eyes widen and you feel like you could smack yourself. “My keys!”

Hotch tucks the manila envelope under his arm and fishes around in his pocket, withdrawing your key ring with a cheeky grin on his face. You quickly grab them out of his hand and shove them into your purse. “The whole reason I’m in this mess,” you grumble.

You slap the button to summon the elevator just as thunder crashes outside once more. You and Hotch exchange a look. “On second thought, why don’t we just take the stairs?”

“Good idea,” Hotch agrees.

As you descend the nine flights of stairs, you can’t help but think of the long night you’re about to be in for. When you reach the parking garage, you can smell the rain in the air. You press the button to unlock your car.

“What are you doing?” Hotch asks. “No way, I’m taking you to the hospital.”

“Hotch, I’m going to be there all night.”

“Okay, so I’ll buy you breakfast in the morning.”

You freeze and Hotch does too. For a minute you just stand there holding each other’s gaze and in that moment, you both know something has fundamentally changed between the two of you. What that change is, neither of you can tell; but something in your gut tells you it’s a change for the better and you can’t wait to find out more.

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cursed-rat-of-homosexuality · 2 years ago

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Okay so uhhh... visions came upon me and this was the result lol

Based on this absolute atrocity (affectionate... kind of)

[ID: A fourteen panel comic done in grayscale based on a Twitter thread from David Jenkins.

First panel: Neil Gaiman is surrounded by a crowd of fans, a bright spotlight is shining on top of him. One of the fans points a microphone in his direction and says "Mr. Gaiman! How would describe season two using only three words?"

Second panel: A close up shot of Neil, he smiles and says "Uhh... I'd say it's quiet, gentle, and romantic". "Romantic" is written in a flourished cursive font. There are little floating red hearts surrounding him.

Third panel: A shot of the crowd of fans saying "Awww" in unison, there are little hearts floating around. They find it adorable.

Fourth panel: A black screen titled "At David Jenkins' Twitter"

Fith panel: David Jenkins is sitting in table far away from the point of view, at the center of the image, a spotlight is shining on top of him. There is a crowd of fans forming a semi-circle around him, they are squished against one another, stoping at the little fence that is surrounding the table . A fan standing near the front says " I LOVE U... three words to describe season 2?"

Sixth panel: A close up shot of David Jenkins, he is sitting with both elbows proped up on the table, supporting his head with his hands. The harsh light is shining in on him, he looks serious and solemn. His head is tilted down but his eyes are looking directly at the camera, the whites of his eyes make a stark contrast against his shadowed figure. He says " Fucking sweet...".

Seventh panel: The shot is arranged in the same way as in fifth panel. David Jenkins is far away, sitting at his table , the fans are surrouding him in a semi-circle. The fan near the front replies "Give us one more word David"

Eight panel: A huge shock wave tilts the crowd back. All lights are out, except for the spotlight shining in on David Jenkins. David's arms are unnaturally elongated in a spider-like way, fiercely gripping the table with both hands.

Ninth panel: David lauches into the crowd. The point of view remains the same, but now his head is extremely close up the camera. He emphatically says "FUCKING"

Tenth panel: The scene is seen from the side, now we can see that David still remains sitting at his table, but his neck is extended in a long unnatural arch. He is directly looking at the fan from before, his head on top of them. The fan still has the microphone poiting in David's direction. A new spotlight is shining in on both of them. David says, "SWEET"

Eleventh panel: A close up shot of the crowd. The camera lies a little ways below David's head, only the bottom of it is visible. We see that the fan with the microphone is crouched and almost completely tilted back. The fan is looking directly at Jenkins. The crowd continues squished together, watching intently with shocked faces. David continues, saying "YOU"

Thirteenth panel: The shot is arranged in the same way as in the previous panel. David continues, saying "SLUTS". The letters are written in an emboldened font. The crowd is completely shocked, but also weirdly flattered, all of them are blushing.

Fourteenth panel: David Jenkins goes back to sitting at his table, in a movement similar to a metal spring coiling up again after being streched out. He is sitting far away from the camera, at the center of the image. The fans forming a semi-circle around him. They continue blushing, with some assorted murmurs of bafflement as in "oh my god", "dude what" and "why". /END ID]

#long neck david shall haunt me for eternity now #I don't regret creating him though #but he will also definetely appear in my nightmares #ofmd #our flag means death #ofmd s2 #our flag mean death s2 #david jenkins #ofmd meme #neil gaiman #good omens 2

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pin-k-ink · 1 month ago

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DEAR DIARY… ⋆✦⋆ hisagi shuuhei

synopsis ➸ shuuhei’s never been that defensive about anything—not until your fingers brushed against that journal. he avoided your questions, avoided you, like distance would make you forget. but you didn’t forget, and now he knows curiosity was always going to win.

tags ➸ friends to lovers, strong sexual tension, mutual pining, objectification, dirty talk, manhandling, mention of alcohol, teeny tiny smidge of angst, fingering, mention of masturbation, praise kink, degradation, name-calling, unprotected sex, creampie, desk sex, teasing, orgasm denial, hair-pulling

wc ➸ 10.7k

The rhythmic thud of your sandals echoed down the empty corridor as you made your way towards Hisagi's quarters within the Ninth Division barracks. Despite the late hour, you couldn't quite smother the eager grin tugging at the corners of your mouth in anticipation of your weekly ritual.

Your friendship with the ruggedly handsome lieutenant stretched back centuries to those earliest, scrappiest days when you'd both entered the academy as idealistic youths. Joining the ranks of the Gotei 13 should have driven wedges and rivalries between you - dividing loyalties towards captains, codes, and duties. But against all odds, Hisagi remained your closest confidante and most steadfast companion regardless of divisions or responsibilities.

Which was likely why your secretive tradition of hitting one of the remote hole-in-the-wall sake dens every seventh night felt so sacrosanct - a simple indulgence you guarded with almost zealous reverence. Those dimly lit tavern corners became sanctuaries where the two of you could shed your personas as esteemed lieutenants, trade bawdy jokes and raucous laughter without prying eyes judging. Just two more weathered souls peeling back the facades for a few blessed hours each week before dusting off and rejoining the fray once more.

Your sandals finally slowed to a halt before the unassuming wooden paneling of Hisagi's personal quarters. Rapping out the signature pattern of knuckle-raps that had become your calling card, you fought not to start bouncing on the balls of your feet like an overeager child. It had been far too long since your last rendezvous and the familiar anticipation already sang in your blood like a fine whiskey's burn.

"Open up, slacker!" You hollered without preamble, half-turning to eye the shadows rippling along the corridor behind you. "Unless you're hoping to stand me up for drinks for the second week in a row?"

There was no immediate answer save for the subtlest shifting of floorboards beyond the door's threshold. You arched one brow skyward, senses instantly attuned for any subtle tells of Hisagi's whereabouts. Surely your oldest friend wouldn't attempt anything so brazen as avoiding you on purpose?

Before you could voice any further half-jeering inquiries, the heavy paneling slid aside with an abrupt groan. Hisagi's silhouette filled the dim aperture - features stoic yet clearly rumpled in a way that suggested he'd been unexpectedly roused from slumber.

"You've got a hell of a sense of timing tonight," he muttered by way of greeting, voice still gravelly and thick from restless sleep. You allowed your gaze to unapologetically rake over him with a snort.

"And you look even rougher than usual, tough guy," you fired back without missing a beat. "Didn't anyone ever teach you polite society demands putting on something besides those god-awful pajamas before welcoming company?"

He glanced down at his ratty yukata with an exaggerated roll of his eyes, already seeming to wake and bristle into your familiar back-and-forth with each acerbic volley. "Piss off, you nosy little gnat. Just be grateful I let you in at all instead of keeping this 'polite company' waiting out in the hall all night."

"You always were terrible at bluffing," you quipped, already angling your shoulder past his half-hearted block to barge your way inside with your usual brand of familiarity. "Ten seconds in that viper pit of a barrack's hall and you'd be whipped into a state over worrying about me getting 'ravaged by scoundrels' again, remember?"

Hisagi simply grunted in dry amusement as you beelined straight for his desk - the only section of his otherwise spartan living quarters that showed any semblance of life or disarray beyond the unmade bed. Bottle caps, crumpled parchment and various odds and ends were scattered amongst other jetsam in a clear display of the organized chaos his creative tendencies tended to foster.

Picking your way amidst the clutter, you were already reaching to snatch up one of the more promising sheafs of parchment when Hisagi's larger hand suddenly clamped down over your wrist with surprising force. Your brows shot upward at the abrupt movement and you glanced up to find him regarding you with clear, purposeful intent.

"Don't start rifling through my desk again uninvited," he said in the type of low, grave cadence most soldiers reserved only for discussing kill counts or battlefield triage with fresh recruits. "It's rude as hell, and you aren't a child anymore able to use that excuse of 'curiosity'."

Raising your free hand in a dramatic flourish, you rolled your eyes right back at him in an exaggerated display of nonchalance. "Relax, I'm not about to go messing around with the reports or personnel files I know you're hiding in there somewhere."

Hisagi's grip slackened fractionally but he still maintained the watchful stare, clearly not fully placated. So you opted to double down with that signature mischievous grin you knew drove him particularly nuts whenever displayed.

"It's just impossible to resist getting a sneak-peek at you attempting creative writing again." You let one shoulder rise and fall in a deliberately lackadaisical shrug. "Honestly, am I not allowed to at least cringe over your latest overly sappy sermons you've inflicted on your division already?"

Rather than rising to your playful ribbing, however, Hisagi's expression seemed to tighten incrementally into a strained mask that immediately set your instincts buzzing. Your grin wavered as he slowly withdrew his hand and pivoted back towards the cluttered desk in question - movements heavy and weighted as he seemed to stalk towards one particular drawer along the bottom row.

Only when you glimpsed what specific sheaf of parchment sat upon the distressed wood surface nearest did the first flickers of trepidation truly take root. There, wrapped in leather binding and accompanied by a scattered assortment of well-worn quills, sat a thick journal of some sort. Larger and more cumbersome than any log or typical report manifest you'd witnessed Hisagi toting around in the past.

Something about the innocuous-seeming artifact seemed to catalyze a shift in the very atmosphere as Hisagi carefully palmed its cover and drew it flush against his midsection with slow, deliberate protectiveness. Your gaze tracked the subtle motion with a mounting sense of unease thrilling along your nerves.

"Uh...Hisagi, what's with the stuffy bodyguard routine all of a sudden?" You asked in what you hoped came across as a blasé, unaffected tone. "Pretty sure that sad little journal is about the least scandalous-looking thing on this entire disaster of a desk."

Rather than immediately responding, Hisagi simply turned that inscrutable, heavy-lidded stare onto you once more. You squared your shoulders reflexively beneath the scrutiny's weight, suddenly feeling oddly pinned by the sheer sobriety in his eyes.

When at last he spoke, the words emerged in a low, sonorous rumble laced with subtle tension. "It's personal, that's all. Writing that I'd consider...private."

Your snort rebounded before you could think better of it, instantly cracking the fragile tension like a whip through glass. "Oh come on, don't tell me you're STILL too embarrassed to share any of your poetry with me all these centuries later?"

Before you could properly react or continue poking fun, Hisagi abruptly pivoted and made to slide the thick journal back into its drawer home. You instinctively surged forward, hand darting out to try snatching the tome before he could sequester it away.

"Seriously? After all these years you're still going to keep me in the dark about your little scribbles?" You half-whined, frustration burning at his reticence over something you'd always shared so freely between each other.

Unfortunately, your lunge was a fraction too slow—Hisagi smoothly withdrawing and securing the journal's weight back against his chest in one deft motion. His larger frame eclipsed your comparatively smaller one as you suddenly found yourself trapped against the press of his torso, effectively pinning you in place.

"Enough, brat," he growled down at you, though there was more frustrated affection than true heat behind the gruff words. "This is one aspect of my life I'm not discussing or having you pry into. Period."

You opened your mouth to fire off another retort, only to find the barb shriveling on your tongue as Hisagi's arms came up to bracket you more fully against the unforgiving wooden desk. His piercing slate gaze locked with yours from such intimate proximity—steady and laced with a gravelly undercurrent you couldn't quite parse in that breathless instant.

"I'm serious," Hisagi rumbled, words emerging slightly thicker and deeper than before. "Drop the subject and quit trying to always unravel every single facet about me. Have some respect for boundaries this once, will you?"

Despite the clear note of warning thrumming through his timbre, you were far too distracted by the sudden shift in dynamics to properly process it. Your senses had abruptly kicked into hyperdrive—each inhale painted in exquisite detail as you became hyper-aware of Hisagi's clean, masculine scent enveloping you completely. The maddening warmth radiating from his battle-honed physique where it pressed flush against your ribcage in a solid, unyielding barricade.

You swallowed hard on a reflex you couldn't quite quantify beyond your pulse points suddenly kicking into a steadily mounting gallop against the unforgiving compression of your mutual position. Just as you felt the first flush of heat threatening to creep up the back of your neck in a visible blush, Hisagi seemed to register the same charged undercurrents stewing between your seized breaths.

With a low exhalation, the hard lines of tension gripping his features gradually softened into something more rueful. His palms suddenly rested against the desk's edge on either side of your hips, easing back just enough to restore an infinitesimal ribbon of space between your bodies.

"Look, I...didn't mean to manhandle you quite so roughly there," he muttered, suddenly seeming unable to meet your stare directly. His jaw clenched with clear consternation as one hand raked through the sleep-tousled locks framing his forehead. "Jumped straight to combat mode being territorial over something that has no real business coming between us, did I?"

You exhaled a shaky breath of your own, clawing your way back from the thrall of whatever blazing undercurrents had nearly sparked between you. Managing a jerky shake of your head, you forced a wry smirk to take the sting out of whatever lingering awkwardness remained.

"Since when have you ever stopped yourself from manhandling this annoying pest whenever I started pushing your buttons?" You shot back, going for a breezy tone of normalcy. "I clearly touched a serious nerve bringing up whatever that journal is about. Just say the word and I'll back off, promise."

Hisagi's stare returned to yours - steady and assessing for a prolonged beat. Then finally, some of the residual tension bled from his shoulders, and he offered his own lopsided quirk of amusement in kind.

"What would be the point? We both know you'll just keep poking and prodding no matter what until I finally give you a proper ration of bullshit to shut you up."

You feigned a theatrical gasp of outrage. "Why Shuuhei, I'm deeply wounded you think I have such little restraint and maturity after all these years!"

His answering snort was both eloquent and richly laced with fond sarcasm as you both finally began separating on a mutual unspoken accord. Squaring his shoulders, Hisagi slid the full brunt of his focus towards getting ready for your evening out - hands already smoothing down the sleep-tousled yukata and fishing out his uniform from a nearby chest.

"Yeah, yeah...just give me a few minutes to make myself look decent enough for showing up on your arm in public, at least," he said distractedly, already disrobing without preamble. "Then we can finally get to drowning our respective bullheaded sorrows in far too much mediocre booze like we always do."

You felt your resulting laugh bubbling up from deep in your chest - full-bodied and welcome in the wake of whatever charged frisson had nearly sparked between you. It was a balm against the lingering uncertainties suddenly swirling like smoky eddies thanks to that unexpected exchange. A comforting reminder that no matter how much either of you continued evolving as individuals, your orbit would always intersect and realign on this eternal constant course between kindred souls.

"You know the rules, slacker," you tossed over your shoulder as you turned towards the exit to afford him some modicum of privacy while changing. "First one finished buying the first round has to make sure the other's cup stays filled all evening without complaining!"

Hisagi's derisive snort chased after you halfway down the hallway, already returning to steadier, more familiar ground despite the recent tremors between you.

The raucous din of the crowded izakaya enveloped you both like a living force the second you stepped through the entrance. Rambunctious shouts and laughter echoed off the low wooden ceilings, hazy with pipesmoke and the thick, cloying aromas of sizzling meats and fermented spirits.

Within minutes you'd managed to secure one of the more secluded alcove booths tucked against the shadowy rear - as per your longstanding tradition. Obscured from prying eyes by the artful arrangement of hanging scrolls, you two could finally shed the aura of esteemed leadership you'd worn throughout the day.

"Need you to start pouring before I resort to simply upending one of these bottles down my throat," Hisagi groused from across the small table, already shucking off his outer robes to reveal the plain undershirt beneath.

You snorted indelicately, automatically reaching for the nearest ceramic decanter and glasses to begin filling them to the brim. "Believe me, you aren't the only one already pondering simply swimming face-first into the sauce tonight."

Hisagi grunted in acknowledgment, gratefully accepting the overflowing cup and downing nearly half in one protracted pull. Already you could feel the subtle shift beginning - his shoulders gradually rounding out as the rigid tension bled away incrementally with each hit of alcohol.

Matching him pull for steadying pull, you allowed your own persona to slough off layer by grumbling layer until the only aspects remaining were your most unguarded selves. The two of you who had served as dearest confidantes to a raw, unvarnished authenticity never permitted anywhere beyond these four walls.

"I saw the updated patrol schedules today," you offered up after refilling Hisagi's cup for the third time. His brows perked with faint interest. "Looks like division six and eleven are getting paired up for scouting rotations in Rukongai again next quarter."

"Of course they would stick those sorry assholes with the furthest, most miserable reaches imaginable," Hisagi grumbled before taking another steadying draught. Already, you could detect the faintest slur beginning to tinge his consonants. "My money's on Ichiro defecting and trying to overthrow the whole charade within ten days tops."

"Pfft, you're far too kind with those odds," you shot back around a mouthful of sake. "Give me five and I'll put serious funds behind at least three separate attempts on that prick's life before they all finally kill each other off."

The barrage of snarky diatribes and mutual bitching continued flowing without pause - each of you indulging in an escalating cascade of gossip and embellished truths about mutual acquaintances. With each sip and uncomplimentary lambasting shared, the weights of rank and propriety fell further away in tatters.

Before long, you were both thoroughly ensconced in a warm, liquor-soaked bliss of levity and affection reserved solely for the sacred confines of your private ritual. Hisagi's arm slung over the backrest so his knuckles brushed the nape of your neck, calluses skating deliciously along your sensitized skin. Meanwhile, you slumped further and further into his orbit until your flushed sides practically melded into one long line of contact as the night burned on.

By the time you drained yet another bottle and took stock of your increasingly muddled surrounds, the tavern's ambient chaos seemed to have lulled into a soothing murmur. Hisagi leaned back with a contented groan, swiping his wrist across his mouth before bestowing you with a lazy, lopsided smile.

"Made it this far without you peppering me with personal invasions or interrogations," he remarked with a teasing glint in his hooded gaze. "Almost impressed at how well-behaved you've remained tonight, brat."

You mustered up an affected gasp alongside a mock swat at his sculpted bicep that missed by a mile. "The night's still young, ruffian! And I absolutely reserve my rights to harass you with endless chatter until last call if I so desire."

Rather than rise to your playful bait, however, Hisagi simply hummed and let his gaze drift lower - taking in your rumpled state with those piercing smolders that always made something flutter traitorously low in your core. His full lips curved higher in an indulgent smirk as he seemed to lean fractionally nearer across the narrow table's divide.

"Be my guest, pest," he murmured in a voice gone deliciously low and rumbly. The whiskey notes of his warm breath ghosting across your cheek kindled fresh embers along your veins. "Just don't say I failed to warn you when those nosing instincts lead you down paths best left untouched..."

Your pulse immediately kicked up several notches at the subtle shiver of foreboding laced through his words. Squaring your shoulders and mouth setting into a petulant moue, you quickly decided chasing away the heaviness via a more lighthearted approach.

"Sounds like someone's deflecting being called out by pre-emptively playing the cryptic brooding card," you countered with a dramatic roll of your eyes. "Real mature, Hisagi. Almost makes me want to revisit that old journal back at your quarters after all..."

Hisagi's entire demeanor shifted on a dime back into that granite solemnity from earlier - eyes briefly flashing as molten iron flooded their depths. Then, just as swiftly, it seemed to bank down into smoky embers as he slung one heavy forearm across the table's surface and leveraged nearer until you could practically taste his intoxicating, masculine aura.

"You really want to go there?" he growled, voice rendered into something carnal and edged with a sinful promise you couldn't quite trace the origins of. "Want me to confess all the ugly skeletons I've got rattling around in those private scribbles of mine? Because I can tell you right now they involve enough wretched truths that you'd instantly start looking at me differently, pest..."

The raw timbre underpinning each provocative word seemed to lance straight through your rattled defenses and scorch across your insides in tingling licks. You found yourself utterly transfixed - instincts caught in a limbo of fascination and wariness you couldn't properly navigate.

So you did the only thing you could think of in that suspended heartbeat and lurched forward to slap a palm across Hisagi's lap in a defiant feint aimed at redirecting the conversation back on steadier ground.

"Alright, alright! I yield for now on prying into your tortured creative process, slacker," you blustered with affected swagger, punctuating your words with a series of insistent pats against his solid thigh. "But only if you can promise to lighten the hell up and just enjoy the rest of this blessed evening I so painstakingly planned!"

Hisagi stared at you for one heated, loaded beat before his entire frame seemed to slacken incrementally—that familiar leonine aura of shameless charisma bleeding back into place as he reclined with a gravelly chuckle. One broad palm dropped to squeeze your knee in a grounding caress that instantly set your world back onto a more stable axis.

"Fine, but only because your petulant nagging gives me high blood pressure otherwise," he rumbled in a tone dripping pure fond indulgence. "Happy now that you've managed to unravel the surly beast once more, little brat?"

You felt the answering tug of your lips stretching into an unabashed grin. "More than you could possibly handle right now, tough guy. Now how about we call this dive's lazy attendants back over and get a fresh round going? These cups look far too empty for my tastes still..."

"As long as you're the one putting coin towards the next cask," Hisagi shot back, already jostling you with his solid weight in clear needling. "My coin purse is strictly off-limits after the damage you did to my finances last time!"

And just like that, the cadence of casual barbs, banter and deepening camaraderie resumed unchecked as you both settled into the unspoken ritual's familiar rhythms once more. No probing subject unturned, no judgements left unchallenged or dared spoken between souls so bonded that a lifetime could be lived in a single evening's descent.

At least until well past the izakaya's final call and looming trek home, that was...

The cool night breeze ghosted across your flushed skin as you finally stumbled out of the stifling izakaya's confines and into the narrow back alleys winding towards your quarters. Hisagi's solid weight bracketed you from behind - one muscular arm looped around your waist to keep you upright while his chest radiated delicious furnace-warmth against your back.

"Easy there, heavy-pour," he rumbled into your hairline, breath stirring the sweaty wisps along your nape. "You're doing a better job keeping your bearings than usual, but let's not get cocky just yet."

You couldn't quite bite back the snort of indignation that bubbled up at his teasing condescension. Craning your head back, you leveled him with as imperious a stare as you could muster through the pleasant sake-haze swimming behind your vision.

"Watch it, smart mouth," you shot back while digging your elbow lightly into his rock-solid abdominals. "Or else someone might think you've got yourself all protective just to get me alone in the dark for other purposes..."

Hisagi's deep, thrumming laughter vibrated through your conjoined frames in a way that somehow set your already over-sensitized nerves alight. "Bold of you to assume I've got any intentions beyond escorting your drunk ass home safely like every other time."

You huffed in feigned indignation, rounding the next dimly lit corner and shaking off his stabilizing support. "Excuses, excuses. Face it Shuuhei — for once your agenda tonight involves walking a pretty, slightly sloshed girl all the way back to her doorstep. Clearly you're gunning for at least a casual fling out of this whole gentlemanly charade!"

Hisagi arched one brow in a show of mock seriousness, hooking his thumbs through his sashes as you both slowed to a halt before your front entrance. You made a dramatic twirl to face him full-on, utterly ignoring the way your head spun slightly with the abrupt pivot.

"Is that so?" he asked in a rumbling baritone gone sinfully lower than before. "And here I thought all the liquid courage sloshing through your veins had just addled your faculties for propriety at last."

You grinned back at him through your sake-flushed haze, utterly unrepentant. "Don't play coy with me tonight, tough guy. I see that heated little glimmer you've been trying so hard to repress every time you think I'm not looking."

Bracing your palms against his solid chest, you leaned up on your tiptoes to bring your faces into intimate proximity deliberately. The crisp clean scent of his shampoo and sword oil shampoo enveloped your senses, kindling fresh tendrils of molten heat low in your core as you drank him in at this range.

"You've had the hots for this hot little body of mine for centuries now," you breathed in a lower, throatier cadence designed to roll directly along his nerves in a sensual caress. "So why not man up and make tonight the one where you finally get a taste?"

A loud clatter from the nearby courtyard punctuated your words, shattering through the thickening undercurrents like physical percussion. You watched with a sense of vertigo intensifying as Hisagi's throat bobbed convulsively on a thick swallow. When his piercing gun-steel regard locked onto yours once more, you felt your breath stall in your lungs.

"Someone's feeling adventurous after tipping back a few too many cups," he growled, though the deep resonance carried none of the usual dismissive edge you'd steeled yourself for. "But even if I were tempted to satisfy those filthy little cravings clouding your hazy mind tonight…what makes you think you could handle the hunger raging inside me?"

Your fingertips skated lower along the ridges and crests of musculature flexing beneath his robed until they skirted the waistband digging into taut obliques. Feeling positively incandescent with bravado, you allowed your thumbs to slip beneath its warm confines in a delicious implication.

"Because maybe I've been hungrily eyeing this big, strapping soldier myself whenever your back was turned," you husked in a whisper meant only for Hisagi's burning ears to consume. "Checking out the absolutely sinful size and shape you've been packing beneath these boring robes all this time..."

Hisagi exhaled a low, shuddering rasp at the bald-faced provocation laced through your words. His strong palms suddenly clamped down on the curves of your hips, utterly halting your teasing exploration southward with bruising insistence.

"Mind where those naughty little fingers start wandering if you can't back up that cocky mouth of yours," he rumbled in a cadence gone guttural and loaded with enough gravelly promise to make your knees wobble dangerously. "This hard-on's been begging to get broken loose and properly used for over an hour now after watching your lips run all evening..."

You felt a tremor rack your limbs as your arousal spiked into dizzying new altitudes. Every breath you sucked down seemed to scorch straight through your lungs - body thrumming like a live wire ready to detonate into blissful detonation at any second.

Somehow you found the wherewithal to tip your chin higher in defiance, determined to meet Hisagi's lascivious challenge head-on rather than buckling beneath its intensity. "If that's your game then ante up, tough guy, because this thirsty little mouth has been starving to—"

The words shriveled and died on your tongue as Hisagi suddenly banded one thick forearm around your lower back and wrenched your bodies fully together into a scorching, unyielding crush. Your core spasmed against the searing bulwark of his arousal pinning you open and utterly claimed, mouth falling open on a shuddering inhale.

"Last chance to walk away before I utterly demolish that self-control you're barely clinging to," Hisagi growled against the fevered pulse at your throat. "Because once I've had my fill of those sweet lips, my conquest won't end until I've buried this cock balls-deep and left you a ruined, sobbing wreck in your wake..."

Any lingering traces of playful, alcohol-fueled bravado threatening to spill over into full-blown reckless abandon rapidly iced over as you watched an unreadable expression shutter over Hisagi's features.

It was as if a switch had been flipped - the electric, magnetic charge rapidly leaching from the atmosphere as he seemed to withdraw within himself. You stood there frozen, lips parted and breath coming in shallow pants from the searing proximity you'd allowed yourselves to drift into.

Then Hisagi recoiled with a muttered curse, putting a careful span of distance between your tangled frames with a none-too-gentle shove against your midsection. The action rang out like a gunshot's concussive force in the static-charged silence. You staggered back a half-step, utterly poleaxed and off-kilter with visceral whiplash from how swiftly the undercurrents had changed.

"Get inside and sleep it off," Hisagi bit out in a low, gruff tone devoid of any previous heated edge or familiarity. His hooded gaze remained carefully averted, almost as if he couldn't quite bring himself to meet your blatantly confused stare head-on anymore.

"But...Shuuhei, what—" you stammered out around the knot of bewilderment clogging your windpipe. "We were just—I mean, I thought you wanted—"

"Yeah well, clearly we let things go too far down a road best not traveled tonight," he cut you off, tone clipped and borderline harsh in its inflectionless finality. "My judgment was skewed earlier is all. I shouldn't have indulged toeing those types of boundaries, however indirectly. Not with you."

The last few words landed with all the weight and blunt impact of gravel clattering against the planks beneath your sandals. Before you could formulate any further queries or reactions beyond sheer stupefied hurt, Hisagi had already turned on his heel and set off down the street at a brisk, ground-eating stride.

"Get some rest," he tossed over his shoulder without glancing back even once. "And don't worry, there's no need to overthink things here. I've got enough control for us both to avoid making the same mistake again any time soon..."

You watched his steadily retreating silhouette until it disappeared around the next corner, numbness settling icy cold in your limbs and gut in equal measure. The night seemed to stretch out before you in an endless, lonely expanse as the solitude rapidly enveloped.

When you finally gathered enough wherewithal to fumble your way back inside and collapse into the sheets, it felt as if much more than physical exhaustion had simply leached straight from your marrow over those last few excruciating moments. Drained and hollow, you let the blackness swallow you down with nary a protest.

True to his parting vow, Hisagi remained conspicuously absent in the following days and nights—apparently keeping his distance with rigid, almost obsessive determination.

You tried not to read too deeply into the sting of his intentional avoidance, telling yourself it was likely his way of simply allowing things to smoothe over after your heated encounter at your door. But the more the hurt festered like an open wound picking up subtle toxins, the harder it became to ignore.

Attempts at checking up inevitably went unanswered with increasing finality. Any random paths you crossed only led to Hisagi retreating before you could so much as exchange stilted greetings—that hooded, opaque look from before firmly in place.

Unable to quell the nagging, sour frustration bubbling higher each time he ducked your presence and company so successfully, you finally reached the end of your patience by week's end. Determined for some sort of resolution, you marched directly towards Hisagi's personal quarters with fists clenched and a slew of choice grievances fully prepared on your tongue.

However, when you rounded the final dim hallway bent, you found his door hanging slightly ajar and his alcove suspiciously empty. No sounds or indications of recent activity resonating from within the hollow gloom beyond his empty threshold. Steeling your jaw, you pressed forward and slipped inside his personal sanctum to find it as deserted as you'd initially feared.

Wherever Hisagi was currently avoiding you, it apparently wasn't his own standard haunt within these walls. A spark of petulant ire ignited along your nerves, refusing to be stymied by this latest turn.

You fumed silently as you paced back and forth across Hisagi's cramped personal quarters, trying to decide your next move. The anger burned hotter with each passing minute he remained absent and evasive. Part of you entertained the notion of simply waiting right here until he inevitably returned so you could finally force a confrontation. But an even bigger part itched to take a more proactive approach - to actively hunt him down and corner him so this childish cold shoulder act couldn't continue any longer.

As you whirled towards the exit with renewed determination, your gaze fell upon the leather-bound journal sitting in clear view atop Hisagi's chaotic desk. The same personal, off-limits journal he'd been so adamant about keeping private just the other night. Now it laid open before you as if inviting you to finally unravel its heavily-guarded secrets.

You paused mid-stride, chewing your lower lip as you wrestled with the desire to respect his privacy despite his current bullheaded antics. But the longer you stared at that innocuous-looking tome, the more your curiosity gnawed at your restraint. With a huff of annoyance at Hisagi for putting you in this position, you finally stalked over and snatched up the journal with shaky hands.

The first few entries were utterly mundane - detailing tedious duty rosters, patrol rotations, and other numbing bureaucratic responsibilities you'd have expected to fill its pages. A small part of you relaxed slightly, thinking perhaps you'd get bored enough to simply close the journal and honor Hisagi's boundaries after all.

That is until you flipped a bit further and the subject matter took an abrupt, distinctly personal turn.

Hisagi's usually pristine handwriting became looser, more languid as he described individual moments and small observations in an almost...poetic manner. You furrowed your brow as you read paragraph after paragraph filled with flowery, vivid descriptions and intimate personal anecdotes. And at the very heart of each impassioned entry - you.

Sentence after sentence detailed your most mundane gestures, smallest habits, and casual daily interactions through Hisagi's utterly adoring lens. The way your eyes crinkled at the corners whenever you smiled at him over drinks. How your hair cascaded around your face when the wind caught it just perfectly. The cadence of your laugh and how it always seized his breath straight from his lungs whenever aimed in his direction. He committed it all to the page in loving, almost obsessive detail.

Your cheeks burned hotter and hotter the more you read and the clearer it became about Hisagi's true depth of feeling toward you. These weren't mere observations of a close friend, but the enraptured musings of a man utterly entranced, even worshipful, of your every last detail.

Then you reached a new section of the journal, and the bottom dropped out entirely.

These final pages didn't contain Hisagi's usual eloquent prose and delicate turn-of-phrase. Instead, they read like hastily scrawled admissions straight from the darkest recesses of his mind - utterly unvarnished stream of consciousness poured out in erratic but legible scrawl.

Hisagi didn't bother masking the primal lust and molten-hot hunger that laced these particular entries, all totally and completely focused on you in the most visceral, filthy, and undeniably erotic ways imaginable.

'Don't know how much longer I can keep holding back from simply bending my good friend over and rutting into that sweet cunt like a feral beast until we're both ruined...'

Swallowing hard, you rifled feverishly forward in mounting disbelief - page after page revealing more and more of Hisagi's naked, utterly unrestrained fixation upon you and his uncontrollable need to worship every molecule of your being in the most visceral manner imaginable.

'I dreamed about fucking her again last night, absolutely brutalizing her throat and cunt until she was hollow and hollow and crying on my cock, begging for more. No one's ever driven me to the same level of delirious madness and insatiable hunger...'

'Hid in the shower and stroked myself imagining pinning her against the floor, biting and sucking hickies down her arched throat as I speared into those honeyed depths raw over and over. She'd break and spill everything for me in that state.'

On and on the uncensored depravity continued in a raw, utterly desperate outpouring seemingly ripped from the deepest, most spaces of Hisagi's psyche. Each lurid fantasy and secret desire consummated in blunt, pornographic poetry rendered on the page in excruciating detail without a single boundary left standing.

'Her tongue would be velvet rapture itself - made for worshipping every ridge and vein pulsing across my aching cock with slow, reverent strokes until I'm weeping for mercy...'

'There are nights I wake up already fisting my cock in my pants, furiously chasing the images of reaming that perfect pussy in new sick angles while she bucks like a wild thing beneath me. Always leaves me coming so hard when I imagine stuffing her to bursting with my seed at last...'

You lost track of how many times you choked out a garbled, incredulous sound - both scandalized and increasingly swamped by visceral shudders of arousal the more you consumed Hisagi's utterly perverted, obsessive outpourings about hungering to defile you from every conceivable angle.

By the last few entries, you were outright squirming in your chair while reading - eyes glazing over from the uncensored erotic imagery and sheer delirious heat steaming off the inked admissions:

'Spent nearly an hour having to muffle myself, jerking off just fucking imagining her sweetness soaking my tongue. Stroking over that pretty little cunt while feeding her my load...breaking her with pleasure until she's useless and glassy from orgasms. No idea how much longer I can resist making that my reality.'

'What if I just took her by surprise one day - bent her over a table and mounted her from behind like a dog? There'd be no half-hearted struggles or refusal once she felt my girth spearing into her tight cunt. Just acceptance that I own every sinful inch of her flesh now.'

That final entry seemed to consume your entire consciousness and leave an echoing void in its wake as you unconsciously mouthed the words over and over. Hisagi's eloquence seemed to have fully shattered into a visceral, feral outpouring of debased lust and ravening possession towards the idea of utterly defiling you without mercy.

Only when you hazily glanced up from the pages did you register your own hand frozen with fingers idly caressing and teasing your clothed, swollen sex with unconscious ardor. A strangled whimper finally wrenched free from your parched throat - body suddenly feverish and fevered from the primal, unholy bacchanalia now seared permanently across your psyche.

Sweet merciful heavens, you'd barely even glimpsed the full fever dreams of Hisagi's depravity by forcing his tragic manifesto wide open like this...and already felt utterly stripped down and reshaped from the exposure alone. How the hell were you going to endure in any recognizable form if he ever indulged unleashing those full, starving appetites upon your joined raptures without holding back?

The journal slipped from your trembling hands to clatter loudly against the desk's surface as you slumped in a dazed heap - soaked thighs clenching fitfully while your mind swam in a crimson haze of sin and maddening arousal. Whatever this metamorphosis Hisagi's unchecked obsession had catalyzed within you, there could be no sane way to emerge from the other side unscathed and unbroken.

You hungrily turned the next page, rapidly abandoning all pretext of restraint as the primal allure of Hisagi's darkest, most twisted fantasies continued unraveling before you. Each successive entry seemed even more lurid and depraved than the last - ever graphic scenario and perverse craving splayed out in granular, unapologetic detail.

Part of you recoiled in scandalized disbelief at the sheer extent of the man's utterly depraved fixations upon worshipping your body in the most carnal, unholy manner imaginable. But another part - a deeper, lurking essence you could no longer deny - felt something bright and predatory inside you awakening in rabid answer.

'I need to mark every inch of that pretty skin until she's been utterly remade as my possession. Sucking hickeys and bites down her beautiful throat, those perfect tits getting slapped and manhandled until she sobs for mercy...'

Your breath punched out in ragged pants, greedy gaze consuming each delirious word as explosive heat licked along your sensitized nerve endings. In your electrified state, it almost felt like Hisagi's rich, graveled voice was husking out the erotic sacrilege directly against your pounding pulse rather than on paper before you.

'She'd be so obedient and break for me. After the first few devastatingly deep, punishing thrusts stretching her cunt apart I can picture those gorgeous eye rolling back as I shove inside balls-deep and take what's mine...'

One slick hand strayed beneath your robes without conscious thought, caressing and stoking along your drenched, swollen folds in frantic rhythm with your senses now utterly enthralled by the uncensored depravity spooling out upon the page. A strangled moan punched free from your convulsing chest as you circled your slippery clit, back arching involuntarily against the phantom sensation of being speared wide open by Hisagi's cock just like the depraved text described.

'Should just bend her over and eat that tight pussy out, spread her thighs nice and wide to really work my tongue inside and taste every forbidden inch of—'

The next searing monologue choked off as someone’s large, calloused palm suddenly slammed down atop the tome's binding, making you jolt. You whirled around in your chair - mouth already falling open on a flurry of breathless excuses and apologies for the intrusion you'd committed in invading his privacy so utterly.

The words rapidly calcified on your tongue as you drank in the utter tableau before you. There stood Hisagi himself, midnight hair in disarray and looking utterly winded as if he'd run the entire way back. His powerful, stone-carved features were locked in an inscrutable, unreadable mask.

But his body...God, his body betrayed the extent of what holding himself in check was currently costing the man. Every muscle visibly clenched and ticking with the kind of rapacious energy usually reserved for berserker rages on the battlefield. Sweat glistened along every carved ridge, forearms bulging with strain as Hisagi's hands twitched with the clear effort of not simply seizing and taking what he so ravenously craved right then and there.

When your gazes finally locked and snared, you felt your mouth go utterly dry at the unadulterated molten heat blazing behind Hisagi's piercing stare. There was no judgment or anger present — just a naked, primal intensity burning brighter and hotter than a forge's heart focused solely upon you. The man's veneer of civility was finally cracked to its foundations, you realized with a belated thrill of rapture.

He drank in your disheveled, panting state completely unchecked - slate irises darkening further as he clearly scented the tang of your arousal perfuming the air around where you sat on flagrant display. Just as a flush began creeping up the back of your neck towards your cheeks, Hisagi's gravel-edged growl emerged from somewhere basal and elemental deep within.

"So you finally decided to go snooping through my private shit, huh?" His tone was more heated desire than true anger as he took a step closer, eyes roving over your flushed face and parted lips. "Had to go prying into the sick, twisted things I've been craving to do to that gorgeous body of yours?"

You swallowed hard, unable to tear your gaze away from the smoldering embers burning in his stare. Despite your embarrassment at being caught, you felt no shame - only a delirious longing steadily unfurling within your core at his blatant appraisal.

"I...I couldn't resist after you made it sound so scandalous," you managed, surprising yourself with the husky rasp coating your words. "Wanted to see what had you wound so tight you couldn't even let me get a peek."

Hisagi's nostrils flared slightly, clearly catching the undercurrent of arousal now thickening the air between you both. Rather than rebuke you further, however, his expression melted into something more conflicted and grave.

"So now you know," he murmured, suddenly sounding more subdued as he sank down to kneel before you. One of his rough palms cradled the side of your jaw with surprising tenderness. "Seen all my darkest, sickest desires where you're concerned laid bare for you to recoil in horror."

You automatically leaned into his touch, compelled by the molten sincerity now flickering in his piercing gaze as it roamed your features slowly.

"Does it disgust you?" he asked lowly - words emerging from a deeper well of vulnerability he rarely allowed to surface. "Knowing the depths of this depraved obsession I've developed over you? How unhinged I become just from fantasies about wrecking you properly on my cock until you're a ruined, sobbing mess?"

Rather than answer verbally, you surged forward to capture Hisagi's mouth in a searing, messy clash of lips and tongues. He groaned against the sudden onslaught, big palms automatically spanning your waist to haul you flush against his solid bulk as the kiss spiraled into frenzied indulgence.

When you finally tore away, you were both flushed and breathing harshly - foreheads pressed together as you gazed into his slightly dazed eyes.

"Stop being such an idiot," you rasped, draping your arms around his broad shoulders. Your next words emerged in a breathless rush, unable to filter any longer. "I want it, Shuhei. Want you to give me everything described in those filthy pages and then some. Been driving myself crazy thinking about you splitting me open and making me scream your name too."

A shudder rippled through Hisagi's powerful frame at your brazen admission. His large hands roamed over the curves of your body with rough possessiveness as dark wonder crept into his expression.

"God...you really are just as sick a little freak as me, aren't you?" The growl had returned to his voice, but layered with undisguised reverence now as his grip tightened almost painfully.

"Because I really did mean every soaked, perverted word written about the ways I intend to violate and claim this gorgeous body, kitten. Gonna make sure you're utterly reshaped and remade as my personal set of holes to use and ruin over and over..."

You shivered against him, hissing softly through your teeth as arousal spiked electric through your blood in answer to his crude, unrestrained promise.

"Then what are you waiting for?" You ground out breathlessly. "I'm done teasing or hesitating — just take me already, Shuuhei. Make me your personal fucktoy like we both clearly want so badly..."

A low, hungry noise slipped from him as his mouth crashed over yours in a devouring, searing kiss once more. One hand gripped your thigh to haul your leg up and around his waist as the other clutched and kneaded the soft mounds of your ass through your robes shamelessly.

"You're gonna regret giving me that kind of permission, gorgeous," he husked into the kiss with visceral sincerity. "Because I really won't be able to stop myself from breaking that body of yours into the prettiest, strung-out mess imaginable until you're addicted to being my insatiable little cumdump..."

Already, you were whimpering and writhing against the delicious friction of his burgeoning length grinding against your clothed heat through thin layers. Any further protests or hesitation shattered against the raw lust coursing molten-hot through your veins, rendering you utterly incandescent and unhinged for the first time in ages.

Hisagi seemed to be consumed by the same feverish, ravenous energy - all traces of the stoic, reticent man gone as his fingers fumbled at the fastenings of your robes. His movements were hurried and desperate, but his gaze remained fixed on you with single-minded intensity.

"Need you naked and on your back," he growled, voice rough and guttural. "Wanna see that pretty pussy gushing and dripping down my balls the first time I fill you up with my seed."

The command sent a fresh shudder through you, making your fingers dig into the sculpted ridges of his back through his own crumpled garments. With a frustrated grunt, Hisagi tore himself away from the embrace and reached down to untiethe sash knotted around his waist.

You watched, entranced, as the man's powerful muscles rippled and flexed beneath his skin with each movement. Even his face was a study in unguarded rapture, completely undone by the lust and desire raging in his veins. The sight had your sex pulsing fitfully in answer, practically salivating over the promise of how his raw physical power would feel pinning you down and overwhelming you in the most primal way imaginable.

Once he'd stripped off his robes and kicked away his sandals, you could see his cock had swollen to a thick, proud arc that strained towards his chiseled abdomen. You swallowed hard, mind flashing back to the vivid fantasies of what his girth would feel like plunging into your needy depths over and over without mercy.

Hisagi's heated gaze flicked to your face, noting the way your eyes had gone glassy and distant with the image still etched across your brain. His cock twitched noticeably at the sight of you drinking him in with such blatant hunger, but his expression remained unflinching. You barely registered him moving before his large, calloused palms were suddenly grasping and hoisting you up from the chair.

Your thighs locked instinctively around his hips as he carried you over to his desk, where the journal still sat wide open in brazen testimony to the debauched act about to occur. A fresh pulse of arousal shuddered through you as you imagined being used and claimed upon the very site of his secret, sinful lusts.

The second he'd laid you out atop the desk, he was descending over you - his weight a thrilling pressure as your bodies melded flush. You couldn't resist arching up into him, reveling in the feeling of his warm skin sliding against yours and the velvet-over-steel sensation of his straining cock pressed flush to your belly.

Hisagi's mouth was already seeking out yours once more, tongue stroking over yours with urgent hunger. Every inch of his powerful body seemed to be vibrating with restraint as he rocked and ground his hips against you - making your toes curl as pleasure crackled through your nerves like wildfire.

"Can't believe how lucky I am," he murmured roughly, punctuating the words with a string of kisses down your jawline. "Finally have the woman I've been aching to worship for so long spread out before me, ready and willing to accept every sick fantasy and depraved desire I've been craving..."

You couldn't help the soft keen that escaped your throat as his words sent a fresh flood of wetness slicking your folds. The sheer primal intensity with which he'd uttered the words had you trembling and aching to be filled already. A fact Hisagi didn't fail to pick up on, given the way his lips twitched with amusement.

"Oh, did you like that?" His deep voice rumbled with dark intent, the edge of his teeth nipping sharply at the juncture of your throat. "My sweet, gorgeous kitten is an absolute whore for dirty talk, huh?"

You gasped as he suddenly sucked hard on the tender skin, his hands busy tugging the final bits of clothing from your form. The sensation of his tongue laving the abused flesh in rough swipes had fresh need coiling tightly in your core, making you writhe and pant beneath him.

"Y-yes, fuck..." You keened, the last syllable pitching into a moan as Hisagi's fingers began stroking along your folds, gathering the wetness pooling at the apex and spreading it liberally. "Please, I...I want your cock inside me so bad, Shuhei..."

He huffed out a soft noise of approval, lifting his head from your throat to capture your mouth in another devouring, dizzying kiss. The entire time, his fingers worked and teased your slick cunt - spreading the gathered honey across the swollen folds and circling the pulsing entrance teasingly.

"What my girl wants, my girl gets," he growled against your lips, the gravel-edge to his tone sending another shiver of delight through you. "Because no one can take care of this gorgeous little pussy like I can, right?"

With that, he plunged two thick fingers into your depths. A strangled cry punched from your chest at the sensation of being so deliciously stretched and filled after days of deprivation. Your walls clenched and fluttered around the penetration, trying to suck him deeper as your nails bit crescents into his broad shoulders.

Hisagi let out a ragged groan, the sound seeming to come from the bottom of his chest as he felt your slick, molten passage convulsing around his digits. You couldn't hold back the delirious whimpers and moans that poured free as he began fingerfucking your drenched cunt in a punishing rhythm.

"Fuck...you're tighter than I imagined," he husked, pressing a line of rough, heated kisses along the column of your throat. "Can't wait to see how this perfect little cunt squeezes around my cock once I'm balls-deep in those molten depths."

A whimper was the only coherent sound you could manage at the moment, too swept up in the raw ecstasy of being pounded into delirium by his thrusting fingers. It was almost embarrassing how quickly you were hurtling towards the precipice of release, the pressure and friction building with each pump.

"G-god, Shuhei, I'm going to come," you keened, eyes squeezed shut and brow furrowing as pleasure crested within you. "Feels s-so good...gonna make me come so hard on your fingers—"

Your next words were abruptly choked off as Hisagi's fingers withdrew from your dripping heat with a slick, obscene sound. You whined, opening your eyes and fixing him with a pleading, desperate stare.

"But...but I was so close," you protested, a petulant pout tugging at your lips.

He smirked in response, reaching over to snag the discarded journal. You watched in a daze as he flipped the pages back until he reached the beginning of the entries. He held up the page before you, eyes burning and molten with unbridled hunger.

"You will read the rest of the filthy, perverted thoughts I've written about you," he ordered, the commanding gravel of his tone making a new flood of wetness seep between your thighs. "And you're not allowed to come until you’ve read the rest of the page aloud and I'm balls-deep in that tight cunt of yours."

To ease the strain, Hisagi flipped you onto your belly - the cool, smooth wood a welcome shock against the heat blazing along every inch of your flesh. You arched and moaned softly as his hands slid up the curve of your spine, pausing at the back of your neck to gather the hair falling over your shoulders and tugging it roughly.

"Now start reading," he commanded, the fat tip of his cock slowly nudging its way between your drenched, swollen folds.

You smoothed your fingers over the page, the ink now smeared slightly from the earlier encounter. Despite the lust haze still clouding your senses, you somehow managed to begin reciting the first sentence in a wavering, unsteady voice.

"S-Sometimes I imagine tying her up, gag in her mouth, legs spread wide, just so I can take my time and really learn what each twitch and tremble means. How far I can go before she’s crying, shaking, and begging me to either stop or never stop. I’d choose the latter."

"Mmm...just like that, gorgeous." Hisagi's voice was a low, rasping growl - the vibration of his tone making goosebumps break out across your flesh.

A moan escaped your lips as the blunt tip of his cock pressed into the pulsing, molten entrance to your depths. A fraction more, and he'd finally be sheathed within your cunt — filling the aching void inside with his thick, hot shaft.

You forced your attention back to the page, fighting the urge to grind back against him as you began reciting the next paragraph.

"I should’ve kissed her. Should’ve dragged her into my lap and let her grind on my thigh while I drank the moans straight from her mouth. She was soft and flushed and laughing like sin itself, and I stopped it. Fucking coward. She would’ve let me devour her. I know it. And I went home instead—hard, aching, losing my fucking mind while her taste haunted my lips."

Hisagi's fingers dug into your waist as you read, his breath punching out in harsh pants. His hips snapped forward, driving the full, straining length of his cock into your cunt without warning.

You cried out, head dropping back as the stretch and burn of being speared open made your toes curl. Tears pricked at the corners of your eyes, but the deliciously full sensation of having him sheathed in your molten core soon overwhelmed any pain.

"Fuck...that's it, kitten." He groaned, pulling out a few inches before slamming back inside again. "Took me in so well, didn't you? Look at you, all split open on my cock and leaking all over the place..."

A ragged whimper fell from your lips, the words dissolving into incoherence as he repeated the movement — slowly dragging his thick, pulsing length out to the tip and then driving it home in one harsh thrust. Hisagi set a steady, relentless pace, fucking you onto his shaft in a brutal, claiming rhythm.

You couldn't help the wanton noises and babbling falling freely from your mouth, the sensation of his girth filling and stretching your inner walls to the limit leaving you utterly delirious. Your hips bucked and ground against him, instinctively trying to meet each of his powerful strokes as they drove his shaft into the deepest recesses of your core.

Hisagi's own groans and grunts were equally unrestrained, the grip on your hips bordering on bruising as he hammered his cock into your molten cunt with abandon. Every plunge of his shaft sent a fresh pulse of heat crackling through your nerves, your climax building once more despite the denied release earlier.

"Keep reading, beautiful," he commanded, his voice roughened by lust.

"C-Can't..." You moaned, the rest of the words dying on your tongue as the delicious friction of his shaft plowing your cunt sent you hurtling towards the edge.

Hisagi leaned over, bracing his arms on either side of your torso. The shift in angle allowed him to grind his hips against the curve of your ass, driving the head of his cock directly into the spongy, hypersensitive patch inside. You couldn't bite back the keening wail that escaped, your fingers clawing at the edge of the desk and thighs shaking.

"Read," he snarled, punctuating the word with a sharp, punishing slap to your ass.

The sudden spike of pain made you cry out, the sound morphing into a delirious moan as he kept thrusting relentlessly into your clenching, convulsing channel. Somehow, the sensation of his cock spearing you open even further with each pump was enough to pull you back from the edge.

Trembling, you forced yourself to focus once more on the words etched across the page.

"I keep thinking about how her eyes glazed over when we were close, how her breath hitched right before she leaned in. She wanted it. Wanted me. And all I could think about was how good she’d sound if I threw her onto my bed and bred her until she couldn’t speak. I could’ve had her tonight—drunk and sweet and willing. And I walked away."

The sound of Hisagi's panting breaths and the slick, obscene noises of your cunt being split open filled the silence between you. He remained buried in the molten depths, his shaft throbbing and twitching fitfully within. Your own ragged breathing mingled with the lewd sounds, head spinning with the raw sensations flooding through your body.

"Keep reading," he growled again, the gravel-edge to his tone making another fresh wave of wetness slicken your walls.

It took every ounce of willpower to continue, his cock still buried deep in your cunt and stretching you open so perfectly.

"Even now, after all this time, I’d still get on my knees for her. Not just to eat her like a man possessed—though I would, for hours—but to worship. To bury my face between her thighs and show her with every groan, every kiss, just how many years I’ve dreamed of hearing her fall apart on my tongue. She’s not just a fantasy. She’s the only softness I’ve ever craved with this much violence."

As you finished reading the final word, a sob escaped your throat. You were beyond desperate to come now, every muscle and nerve ending screaming with the need to unravel. Hisagi's movements had slowed, but still pumped his shaft into your molten, grasping cunt with a controlled, measured precision.

"Fucking hell, you're such a good girl." He rasped, the hand not clutching your hip reaching forward to stroke the sweat-dampened strands of hair away from your cheek. "Listened and followed my instructions so well for me."

The praise made you whimper, turning to nuzzle the side of your face against his calloused palm. Your eyes fluttered closed, reveling in the feel of his cock filling and stretching you to the limit, but refusing to move.

"I...I did, Shuuhei. So please...please make me come." The last part emerged in a pleading, breathless whine, all shame long since forgotten. "I've been such a good girl and listened to you, so please fuck me properly and make me come."

"God, the mouth on you," he growled, sounding torn between arousal and incredulity. His hips shifted, cock twitching against your walls and making a shudder wrack through your frame. "I'm going to be hearing that filthy little voice of yours in my head on repeat for the rest of eternity."

You couldn't find the words to respond, too overwhelmed by the way the pressure and friction was steadily mounting again. Before you could process the movement, Hisagi had pulled free from your soaked, swollen cunt. A pitiful, whining noise escaped you, hips arching up in instinctive search for his touch.

"H-hey! Why did you—"

Your protest was cut short as he flipped you onto your back once more. Your breath caught at the sight of him, the planes and contours of his body bathed in a wash of moonlight spilling through the window. His skin gleamed with sweat, and his hair was tousled and messy — his usual stoic expression replaced by something raw, unbridled, and feral.

He didn't give you any time to recover, simply hooked both of your legs over his broad shoulders and speared his thick, pulsing length back into the molten, clenching depths of your pussy. Your nails bit into his forearms, the position allowing him to drive into the deepest reaches of your cunt - each pump striking the hypersensitive bundle of nerves inside with pinpoint accuracy.

"Shuuhei, oh god...!"

You couldn't form any coherent thought as he resumed the frantic, claiming rhythm - hips pistoning in and out as his cock plunged into your slick, tight passage over and over. It was as though every other sense had fallen away, leaving only the sensation of his girth filling you up and spreading your walls wide with each plunge.

"That's it, kitten. I wanna hear those pretty noises while I'm fucking this cunt senseless." Hisagi's voice had lowered to a husky rasp, his hands gripping your thighs and holding you open for him as he drove his hips forward relentlessly.

Each thrust had the swollen, straining length of his cock grinding against the slick, dripping entrance to your cunt. You could feel your climax building, the pressure and friction spiraling tighter and tighter with each stroke. The only sound you could manage at this point were high, breathy gasps and moans - utterly incapable of coherent thought.

"Come on, beautiful. Come all over my cock like a good girl."

Hisagi's order seemed to be the trigger. Your vision whited out as pleasure crashed through you, every muscle and nerve-ending seizing with the intensity of the release. Distantly, you could hear yourself crying out - babbling incoherently as the waves of ecstasy wracked your body.

Hisagi's movements didn't slow, fucking you through the entire release until tears pricked at the corners of your eyes. The sensation of your inner walls clenching and fluttering around his shaft sent him hurling towards the edge himself. Within seconds, his rhythm faltered and he slammed home one last time.

You could feel the first pulses of his orgasm spilling inside you, his cock twitching and throbbing as he pumped thick ropes of his seed into your core. His lips found yours once more, the kiss hot and hungry, the two of you devouring each other's pleasure.

After a moment, the frenzied passion gave way to a slow, languid heat - the two of you melting into each other. You couldn't help the soft whimper that escaped your throat as Hisagi pulled his softening length free, a trickle of his seed and your wetness seeping from your folds and pooling on the surface of the desk.

He immediately reached over and cupped your cheeks with both hands, tilting your face up for a slow, deep kiss. The tender gesture made your heart squeeze, and you returned it in equal measure - savoring the gentle exploration of tongues and lips.

After a long, dizzying moment, he finally broke the contact, his dark gaze burning with unguarded affection. He stroked the backs of his fingers along your cheek, brushing the tangled strands of hair back and tucking them behind your ear.

"That was even better than I'd imagined," he murmured, voice rough and still a little breathless. "I'll have to write an entry in the journal tomorrow, won't I?"

"Hmmm...only if I can read it," you retorted, giving him a saucy smile.

He smirked, leaning down to claim your mouth in another searing kiss. "You know I can't say no when you look at me like that."

#bleach smut #bleach x reader #bleach x reader smut #hisagi x reader smut #hisagi shuuhei x reader #hisagi shuhei x reader #hisagi smut #hisagi x reader

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written-in-flowers · 2 months ago

Text

I Need a Big Boy: 3racha x Male!Reader

Pairing: Chan/Han/Changbin x Male!Reader

Word Count: 7k

Genre: Smut (loads), fluff | AU: idolverse, ninth member au

MINORS DO NOT INTERACT

Summary: What started as a simple shower between friends turns into body worship very quickly.

Disclaimer: These works are completely fictitious and for entertainment purposes only. They are not meant to reflect or label the members of Stray Kids in any way. The events within never took place. Thank you.

Tags: porn without plot (maybe? tiny bit?) polyamorous, foursome (MMMM), group sex, body worship, slight muscle worship, switching partners, shower sex, blowjobs, rough blowjobs, face fucking, throat fucking, light degradation, rim jobs, anal sex, anal fingering, dom/sub undertones/dynamic, creampie, cum swallowing, dom!changbin, dom!chan, sub!han, switch!reader,

Taglist: @james-is-here @onementally-unstabel-kid @omg-lexiloveyou @drinkingrumandcocacola @belladonna6-6-6 @channiesbum @oreoqueen @succubus-hansol

Here's What You Missed on Newbie!

Next on Newbie!

****

You both truly did mean to leave for the studio. After the gym and lunch at a new cafe, you and Han planned on freshening up at his place and then leaving. With some more recordings and alterations, the album will be done and they'd move onto their comeback preparations. You’d been thinking about the newest song, singing it in your head when the shower door opened.

“Hey,” Han stepped in behind you, “I was thinking about your song, and wanted to talk about an idea I had for it.”

“Here?” you asked incredulously. “We’re going to the studio. We could talk about it there.”

“I don’t want to lose the thought. Scoot over,” he slipped past you to be underneath the water. “You always get the perfect temperature,” he sighed once the water hit his face, “You need to tell me your secrets, water wizard.”

“It’s an art form,” you shrugged. You might as well let him, you thought, as you picked up the shower gel. It’ll certainly cut down on time. “What idea did you have for the song?”

You and Han stood underneath the steaming shower, your naked bodies dangerously close to each other. It started with washing yourselves while talking about the album and comeback. Casual and light hearted, you didn’t expect anything to really happen. Minho said Han could sleep with whichever member he wanted, but that didn’t mean you’d jump at the chance every time. Plus, the workout left your muscles feeling slightly worn. You didn’t know how you’d make it through recording, but you promised Chan you’d show up so you would. But, when Han asked you to get spots on his back, you’ll admit it was tempting.

Soapy hands trailed down the arch of his back, massaging the tense muscles and cleaning off the smooth skin. The curvature of his spine caused his ass to stick out naturally. You knew he wasn’t doing it on purpose. He even hunched to avoid your dick, but as your hands rested above his pert ass, the thought came to you.

“Pervert,” Han chuckled, sensing your hesitation right away.

“I’m not the one with my ass sticking out like this,” you replied, transfixed by the round curves inches from your hands.

All you had to do was sink lower, and they’d be fully in your hands. Instead, you went back up to his shoulders. Thumbs rolling in circles, Han gave a much more emphasized moan. You kept working on his back, always careful not to touch his ass even with temptation exciting you. When Han finally turned around, water hitting his shoulders and streaming down his front, you saw his fully formed body. He’d been working out more, hence his chest and shoulders being wider than before. You thought about him in the gym earlier, hard body lifting weights and stretching before you. The temptation had not hit you then, but it did now. Especially when his soft hands started working on your chest and stomach. When something hard touched your cock, you knew he’d gotten aroused just with a few touches.

“You’ve gotten so buff, hyung,” Han said, that sweet voice dripping with seduction. He gave your biceps gentle squeezes, “I like it.”

“You too,” he pulled him close so your bodies came together. The urge to grind on his hardening cock came to you, but you withheld it. “You’re not the little twink I used to fuck before.”

He laughed, cheeks lifting in his smile, “I guess I’m not, huh?” He let his fingers drag across your collarbones to your chest again, “Does that bother you?”

“Not at all,” you assured him, hands finally grasping his ass. “It just takes a bit more to throw you around on my bed.”

You brought him in for a kiss, your tongue sliding across his bottom lip. Heat built up between you in the kiss, tongues touching every so often and pushing your arousal further. He released a soft moan when you squeezed both cheeks and pulled them apart. You could feel them jiggle slightly when you lifted them, the soap making them slip from your hands.

“Keep doing that, hyung,” he whispered, lightly kissing you. “I like it when you do it like that.”

“Oh yeah?”

“Mm-hm.”

A hand sliding between them, you grazed briefly over the clenched hole. You made small trails from the middle to the space connecting balls and anus. Every brush over it made Han eager for more. You let out your own moan when his delicate hand grabbed the base of your cock. In languid strokes, Han worked both you and him together. His throbbing dick right up against yours, you did your best not to move up into it. You focused your efforts on his ass. Moans resounding in the shower stall, water pattering onto the tiled floor, the two of you stood there fondling each other. Nothing ever felt as good as the members, who were always so eager for you. Even months later, you still found it hard to believe. It sounded like something out of a erotic fanfiction or one of those smutty romance novels. As pathetic as it made you look, you could never resist when one of them suggested it to you. You really were a pervert.

“May I suck it, hyung?” Han asked after a while, the both of you raging hard. “I love sucking yours.”

“Yes,” you breathed, eager for more of him.

Your back hitting the cold shower wall, you ran a hand through Han’s damp hair as he crouched down. Hands on your thighs, he easily guided your tip into his mouth. Pure euphoria coursed through you like a drug. His soft lips tenderly sucking the head, Han swiped the tip of his tongue over the wrinkled side of your dick. Occasionally breaking it to suck up saliva and precum, he kept his eyes on you the entire time. You stared right back, stroking his hair to guide him further down. You groaned when his tongue caressed the pulsing vein pumping more blood into the long muscle.

“No hands,” you said when one hand reached to grab your base, “Only your mouth and tongue.”

Han didn’t protest at all. Keeping both hands on your thighs, he kept himself leveled as he filled his mouth. The slight pressure of his hands caressing your inner thighs added to the pleasure. Your fingers slide over slick tiles, for something to grab when it finally took hold of you. Every muscle in your legs tensed as he sucked. Nothing ever felt as good. When your dick finally hit the back of his throat, you bit down on your lip to keep yourself grounded. Each time with them felt brand new. You could stay like that forever, enjoying Han's mouth. Looking further down his body, you saw his cock standing straight up to his stomach. You smirked.

“You really love blowing me, huh?” You asked, scooping long strands of hair from his face. He didn’t answer, only nodding and humming his response. “Answer me properly, baby,” you said.

“Yes,” he panted, your dick on the tip of his tongue before he went back into it. “I love blowing you, hyung.”

“I can tell,” you started pushing slowly into his mouth. Immediately taking the hint, Han stayed in place as you slid in and out. “You get so hard when my dick is in your throat,” you pointedly pushed right to it, groaning as the younger gulped around you. “Does it feel that good, baby?” You asked when you withdrew to the last inch.

Drool falling onto his chest, Han answered, “Yes, hyung.”

“Do you want me to fuck your throat?”

“Yes, hyung.”

Holding him by a fistful of hair, you started pushing your hips into his face. His full lips sucking you hard, cheeks hollowing to touch the sides, he did his best to pleasure you.

“Eyes on me,” you huffed, stuffing yourself to the bottom. “Good boy, keep looking up at me while I fuck your pretty mouth.”

You watched his shoulders shake, and felt his grip on your thighs tighten. You kept him there as he started gagging. His round brown eyes stared up at you so innocently, tears starting to build in the corners whenever you stayed deep for too long. Every so often, you slipped out to tap his tongue and lips, watching him struggle to catch it without his hands. The eagerness in his eyes amplified your teasing. He whined when you pulled yourself out of his reach, wagging his tongue to lick what he could. When he did manage to catch it, he sucked firmly and licked greedily. You thought you just might cum when he began moaning around you.

“Let’s get to the bed,” you said, removing your cock to tap on his lips again. “Hyung wants to play with you before he cums.”

The two of you shared sloppy, passionate kisses while you dried each other. It was the anticipation that excited the both of you. Fully dried off, you guided Han to his own bedroom where you flung him onto the bed. Your eyes scanned over his naked body as he laid back on the pillows. He looked beautiful, sculpted as if an artist took their time on him. His chest broader than when you first met, he'd even started gaining a bit of a four-pack. You couldn't help dragging your fingers lightly over them, catching on the hard dark nipples. The muscles relaxed and less defined, you still felt them flex when touched and kissed. He was gorgeous. You could spend an eternity exploring his body. His eyes full of lust and need, body nearly shivering from arousal, you understood why Minho drew out their sessions. Since splitting the unit dorms into pairs, Han had moved in with his boyfriend. You saw evidence of this in the dashes of Minho around the room. You’d moved in with Chan naturally, and you couldn’t have asked for a better roommate.

Or boyfriend.

You kissed down expanses of smooth, hard muscles while your hands caressed his thighs. His dick twitched when you drew near it, though you only gave it a small swipe of your tongue. Your lips landed everywhere except there. You memorized the pleasure points of his body, skimming over his thighs and legs to find them. You wanted to commit each one to memory for later. His balls underneath entered your mouth in small suckles, your moans vibrating on the tender skin while your tongue rolled over them. The small tugs to the top had Han wriggling above you. It was when your tongue flicked the very bottom of his dick that he began grinding into your face.

“Stay still for me, baby,” you said, kissing up his length.

“It just feels so good,” he whined.

“I know it does,” you cooed, giving the head a light flick, “But I want you to try for me. Okay?”

“O-kay.”

The tip of Han's cock in your mouth, precum spilling onto your tongue, you hardly noticed the phone lighting up beside him. You were too distracted by his quivering body and soft whimpers to care. The sensation of his cock pulsating in your hand kept you distracted enough. Pretty, petite Han laid against his pillows, mewling and panting as your tongue gradually circled his head. You stroked him slowly, sucking softly until he whined and arched his back. It made for a beautiful sight. An arousing, erotic sight that pulled you from reality and into your personal lust driven world. Sliding a hand up his body, you teased a nipple with the pad of your thumb, earning more moans. It had only been when he spoke that you noticed the phone.

“Hel-Hello?” the brunette stammered, full lips parted in silent moans of pleasure. “No, I'm n-not…Ye-Yes,” he wriggled when your tongue lashed at the underside of his head. Han watched with heavy lidded eyes as you licked up the slit of his cock. “He's…He's sucking my dick, and playing with my nipp-nipples…it feels so good, Hyung. Oh god, it feels so good,” he released a breathy moan as you took his tip in your mouth. “Just the tip…”

You wondered which member called as you started stroking his shaft. It could only be Chan, since you and Han were supposed to be at the studio by now. You imagined he’d been annoyed before calling, but once hearing Han’s breathy reponses, that likely disappeared. The image of an intrigued Chan leaning back in his chair, hand lightly brushing his thigh, came to you as you teased Han.

“O-Okay…”

Han, with shaky hands, fumbled with his phone. Sliding him further into your mouth, your cock pulsated knowing what was coming next. Was he alone? Was he about to facetime with the other members and producers there? No. Chan might get risky and kinky, but not like that. He wouldn't have stayed on the line if he was surrounded by people. Han pressed another button, and you heard two familiar voices groan in surprise.

“There's my boy,” said Chan, his voice recognizable by his Australian accent, which switched back to Korean as he said, “Looking so pretty with Hannie in his mouth.”

“How does he taste, Ynie?” Changbin asked you, his tone playful with a hint of naughtiness underneath it.

“So good,” you murmured against Han's head before kissing it teasingly. “He’s so sweet. I can’t stop.”

“Neither can I when I have him to myself,” he said, sounding mesmerized by the act.

“Show us your tongue, show us your tongue,” Chan said lightly. When you dragged your tongue up Han's shaft, they both groaned. “Good boy,” he said, “Keep doing it just like that; nice and slow how he likes it.”

You couldn't see their faces, but you knew they were enthralled by you. You'll admit, you liked the attention. You kept licking straight lines along the throbbing shaft, starting at the base and stopping on the tip. Your hips habitually grinded into the mattress, your low whimpers vibrating on the hard muscle. Han's hand tightened around the corners of the phone, his whining loud and clear.

Changbin then chuckled. “Hannie, you need to hold the phone straight so we can see him better. We can't see if you're shaking like that.”

“S-Sorry, hyung,” he whimpered. “It feels so good; I can’t help it.”

“I know it does, but we want you to try until we get there.” You heard a soft groan when you licked up Han’s hard length once more, making sure both of them saw streams of drool spill from the top. Giving him a few tugs, Changbin spoke, “Look how pretty Han’s cock is. I’m going to have such a good time playing with you two.”

“Please…” Han whimpered.

“Please?” Chan asked in a teasing voice. “‘Please’ what? Use your words, baby.”

“Play with us,” he said, moaning when you sucked and licked around his tip. “Play with me.”

“Hm, I don't know, Binnie-yah,” Chan said, a taunt in his voice. “Minho-yah might not like it. I don't think Hannie got permission to let anyone touch his cock.”

“Wait,” you suddenly stopped, smirking when Han whined, “Did you get permission, Hannie?”

“I did!” he cried out, wriggling his hips around. “He said I could.”

“Your master said you could get fucked?” You gave his tip a few teasing licks, “That doesn't sound like Minho-hyung. I heard someone got punished recently…”

“I swear he said I could,” he said, moving his hips up before you held them down. “Pl-please, hyung.”

“I wouldn't want you to get into trouble,” you lapped at the underside until he squirmed. He was so erect, his cock stood up on its own. Your occasional flicks made it move back and forth, and you kept doing this for amusement.

“I do,” cackled Changbin. “Minho lets me watch sometimes. Hannie is so pretty when he’s all teary eyed and begging.”

“He does,” agreed Chan, entranced by the sight of you. “So, so pretty.”

You imagined both men already picking up their bags to leave. There must be nobody else there for the moment. You heard Changbin somewhere in the background, while you knew Chan put in an earbud to avoid anyone else listening. You went back to your teasing, flicking and pumping Han's length while the boy struggled under you.

“Lick his balls, baby,” Chan said, his order gentle as always. “I like watching you do that-Oh, you're such a good boy for me.”

Han jerked when you wrapped your mouth around one side of his sack. You kept your eyes on the phone, innocence radiating off of you juxtaposed to your actions. Chan liked good boys, you knew. You liked pleasing him. Ever since your first time, you and Chan spent a lot of time in each other's bedrooms. You knew everything he liked, and he liked good boys.

It was Changbin who brats.

You heard nothing but Han's soft panting and whining. They must be on the move. You kept the hard balls in your mouth, sucking and licking them gently. Your cock ached for friction. The image of Chan stroking you from behind came to you and you kept pushing into the bed. Sliding Han back into your mouth, you bobbed your head up and down to his sharp intake. Han gripped the sheets, nails digging into the soft, white fabric as his hips bucked up and down.

“Must be your throat, Ynie,” Changbin ordered, sounding inconspicuous to anyone else in the car. “I have some tea left from when I had a cold. Make some and relax.”

You knew an order when you heard it. Positioning yourself more comfortably, you held Han by the base as you took breaths through your nose. Gradually, you slipped him over your tongue to the back of your throat. Thankfully, Han wasn't as large as Changbin, whose girth ached your jaw and length penetrated your throat with ease. This made the youngest rapper quiver, a breath exhaled through his teeth and he struggled to keep his phone straight on his chest. You felt his head pushed past your uvula each time, causing a soft gagging sound you knew they all loved. Two low groans stifled by coughs sounded from the phone when you gazed up at them. You kept the pace slow, hands on Han's inner thighs as you kept your eyes on the phone. The shutting of car doors made you glad the company building was close to the apartment.

“Spit on it,” Chan said breathlessly, groaning when you dribbled over it. They must be in the elevator if he spoke so boldly. “Why did I wear these shorts today? I feel like I'm barely hiding it.”

“I tucked mine into my waistband,” said Changbin. Why did their casual conversation during such a filthy moment turn both you and Han on more? “If they'd told me they'd do that, I would've come over. Pretend my cold hadn't gone away yet. Did you tell Seungmin not to come?”

“Yeah,” said Chan. “Then he was like ‘what? why?’ and I told him the microphone was broken,” he said with a stifled laugh.

“What did he say?” laughed Changbin.

“Nothing. He was like ‘oh okay, cool’. He and Felix are going out, so there's no worries, I guess.” When you spat on Han's cock again, he groaned. “He spat on it again.”

“What? Let me see.”

You did it just for him, spit trickling down before you took it back in your mouth. He huffed in frustration. “Why do we have to be in the world's slowest elevator?!” he said as Chan laughed.

The ding of the elevator made him laugh a bit harder. “You should see how excited Binnie is for you two,” Chan said, his laughter dying down. “Get up on your knees for me, baby,” he told you, “I want that ass in the air when I show up.”

Both you and Han suddenly flinched when you heard the front door open. Everybody had keys to each other’s dorms, so they didn’t need to worry about answering the door. Changbin and Chan likely discarded their bags and shoes quickly, since you heard hurried footsteps reach the bedroom door.

Changbin moaned at the sight of you both on the bed, and instantly removed his shirt. The broad muscles made you salivate around Han's girth. The abdomen he hid all the time appeared less defined than after a workout, but still traceable with fingers or a tongue. He quickly tugged off his pants and socks as he moved to the bed. His hastiness took you and Han out of your horny haze for a moment for a laugh.

“Fuck, look at you two,” he groaned, pecking Han's lips, then kissed yours. “How did this happen, hm?”

“In the shower,” Han moaned, whining when you pulled away from him.

Which you did to kiss Chan, who tilted your head to lock lips with you. For those few seconds, you forgot Han and Changbin. You let Chan's full lips lock with yours, brushing your tongues together before he pulled away. You shifted around, the covers grazing your dick again, as he slipped his tongue over yours. A moan escaped you when his hand slid down the curvature of your back to your ass.

“Naughty,” he muttered, giving one cheek a light tap, “To stay away from work when you know we have a comeback soon.”

“It's not for a while,” you whined into his mouth. “It just happened, I swear.”

“Is that so?” He cooed when he reached down your crack to your balls. “Is that how the sheet got all wet?” He said, giving them a gentle tug that made you tremble, “From all this precum? You've been at this for a while, huh?”

“Yes,” you breathed, needy for more of his touch.

Not getting the friction you’ve ached for, you whined at the middle finger dragging up your balls to your ass and back. Chan captured your lips with his, giving slow kisses as he rolled a finger around your entrance. Not pushing past it, he hummed when you began grinding into his hand.

“Not yet,” he said. “We only just got here.”

“But Leader-nim…I need it super bad,” you pouted. He chuckled at your eagerness, giving your neck soft kisses.

“I know,” he returned the pout. “You’ll get plenty of dick soon, you know that.” He brought the fingers to your lips and you coated them in spit, “How about you put Han's pretty cock back in your mouth while I take care of you, hm?”

“Yes, Leader-nim.”

You went right back into the proper position. Unlike Changbin, Chan hadn't removed a stitch of clothing. He didn't do this out of shyness but for torture. He knew you loved his body, and he'd make you work to see it bare. You jumped at his warm hands sliding up the backs of your thighs to your ass, giving the fleshy parts soft squeezes as he did so. Han filling your mouth, you could only give a muffled cry at the thumbs grazing your center. The two digits massaged up and down your balls, moving over the insides of your cheeks and spreading them apart every so often. Simply having him so close to you, his hands groping and massaging your ass and balls, kept you eager to push into his face. But, you knew better. He’d only pull away if you did that.

“Han made you so hard, baby,” Chan said, voice low and full of lust before he flicked your balls with his tongue. “Let’s see if I can make it harder.”

Everything in you screamed for him to take you right then, yet you practiced patience. He planted soft kisses right over the middle before fully making out with your balls. You could feel his lips catch onto one and his tongue sliding up and down it. The sensation sent more blood pumping to your cock, which twitched underneath you. He sensed your trembling thighs, then wrapped his arms around them to push his face further in you. With Han deep in your mouth, your moans came out muffled pleas and whimpers. The obscene licking and sucking matched the sloppiness of your blowjob, and it turned you on more.

When you looked up to Han, you saw him preoccupied with Changbin. Abdomen tensing and hips slowly thrusting, Changbin slid half his length into Han's mouth. Wide, round eyes stared only at him, soft moans stifled by his thickness. Han would whine pathetically when the older member pulled away, keeping his tongue out for Changbin to rub himself against. He enjoyed it too much to let Changbin go. You saw the eagerness he restrained in his firm sucks. The sight of Han, shaking and whimpering, taking Changbin's cock so easily made you hornier.

As Chan delicately licked at your hole, you sucked Han more firmly and took him further into your mouth. Soon, a symphony of moans filled the room and you thanked God only the four of you were in the apartment. By the time Han started pushing his hips to your face, you knew he'd finish soon.

“No, no, no, baby,” Changbin breathed, pulling your head off Han's lap. He pushed hair from Han’s forehead as he said, “You haven't been fucked yet. You know you can only cum when you've been fucked first.”

“Binnie-hyung,” Han whined. “Please, I want to so badly.”

“You know the rules,” he continued, tapping his tip on Han's lips before he stuck out his tongue. “You don't want to be a bad boy, now do you? I don't think your master would like to hear you're being naughty again.”

“No,” Han said, words whining as he kept his tongue out. “No, I don't.”

“Alright, so be a good slut and do what you’re told,” he sighed in relief once he pushed back into the salivating mouth. “I'd hate to punish you when you're behaving so well.”

“Oh please,” said Chan from behind you, lapping at your leaking tip until you mewled. “You love punishing them.”

“I’m too tired for it today,” he admitted, pushing to himself until Han choked slightly. “I just want to use their holes until I'm drained dry.”

Both you and Han moaned at his words, earning chuckles from the other two. You nearly lost control when a slender digit pushed through the threshold into your ass. Chan made sure you felt each stroke in his slow pace. They curled against the rigid walls to the very center of you; they gently stretched you while his tongue rolled around your tip. Your eyes rolled back at the slim fingers, wanting them to go faster and deeper. He knew exactly how badly you needed him,

“Both of you kneel up for us,” Chan ordered.

The kneeling position put his fingers further inside you. Han copied your position, eyes heavy with desire as he knelt in front of you.

“Kiss each other,” Changbin said softly, intently watching both of you.

“Deeply,” added Chan. “Yeah, that's it. Just like that…soft and slow.”

“You two look so pretty like this,” Changbin said, kissing Han's neck. You saw him grab Han's free hand to wrap around his girthy shaft. “Don't they, hyung?”

“They do,” Chan agreed, doing the same to you.

Finally having his cock in your hand, you made sure your lover felt every small squeeze you have. Your thumb started tracing the veins slowly rising through the velvety skin, rolling around the back of the sensitive head each time. Beads of precum fell onto your thumb, and his raspy breaths filled your ear. You couldn't help losing yourself in Han's kisses and Chan's fingers. They prodded deep inside you, pressing that special spot in intervals. Han's small squeal told you Changbin began stroking his hardon just as slowly as he fingered him. The youngest grinded into the hand needily, holding onto your shoulders as he pushed back. Your tongue keeps his mouth busy, so he could only whine into you.

“Somebody is getting needy,” Changbin groaned, his hand smacking Han's cheeks as his palm picked up the pace a moment. This caused Han to break from you to cry into the air, staying still as he was fingered. “Look how much he's leaking,” he said, kissing Han's neck. “You're making such a mess, Hannie-yah.”

“Please,” he whined, “I need it.”

“Oh, you need it, huh?”

“Yes!”

“Do you need it badly?”

“Yes!”

“Did you hear that, YNie?” Chan smirked, “Han needs it. Be a good boy and give it to him. We want to watch.”

You didn’t hesitate to get between Han's thighs. Hands sliding down the slender thighs, you pressed onto the flesh just enough for him to feel it. But then Changbin grabbed them for you, lifting them to Han's stomach. This left him fully exposed and vulnerable to the three of you. You let out a soft gasp when Chan grabbed you by the base to give a soft squeeze. He gave long, slow strokes that spread your precum all over it. Your arms behind your back, you couldn't do anything except let him tug on you. He traced the length of Han’s cock with yours, tapping the tip lightly on his balls before going further down. The light motions had you quaking in his embrace.

“Patience, baby,” he cooed, swirling your tip around the tight ring. “You'll both get it soon. Binnie-yah and I just want to watch you stretch him slowly.”

“We need to get you a little wetter,” said Changbin, bending down to swipe his tongue over you. “You're too big to put in like this.”

Chan rolled your nipples between his fingers as Changbin's mouth moved up and down on you. His lips massaging the sides in every suck, his tongue worked the bottom. You watched his hand move in time on Han, who was shivering at each touch. You used every bit of strength to hold back the orgasm building within.

“This is fucking heaven,” he moaned, lifting Han to his mouth for firm sucks. “I love having pretty boys to play with,” he put you both together to slide his tongue over the heads. “Pretty boys with tight holes and nice cocks.” His tongue flicking each one, he gave them short, quick sucks before switching.

“I could die happy right now,” said Chan, lifting a hand to tweak your nipple. “I'd do this all day if I could,” he said while he kissed your neck. “Just stay in bed fucking your holes and tasting your cum,” he pushed his shaft between your cheeks, and you nearly came from it. “Can I taste your cum, baby? Will you shoot it in my mouth and down my throat for me?”

“Yes,” you said in a shaky breath. “Please…”

“I'd prefer to taste Hannie,” said Changbin, sliding his tongue up his cock, “Would you like that, Hannie-yah?”

“Yes, hyung,” Han cried.

“Can we have as much as we want?”

“Yes, hyung.”

“Every little drop?”

“Yes.”

“Then, let’s see how much we can get out of you two.”

Changbin let Chan take over you again, and he pushed the first inch inside Han. A new flood of pleasure came as Han's body drew you inside naturally. Chan pushed you gently until you filled him, then he held you there for Han to adjust to your size. With whispered encouragement and slow guidance, Chan and Changbin watched your dick carefully slide in and out of Han. You swore his body pulled you inside on its own. Every pull outwards showed his hole clinging to you, while every push was inviting. Changbin lay beside him, he kept stroking and kissing him tenderly. You watched Han fall into a pit of lust, body remaining still as it was overcome with sensations.

“Look how far you stretch him,” Chan whispered, kissing near your ear. “I love watching your big dick stretch our little bottoms out. They turn into such sluts when they’re with you.”

“You can’t turn them into something they already are,” said Changbin, bending down to catch strings of Han’s leaking precum. “Isn’t that right, Han-ah? Aren’t you already a slut?”

“Yes.”

“Yes, what?”

“Yes, I’m a slut, hyung,” he sobbed.

“Yeah, that’s right,” he suckled the tip, tasting the clear fluid coming out. He then kissed up your stomach to your nipple. “And you, Ynie?” he sucked on one of them softly, nibbling on it. “Are you a slut too?”

“Yes, hyung,” you moaned.

“And that’s what we love about our cute little Pervert,” Chan said, putting his dick between your ass cheeks. The thick shaft gliding over your entrance caused you to shake. “Go faster, Pervert,” he said, pushing your hips for you, “Fuck him how you like being fucked.”

And you did. Deep, quick thrusts coupled with Chan and Changbin’s teasing brought you both closer to the edge. You couldn’t hold back much longer.

“Leader-nim,” you whined as Han’s ass clenched tightly around you, “I’m going to cum.”

“You are?”

“Yes! I can’t help it. His ass feels so good.”

“I don’t know if I should let you,” he said, putting his tip right to your ass hole. “I haven’t fucked you yet.”

“Then fuck me, please.”

Changbin laughed, “It’s not rocket science, hyung. Your baby boy wants to cum and you want to fuck him.”

“So I should, huh?” Chan chuckled softly. “Where’s your lube, Hannie?”

“Drawer.”

Changbin grabbed it for him, and handed it to Chan. “Lube me up, baby,” Chan removed his shirt and shorts as he laid next to Han on the large bed. “Then you can ride me like a good Pervert.”

Han cried in frustration when you withdrew from him. However, these cries were silenced with Changbin’s soft deep kisses. After coating his length in a thick layer of lubricant, you mounted Chan’s hips and put his head to your hole. Fully sitting on his cock, you stayed there as pleasure pulsed throughout your body. The tip pushing on your g-spot, you could cum just like this, but you held onto your orgasm tightly. Chan’s hands rubbed over your thighs to your waist, where he started urging you to go up and down. You looked down to see him shirtless and breathless. One hand on his chest, you rubbed a nipple while picking up speed. He was so strong and big. Even if you bulked up, he was still stronger than you and you liked that.

“You’re so big, Leader-nim,” you moaned, feeling up and down his chest. “I love it so much.”

“I know, baby,” he said, hand going up to your cock. “Why do you think I work out so much, hm? I want to look good for my sweet boy,” he pulled you down for a deep kiss. “I need to work out if I’m going to keep up with you.”

The both of you shared a laugh before kissing again. It was then you noticed Han also straddling and kissing Changbin. While you kept a steady pace, impatient and dazed Han bounced needily. Changbin did not stop him, instead jerking his bobbing dick in time with it.

“Ride me like that,” Chan instructed, grabbing your ass. “Just let go and enjoy your leader’s dick.”

You sat up again and matched Han’s desperate pace. The two moved in near unison as they fully unleashed themselves. The men underneath them moaned and watched in awe as their respective partners moved. After all this time with Stray Kids, you couldn’t want anyone else. Nobody fucked you the way they did. You thanked God every day you joined their group; that you pushed down your hesitations and decided to give it a shot. Otherwise, you wouldn’t have them in your life. Sex aside, you’d grown so attached and so close, you couldn’t picture yourself in any other group.

“I think YNie’s about to cum,” Chan asked, holding your cheeks open and pushing upwards. “Hm?”

“I think Hannie-yah is too,” said Changbin, still stroking Han. “He always gets louder when he’s close.”

“I’m so close, hyung,” Han panted, eyes closed and mouth open. “I’m so fucking close. Please, let me cum. Please.”

“Me too!” you cried out next, changing your angle and pushing further down on him. “I’ve wanted to cum this whole time, please, Leader-nim. Let us cum. Please.”

“Oh, YNie, you know that’s not the right way to ask,” Chan breathed, mesmerized by your body. “Good boys get what they want when they ask politely.”

“May I please cum, Leader-nim?”

“May I please cum, Changbin-hyung?”

“Only if you put it in my mouth.”

“And mine too.”

Neither of you wasted any time moving up to their chests. Chan and Changbin immediately opened their mouths for you two to fill. Two fingers in your ass, his throat humming around your dick, it didn’t take long for you to explode. It was like two bombs going off at the same time. You and Han gripped the headboard tightly as your orgasms burst in your partners’ mouths. Thick, creamy droplets fell down their throats as they greedily swallowed the loads. Their moans of approval only tickled more out of you. Shuddering as you slowly came down, Chan continued sucking until nothing else came out.

“On your sides,” he said, swiping at your sensitive cock, “We’re cumming inside you two.”

Nothing pleased you more. Laying on your side facing Han, you lifted your leg to Chan’s shoulder to let him thrust deep inside. Your lips found Han’s, and his hand wrapped around your softened dick. Unable to help it, you started stroking him back as Chan pounded into you. The feeling alone made you want to get hard again. Looking down to see Changbin doing the same, you wished he’d be in you too. The need to keep being fucked came on too strongly. You soon felt something warm blossoming in your ass. Chan’s moans turned into breathy whines as he came. Changbin followed right after, causing him to move faster and harder. You and Han moaned in each other’s mouth as their cum spilled into you. It felt so good having a piece of Chan stay there even when he pulled out. Feeling full, you tried keeping whatever didn’t leak out of you.

Then the two switched partners. You all laid in bed, touching and kissing to rebuild up that arousal. Changbin slid through inside, and you immediately noticed the difference in size. He giggled at your wide eyes, hips gently meeting yours in each thrust. Your hands gripped his shoulders, feeling his muscles flexing in each movement. You explored his taut, buff body while he kissed your neck and shoulders. Every time you watched him on the weight machines in the gym came back as his cock buried itself in you. You’d see his muscles grow more defined from being worked on so much, making him appear bigger than he normally did. You’d see it and think about how they looked tensed in his orgasms.

“I love how big you are,” you moaned without thinking. You held onto his biceps, “So…big…”

“It must be nice to get fucked by someone as big as you,” he said, pushing a bit faster. Propped above you, he curled your body upwards and directly hit your prostate.

“N-Not big that way,” you said, eyes falling closed. “Your-Your muscles…”

“You like my muscles, huh?”

Arms and legs went around him when he lifted you off the bed. Out of everyone, Changbin carried you the easiest. He started pushing upwards while standing, balls hitting your ass in every fast thrust. The new position brought on bursts of pleasure each time. It pulled him deeper, and you felt so full. You held onto his shoulders this time, fingers locking in his dark hair as he kept going.

“Like how strong I am, Pervert?” he asked, panting and groaning in your ear. “Hm? It turns you on to be thrown around like a ragdoll?”

“Yes, yes!” you whined, feeling your orgasm approaching in this position. “I love when you manhandle me.”

“Then I guess I’m doing it more.”

Behind you, Han’s moans grew louder with his ass hitting Chan’s hips. You heard the sharp sounds of spanking, each hit pushing Han to his orgasm. Chan’s would be arriving soon; you knew by how low and breathy his moans became. You pictured them both fucking you in the gym together.

Changbin tossed you onto your stomach, arms hooking around yours to keep them in the air. In the tight lock, he stuffed himself back in and went even faster. Your cock, heavy with blood and arousal, suddenly twitched when you came. Strings shot onto the covers underneath you, making droplets that seeped into the cloth. You couldn’t do anything except take Changbin’s thickness in you. Your position couldn’t stop him from cumming inside you. You stayed in place as Changbin used you like a fleshlight, spilling his seed deep inside until he got every drop. Glancing at Chan and Han, you saw them on the corner of the bed. Han bent over, Chan charged into him from behind. Both of them tense, sweat starting gleaming on their skin, you thought of them in your workout fantasy. By the time you finished, you were wishing all three of them would converge on you, tossing you to one another like a game of catch before fucking you.

“Show me,” Chan whispered when he reached you.

You turned your back to him, ass in the air and showed him where a mix of him and Changbin leaked out of you. “Fuck, that’s hot,” he groaned, squeezing both cheeks. “Your ass always looks so good, full of cum.”

“Especially when yours is in there too.”

“Maybe I’ll add a little more later.”

The promise of more had you pulling him to you for a deep kiss. Officially spent, you laid in his arms as the tiredness settled. His strong arms kept you close to his chest while you spooned, making you feel safe in his embrace. The light sensation of his lips on your skin, dotting loving kisses, warmed your insides. Right beside you, Han snuggled into Changbin’s chest, eyes already falling closed as the other whispered in his ear. You heard snippets.

“…You did such a good job. Your owner will be so proud of you when I tell him…We can eat later, Hannie. You should sleep.”

“I adore you,” Chan’s voice filled your ear. “You know that, right?”

“Yes.” You never said a word with such confidence before.

“I’d never really be angry at you about anything, right?”

You grinned, knowing where he was going with it. “Yeah…”

“But, next time I ask you to be somewhere,” he gave your ass a small smack, “You get this tight little ass there, understand?”

“Yes, Leader-nim.”

“Good boy.”

He pecked your temple, then cuddled you to him. You felt his body relax the same time as yours, your bodies almost melting together on the bed.

You rarely ever slept so well.

****

A/N: okay, this is purely a result of my ovulation season and Hannie working on his fitness more lately lmao I know it's kind of pwp so nothing really happens except Newbiew getting fucked. Hope you still liked it though <3

#stray kids #stray kids fanfiction #stray kids fanfic #stray kids x male reader #bang chan #bangchan #seo changbin #han jisung #han skz #changbin skz #bangchan skz #chan skz #3racha #3 racha fanfic #3racha x male reader

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bunniehrtz · 1 year ago

Note

can i request cunt slapping w abby 🤲 need her to get so nasty w it

luuvvvvv

you should’ve expected it, really. acting the way you did, speaking to abby the way you did, you should’ve known you were in for it the second you stepped into your bedroom. the second you stepped into your house, in fact. your knees pressed up against your chest, holding onto them so tight your nails dig into the flesh of your calves, almost bleeding.

“oh- fuck! abs, it hurts!” you whine, hissing and wincing at the sting on your aching pussy, your eyes shut tightly. abby’s hand slaps down once again, the ninth time in about the last thirty seconds.

“i don’t give a fuck. shouldn’t even be touching you, you like this too much,” abby comments at the slick trailing down your thighs, pooling under your ass onto your sheets. it’s true, the feeling of her huge, thick hands slapping down onto your sensitive cunt was enough to make you cum. you think you could, you might.

“abby- please,” you attempt to say, it comes out in a pathetic whisper, ending in a squeal and a sharp inhale.

“shut up. stop complaining or i’ll fuckin’ leave you here. tie you up, leave you here for hours. do you want that?”abby says through a clenched jaw. you shake your head, the thought of abby leaving you here leaving a pit in your stomach.

the contrast of your naked body against her fully clothed one drove your head fuzzy. her baby hairs escaping the woven mess of her braid, the freckles cascading down her biceps, the way they paint her face, it drives you crazy. you fall deeper into submission as your body begins to feel light, your head feels empty as all you can think about is abby. her hands, the sting between your legs as she continues her attack on your cunt.

the band in your stomach begins to feel tighter, your pussy clenching around nothing.

“are you really about to cum? just from a few slaps? god, i knew you were a slut but this, this is fucking low, baby,” she teases, drawing circles over your clit, smiling as your back arches and you sigh empty whispers of her name.

“you wanna cum, baby? yeah? you gonna cum?” abby encourages, her fingers sliding through your folds, laughing at your moans. you nod and nod, begging.

“please! please let me cum, please,” you sob, sucking your bottom lip between your teeth.

“aww, i’m sorry, baby. should’ve thought about that before you acted up in front of everyone,” abby pulls away, pouting down at you before patting your cunt twice, then walking away to the bathroom to fetch a towel to clean you up.

taglist @queenofmistresses @bambishaven @abigails-gf @drunkelliewilliams @aouiaa @dykeanderson @abbysprettygiiirl @toasthatervee @marsworlddd

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otterly-darling · 5 months ago

Text

First Drink

'Hi, my name is Sirius and this is my first drink.'

Sirius holds up a glass of champagne and then downs it in one as everyone roars in approval.

---

'Hi, my name is Sirius and this is my second drink.'

Sirius smiles charmingly, tongue poking out at the camera as he raises his glass and wraps one arm around James' shoulder.

---

'My name is Sirius and this is my fourth, no, fifth drink!'

Sirius throws the shot back and slams the glass down on the bar, poking Remus' side until he rolls his eyes and drinks his own.

---

'Name is 'Rus and this- this is my seventh drink.'

Sirius scrunches his nose as Marlene thrusts a pint of beer into his hand and straightens the party hat on his head, pinging at the elastic under his chin and making him yelp.

---

'This is my ninth drink! I'm Sirius!'

Sirius empties what's left of the bottle of red into his glass taking a large gulp and then leaps onto Peter's back, who stumbles forward as they both collapse into a pile on the floor.

---

Sirius is so hot. He can feel a bead of sweat dripping down his cheek as he throws both arms up in the air and screams along with the music. Around him James and Lily are jumping up and down, hand linked, Peter, Dorcas and Marlene are in the midst of some complicated three person spin and even Remus is there, a friendly hand on Sirius' lower back, keeping him steady. As always.

The song ends and Sirius grabs Remus' hand, gesturing towards the bar and the others follow as he pulls Remus through the crowd.

'Hot,' he shouts over the music, pulling at his drenched t-shirt and smiles as Remus leans over the bar, catching the girls eye and asking for something as James orders a round of tequilas.

Sirius takes his and hands James his phone.

'Tenth drink, baby! And I think my name is Sirius.'

He clinks his glass with Peter and-

'Here you are, Pads.'

Sirius stops, shot glass almost to his lips as Remus passes his a glass.

'Water,' he says simply. 'You said you were hot. I don't want you to get dehydrated. And we know your hangover is never as bad if you drink water before you go to bed.'

Sirius' stomach swoops and if he was paying attention he would notice his friends knowing glances. He takes the glass with his free hand and looks back at Remus who shrugs, bashful.

'Thanks, Moony.'

Remus smiles. 'You're welcome.' And then he reaches out and brushes his fingertips over the arch of Sirius' cheekbone, so quickly that it's over before Sirius realises it's happened.

Sirius puts down the tequila, reaching up to touch his cheek. His skin feels like it's burning. He looks at the glass of water and then he looks at Remus. And he makes a decision.

'Hi, my name is Sirius. And I am so in love with Remus Lupin.'

Everyone falls silent, the music from the dancefloor and the yelling of the crowd seem to fade away. James is looking hopeful, Lily nervous, Peter just bemused.

'Moony?' Sirius says tentatively. 'Are you-'

'Oh thank God,' Remus breathes, grabbing Sirius' face with both hands and crushing their lips together. 'I am so in love with you too.'

@wolfstarmicrofic

#remus lupin #sirius black #wolfstar #remus x sirius #wolfstar microfic #wolfstarmicrofic #marauders

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hisbitch101 · 2 months ago

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Manjiro sano x fem! Reader

A very small story because it was on my mind, not edited :3 hope you enjoyyyy

Warnings: overstimulation, denial of orgasm, degradation?, praise, unprotected

"You wanna cum?" He asks pounding harder into you, head falling to your neck giving you hickeys and bite marks as you gasp for air scratching his back "Yes please please please" you beg arching your back and connecting the thrusts yourself too greedy to wait on him. You feel his grin on your shoulder as he whispers "Too bad" pulling out and slapping his dick on your clit "You should've thought about that before you went and distracted me from my meeting."

Mikey's eyes finally meet yours his dark irises bore into yours with a sly smug on his face watching you squirm underneath him wanting more contact "ill be good.. please Mikey please" he chuckles as he flips you over on your stomach spreading your ass before smacking it "you'll be good because that's what I'm telling you to do" he pulls your head up by your hair and he presses onto your hip with his other hand as he pushes his way back into you with a deep groan from him and yourself "it won't happen again please let me cum" you whine in frustration wanting that release he denied you of... what is this the ninth time?? Lost count.

When he ignores your comment you get bratty and take control. Bouncing back on him quickening the pace as you rub your clit. He stops letting you reach that high as he sits there feeling your every move on him, feeling you clench around him, your fingers brushing his cock now and then from your fast movements he just drinks it all up when you cum you shake and twitch screaming his name "MIKEY FUCCKK!" You let out as he groans hearing that sent a shiver down his spine as he fucks you himself again letting you feel overstimulated as he now chases after his own high. "That's it.. that's a bad fuckin girl thought you were gonna be good f'me? Short-lived?" He chuckles as he wraps his hand around your neck pounding in harder shooting his hot load into you with a sharp inhale. Your body goes weak dropping down sinking to the bed as he opens your legs again "Thought I was done sweet thing? Nah I'm just getting started. Thought it was so funny to show everyone those nice little panties you had on, yeah? Now look at where theyre at. My floor."

#mikey x reader #sano manjiro x reader #mikey sano #mikey smut #manjiro smut #tr smut #tokrev x reader #tokyo revengers smut #tokyo revengers toman #anime x reader #anime smut #smut #toman mikey

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tinyowlthoughts · 1 year ago

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The EC-Theobromine: Bluffing

There were many risks to exploring uncharted space. Unknown blackholes, near-invisible debris fields, hostile civilizations that had achieved space travel but had not yet been contacted by the Intergalactic Governing Body, pirates.

So. Many. Pirates.

Taurvin wasn't a big fan of pirates. Sure, he understood some of their motives - there were those who stole from the rich to give to the poor, or who attacked species intent on slavery and sapient experimentation to rescue the victims. But the majority were just, well.

To use a phrase from his new navigator, they were straight-up assholes.

And unfortunately, his ship was currently taken over by said assholes.

Five of them, to be precise. Normally his crew of nine could handle themself, especially with Lenzoill handling their security, but the bastards had taken them by surprise and used a blaster to Elaana's head to get them to cooperate. So there they were, eight of the best deep-space explorers the Intergalactic Exploration Committee had, kneeling (or the equivalent) before the pirates, limbs pinned behind them with cuffs, completely disarmed.

Wait.

Ignoring the monologuing pirate captain, Taurvin glanced at his crewmates on either side and counted. Eight. Gorvan and Elaana to his left, Epitak and Dhaca to his right, Lenzoill and Quals slightly behind them, the former knocked out and leaning against the couch, while Ir'ith (who had mouthed off when they yanked out a handful of his feathers) glared daggers from the other side of the room. He'd been trussed up like a zagtul and was gagged, though that was doing little to stymie his attempts at cursing the pirates out. The one guarding him looked more amused than anything, which was likely the only reason the zad was still conscious.

Still, that only came up to eight. Where was Max?

☠️🏴‍☠️☠️🏴‍☠☠️🏴‍☠️☠️🏴‍☠️☠️🏴‍☠️☠️🏴‍☠️☠️🏴‍☠️☠️🏴‍☠️☠️

Az was having an absolutely stellar day. His crew was meeting expectations, his first mate was being competent for once (even if he hadn't knocked that huffing, cursing zad out yet), and the IEC ship was theirs to plunder. Not that there would be much beyond rations - these types of ships weren't the goldmines the Elite Star Cruises were, but they always had some type of laboratory equipment on board that would fetch a good price on the blackmarket. All in all, a good catch, and not a drop of bodily fluid spilt!

"Uh, did I miss an email?"

Every head in the room swiveled towards the large doors that led to the halls, revealing a ninth crewmember they had missed. It was upright, bipedal, with two legs and two arms, and a head with fluffy hair. It was wearing standard-issue IEC sleeping garments, down to the slippers, though there was a belt loosely thrown around its waist, a blaster in the holster at its side. As they watched, it opened its mouth wide. At first Az thought it was some kind of threat display, until it stretched its arms over its head and arched its back. A yawn - had the simpleton been sleeping while they captured its crewmates? Pitiful.

"You," Az motioned to one of his crewmates - he couldn't remember her name - "Tie it up with the others."

"Yes sir." Crewmate nodded, reaching for the extra cuffs hanging from her belt.

The newcomer scratched at its head as she approached. "What, not going to ask me to dinner first?" It pressed its hands to its hips and leaned back, creating a horrible cracking noise that shot through the room like thunder. The pirates winced, as did some of the hostages. "I keep telling them not to do that," muttered the captured Lepidae, her antennae curling tight in annoyance.

Crewmate hesitated, glancing back at Az. Surely a motion that produced a noise like that should have broken its back? But the creature seemed fine, now swinging one arm across their chest, caught in the bend of the other, apparently - stretching? They switched arms, seeming to bounce a bit as they moved, and Az gave her an impatient glare. He didn't know what creature this was, nor did he care - it was an obstacle, and needed to be dealt with.

In the second they had taken their gaze off it, the interloper had drawn their blaster. It was unlike anything Az had seen before, made of some kind of blue metal - perhaps cobalt? Vanadium? - with brighter markings painted along the sides. The barrel was blocked by some kind of disc - he couldn't see down it for a projectile, nor could he see any kind of energy-concentrating device for a laser. A type of deterrent ammo, perhaps? One not made to kill, but instead drive away? Little good that would do - they had already captured the ship.

"I've gotta say, I'm not really a fan of how you're treating my friends." It bounced a bit on its heels. "Then again, this gives me an opportunity to use the latest in human technology!" It waved the blaster a bit, and Az felt his internal organs shudder. Human technology? He'd never met a human himself, but he'd heard of them. Great, hulking beasts woven of dense muscle, with teeth able to tear through flesh and bone and a penchant for destroying first and never asking questions. How did this scrawny thing get its hands on a human weapon?

Before Az could demand the crewmate take care of the bipedal thing, it fired. The projectile was not particularly fast, but it was silent - no hum of energy or blast of the more primitive explosive some species favored. A near-silent click, and then Crewmate screamed and ducked away. They hadn't been shot, however - the projectile had hit Az. Right in the chest. The disc had attached to his armor, and there was a long, thin rod sticking out of it. He reached up to snatch it off, but a 'tut' sound from the interloper had him freezing.

"Don't touch it," the bipedal advised, still holding the blaster as it gesticulated. "Skin contact with the probe will make it work faster."

"Work?" His first mate asked with a strangled sound. The zad at his feet had gone silent, and was looking between Az's face and the probe attached to his chestplate with wide eyes. With so much of his beak and face covered by the gag the captain couldn't make out his expression, but he assumed it was terror - identical to his first mates.

"Mmhmm." The interloper beamed, looking proud of itself. "The disc - the part attached to your armor there? - is reading and calculating the material makeup of your form. Then, when it's settled on what will be most painful, the foam will be atomically altered into the most effective acid for destroying you and then be injected into your torso - or whatever fleshy part is closest - and eat you from the inside." It was still bouncing on its heels, looking excited. "I've never seen it happen in person, do you mind if I take notes?"

Az didn't respond - he was frozen, staring down at the probe sticking out of his chest, terror curling in his chest. This was what the humans were up to? Creating biological acid weapons? No wonder they were so widely feared! "Crewmate, remove it!" He turned to the woman, only to find her with her backing up, hands raised, cuffs clattering to the floor.

"N-no way! I don't wanna be digested!" She gasped. Az turned to his first mate, who had lost the usual green flush to his face and backed away as well.

"If you really want to get it off, you'll need some really strong pliers. And probably some anesthetic. It'll be painful - you can't feel it, but the probe's wires have already drilled through your chest plate and into your skin. They're made to be sneaky," it waved the blaster. Az glanced back down at the probe and grimaced. The thing sounded outlandish, but the interloper spoke with such conviction that he couldn't doubt it. And there were more of the probes - he could see them in a clip attached to the blaster.

The interloper tapped his chin with the blaster. "We don't have anything strong enough on board, but-"

"Fall back to the ship." Az snapped, all seven hearts racing in his chest. His crew didn't argue, falling in line at his side. They stared at the interloper, who took a step to the side, leaving the door open. It didn't point the blaster at them, but kept it in hand, watching them carefully as they rushed out, heading towards the docking port.

When Az glanced behind them, he saw it following at a leisurely pace, blaster still in hand. Not wanting to get a second probe to his back, he practically threw his crewmates into their ship and set about undocking and getting as far from the cursed ship as possible.

It was not a good day.

☠️🏴‍☠️☠️🏴‍☠☠️🏴‍☠️☠️🏴‍☠️☠️🏴‍☠️☠️🏴‍☠️☠️🏴‍☠️☠️🏴‍☠️☠️

Ir'ith was losing his gods damned mind. He fell onto his side, cackling and wheezing, fighting against the gag to get enough air to keep up the laughter. The ship shuddered as the pirates undocked, then Max was standing in the doorway, looking exhausted.

"Max! Are you unharmed?" Taurvin demanded, using Gorvan to lever himself to his feet. It was a bit awkward with his hands cuffed behind his back, but he managed to stumble to the human.

"I'm fine." The navigator waved him off with the hand still holding the blaster. Taurvin flinched back, not wanting to come into contact with one of the probes, which set Ir'ith off into another gale of muffled laughter. Max rolled their eyes and, before Taurvin could stop them, pointed the blaster at the zad and fired several rounds. The probe's bright-orange discs hit and stuck to Ir'ith's uniform, and one hit the bit of his beak that wasn't covered, giving him a blue growth in the middle of his face.

"No! Max, how could you?" Elaana cried, struggling frantically against her cuffs. "Don't worry Ir, I'll be right there! We can save you."

"Wait, did he get hurt?" Max stuck the blaster in its holster and hurried over to Ir'ith before Taurvin could stop him. The human dropped to their knees and helped the still wheezing zad sit up before pulling off the gag.

"I'm fine!" Ir'ith reassured the others. "The darts don't do shit, stop worrying." He turned slightly so Max could fiddle with the cuffs around his wrists. They were an older model, nice and rusty the way pirates liked it, and only required two buttons being pressed at the same time to release. It took a bit of effort, but then the zad was freely rubbing his wrists.

"But Max said it was a new human weapon!" Epitak accused, wings fluffing up and hitting Dhaca in the face. The snallygaster, being only three feet tall, was knocked over on his tail.

"Oh, the probe stuff?" Max reached out and plucked one of said probes from Ir'ith's chest. "This is just plastic and foam - no technology at all." They wiggled the probe in their fingers, then stuck it to Ir'ith's beak, giving him two blue horns now. Elaana made a worried squeak, but didn't protest when the cook didn't show any ill signs.

Max moved to help Taurvin with his cuffs. Once the captain had his two arms free, he had to ask, "Max, what exactly is that weapon?"

The human grinned, pulling the blaster from their belt and wiggling it. "This? It's Nerf, or nothin'."

EC Theobromine Character & World Building Notes

EC Theobromine: Chocolate

#humans are space orcs #EC Theobromine #writing #haso #humans are deathworlders #bluffing

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yutaholic · 2 years ago

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the show must go on (M)

PAIRING: Haechan (NCT) + reader (female)

SUMMARY: Your best friend, your ride or die, Haechan has never once left your side, but all good things must come to an end.

WARNINGS: strong language; brief mentions of alcohol and drug abuse; explicit sexual content

NOTES: 7.9k words; this is part three of a rose and her thorns, but can be read as a standalone one-shot

Seattle, 1991

We met in detention. Eighth grade. Not to be cliché, but I knew Lee Haechan was trouble when he walked in.

Takes one to know one.

What I didn’t know was the role he would come to play in my life. I doubt many people meet their soulmate in middle school. I was pretty lucky in that.

The two of us practically lived in detention that entire year. Ninth grade was a little better; we just hung out behind the school instead of inside it. A silly pair of dumb kids wearing matching leather jackets and passing a cigarette back and forth, coughing up smoke and thinking it made us cool.

We thought we had it all figured out. But only Haechan turned out to be right.

He was the one that started the band. Haechan threw us all together and made music out of our chaos and trauma. He was the glue and without him, we would fall apart.

You clambered quietly into the passenger seat and whispered, “They’re asleep.”

Haechan was behind the wheel, but the van was parked on a grassy knoll just off the main highway. “Finally, some fucking peace and quiet,” he mumbled, sitting in a cloud of smoke that poured from his lips. The thick scent of marijuana filled the van from stem to stern.

You followed your best friend’s gaze. His eyes were firmly planted out the window at the black curtain of nightfall painted with billions of little lights. “The sky looks so pretty,” you said in awe.

“I know. It’s crazy seeing stars this bright.”

There was a tiny lull of silence. You were thinking. It wasn’t often you got to be alone with Haechan lately and it was making you crazy - not getting to confide in your best friend.

“I let Mark raw me,” you blurted out.

Haechan snorted. “I heard, but clearly your birth control did its job.”

“I snorted cocaine with Jeno… and fucked him in a dressing room.”

Your best friend looked at you, arching a brow. “So?” Doing crazy shit with Jeno wasn’t new, to be fair.

“What the hell am I doing?”

“What you do best - loving everyone except yourself.”

You frowned. Nail hitting the head every time, but you quickly realized you didn’t want to hear it. “Don’t do that,” you said in a small voice.

Haechan smirked and put the joint to his lips, taking another long drag. “You know me better than to think I’m going to be your conscience and scold you,” he said a moment later. “It makes sense you’re trying to get in as many rounds of fun before the summer ends.”

The summer was winding down. August was half over.

I didn’t want it to end. I couldn’t. Because I knew in my heart when we went home, we would go our separate ways. Forever.

There would be nothing holding us together anymore.

“Haechan?”

“Yes, my love?”

You fought back tears as you asked, “What are we going to do when it’s all over?”

Haechan slapped on a playful grin for your sake and said, “We’re going to get scouted at a concert and get a huge record deal and I’ll eat you out over a bed of hundred dollar bills.”

You snorted. “God, that would be a dream.” You quickly sobered. “What’s the reality?”

Your best friend’s grin melted away and his voice turned to frost. “Go home. Find a minimum wage job. And try not to turn into raging alcoholics like our parents.”

“I thought so,” you sighed, hanging your head.

Haechan reached over and rubbed your arm. “Save the major depressive episode for back home. Let’s just enjoy these last few days.”

“I don’t want to give up,” you said, meeting his eyes again. The fire inside you lit itself with resolve. No matter how small it was. “I want something more for us in life.”

“I know you do, baby,” Haechan crooned, touching your cheek affectionately. “But some things are just out of our control.”

You blinked with the urge to cry. You couldn’t fight it anymore. Regardless of his gentle tone, Haechan’s words sounded final. You slipped out of the seat and to the floor to lay your head on Haechan’s thigh, closing your eyes as he stroked your hair.

After a moment, Haechan whispered, “I’ll never forget you for as long as I live. No matter what happens. I hope you know that.”

The tears slipped down your face as you smiled and said, “I love you too.”

Haechan’s lips twitched. He wanted so badly to not let it bother him, but he couldn’t. He knew damn well when the summer ended and the band came up empty, there would be a permanent wedge of broken hearts and crushed dreams between you.

So, so lonely. That was Haechan’s biggest fear. Losing his best friends would destroy him beyond repair. He would go through life jaded and bitter, like his parents.

Maybe it really was unavoidable. Fighting fate sounded great in songs, but reality wasn’t kind. He knew that better than anyone.

The next morning, you woke in the bed with Jeno’s arm tucked around your waist, his body molded to yours keeping you warm. There was no telling which boy scooped you off the floor and put you in bed, but your money was on Mark. He was having a hard time looking at you and Haechan was mysteriously quiet.

But you knew why.

Tension had settled over the van, the worst of the worst. After the show in Seattle, there were no more gigs to be played. Now, the long drive home would begin, shadowed by defeat and failure.

You resorted to doing what you always did; trying to alleviate the pressure and raise everyone’s spirits. Once the boys were up and actually keeping their eyes open, you had Jeno drive to the nearby state park.

As he did, you drifted between them. They were like strangers, devoid of energy and hope. Mark hadn’t touched his guitar since the final gig. The gentle strumming of his acoustic and the beauty of his softly whispered singing didn’t fill the van anymore, to your dismay.

Haechan curled up in the bed and didn’t say a word. Jeno drove silently, smoking one cigarette after another and blowing the smoke out the window. You started with him, running your hand over his shoulder as he held the wheel. Jeno glanced at you briefly, offering a weak smile that even he couldn’t keep. You leaned in and pressed a kiss to his temple.

You went to Mark next and curled up next to him, hiding your face in the crook of his neck and holding him tightly. Mark was a little surprised, seeing as how the two of you had been working hard to keep your hands off each other, but was over the moon to have you in his arms again. He kissed the top of your head and ran his hands up and down your back.

“Won’t you play a little something?” you asked gently.

Mark shook his head. “I can’t. I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay,” you assured him, closing your eyes to fight the tears.

Finally, you went to Haechan and sat on the mattress next to him. He just looked at you, his stare vacant and blank. You brushed his long hair from his face and leaned in to trace a few kisses from his cheek to the corner of his mouth, just to see if you could spark a reaction.

Haechan pushed you ever so slightly and said, “That’s not going to work this time.”

You frowned. And gave up. The three were inconsolable and it broke your heart.

Sidling over to the cabinet, you found your notebook and began flipping pages, going to where you’d left off. Your brows stitched when you didn’t find it and that was when you noticed the torn remains of paper in the metal spiral.

“Okay. Which one of you ripped the page out?”

Mark met your eyes and said, “Don’t look at me.”

You called, “Jeno?”

“You know I wouldn’t touch your shit,” he replied calmly.

Leaving you to turn to Haechan, his eyes closed. “Haechan?”

“I don’t give a fuck about your memoir,” he said, hissing your name.

That made you flinch. You understood his anger, but not the vitriol toward your story. Your eyes fell to the notebook and the missing page, and your hands began to shake.

You threw the notebook at the cabinet and it landed in a pitiful heap. Tensing with frustration, you bent your legs, wrapped your arms around your knees, and hid your face, crying as quietly as you could.

Mark moved slowly, grazing against you to pick up the notebook and tuck it back into its place neatly, but he didn’t have the courage to comfort you. Too scared he would make it worse.

It was Haechan that slipped to the floor and enveloped you in his arms, cradling your head to his chest and dabbing at your cheeks with his sleeve.

When Jeno pulled into the park, you breathed in relief. The van was too stifling, suffocating you in all its misery. You hopped out of the van without a word and started marching for the scenic overlook advertised on a giant sign like you couldn’t get away fast enough.

One-by-one, your bandmates whined and huffed, but inevitably followed. They could wallow in their own disappointment, but they couldn’t stand seeing it hit you.

That’s how the four of you came to sit at a lone picnic table, silently staring at the Pacific Ocean, watching the waves ebb and flow in all its unwavering glory.

The tears had dried on your face. Breathing in the sweet, salty air grounded you again, clearing your lungs and your head.

You were the one to finally break the silence. “I need to come clean about something.”

“Go ahead,” Jeno replied, yawning as he still struggled to shake off sleep.

Wringing your hands in your lap, you began, “I’ve been mailing pieces of the memoir to Cassie.”

“That explains the trips to the post office,” Mark said offhandedly. You couldn’t tell if he was trying to be glib or not.

“And?” Jeno pressed.

You took a breath. “She submitted it to a publisher for their… consideration, I guess it’s called.”

Well, that woke everyone up.

“Are you serious?” Haechan asked, his eyes wide.

“Yeah?” You were befuddled by the reaction, glancing around at them. All three of your boys were sporting similar looks of shock. “You knew I was writing a memoir.”

“We knew you were scribbling in a notebook to toss in a bin and find it again twenty years later and laugh at all the dumb shit we did…” Haechan’s tone of disdain was not lost on you.

Jeno’s gawking increased. “Babe, are you insane?”

You felt small on that picnic table between them, utterly confused, and snapped, “No. I’m trying to get us out of this hell!”

Grimacing, Mark asked pointedly, “You wrote about all the very illegal shit you’ve been doing?”

Oh. That’s why they were freaked out. Underage drinking. Marijuana. Cocaine. All very punishable offenses. You shrugged and plastered on your cutest, most innocent smile. “A little?”

“Fuck,” Jeno swore, sliding off the bench to his feet and running a hand through his hair.

Haechan shook his head and chuckled. “The road to hell is paved with good intentions.”

You rubbed your arms awkwardly.

I was so determined to make it work. It was tunnel vision, so intense I could see nothing else.

“What did the publisher say?” Mark asked, touching your shoulder in comfort. The awkwardness was killing him too.

“I don’t know,” you said, leaning into him a little, desperate for warmth. “I call Cassie at every stop to check on the dogs and she promised to update me on any replies from the publisher.”

Jeno looked to Haechan. “Can they report us to the cops?”

Haechan waved him away, looking more amused the longer he thought about it. “No. She can just say it’s all fiction. Very embellished fiction.”

Mark bobbed his head. “Good thinking.”

You almost laughed. Haechan could lie his way out of almost anything. In this case, it would be in your favor. You glanced around at your boys again. “So…, is everyone mad at me or are we good?”

“We’re good,” Haechan said, patting your head. “For now.”

“Fuck.” Mark sounded exhausted. He leaned forward, bracing his elbows on his knees, and rubbed his eyes. “I don’t know if I could handle losing our music career, but being notorious in a fucking book.”

It was your turn to comfort him, running your hand across his shoulders, feeling the tense muscles under your fingers.

Jeno kicked at a pinecone, watching it skitter across the rocks. “We’d be the fucking losers just known for banging bitches at every stop,” he sneered. Then, the drummer had a thought and raised his brows. “Actually, whatever gets us paid, I don’t really care.”

“Yeah, how does that work?” Mark asked curiously. “You technically wrote the book, but it’s about all of us.”

You made a face. “It’s our story. Of course I’d split everything fairly with you guys.”

Haechan smiled at you ever so faintly.

“I can’t believe our story’s almost over,” Jeno mumbled bitterly.

You perked up. This was as good a time as any. “It doesn’t have to be.”

“What do you mean?”

You got up and spun on your heels, so you could face them all at once. “I was thinking…,” you said, shifting your weight. “We could get a place together and we’d work odd jobs to pay the bills, but we would play gigs here and there. Whatever we could get.”

Jeno simpered. You weren’t clinging to the band. You just didn’t want to let go of them.

“We’d be scraping by a living forever,” Mark pointed out.

“But we’d be doing what we love,” you argued.

“Try loving something that never loves you back,” Haechan said harshly. “You become bitter and miserable. Just like my parents. And yours.”

You scanned their faces. Each had the tiniest bit of hope in their eyes, but their expressions were firmly rooted in defeat. “You guys just want to go home after everything we did this summer and…,” you trailed, a tremble creeping into your voice. “Pretend like it never happened?”

Jeno softened. “Of course it happened. We’ll always look back and remember this as the best days of our lives.” He talked to you like he was soothing a fussy baby. “But best days don’t last. That’s why you look back on them.”

Your eyes burned. More tears would come any moment now and you weren’t ashamed of them. “I just don’t understand why you’re all giving up. Why am I the only one trying to keep us together?”

“Because you’re the dreamer,” Mark sighed.

Haechan snapped, “Stop being so gentle with her,” and Jeno was quick to warn, “Don’t be a dick.”

Your best friend jumped down from the picnic table and approached you. You knew by his tone and his gait that he was about to dress you down and you readied yourself for the blow.

“This is how it’s going to go,” Haechan started, pointing at the guitarist. “Mark’s parents will blow their entire retirement savings to send him to a good college to recover their reputation. And they will never let him date someone like you.”

You flinched.

“Fuck you,” Mark hissed, every muscle in his body tensing for a fight.

Haechan continued, “Jeno won’t be able to hold down a job. He’ll be a regular customer in rehab, then jail.”

Jeno held up his middle finger. “Go to hell.”

Haechan set his eyes on you and a chill ran down your spine. “And you,” Haechan said through clenched jaws. “You’ll meet some guy you can barely stand, but he’ll keep a nice roof over your head. He’ll put a couple babies in you after some miserable missionary and your entire personality will center around the screaming kids you never wanted. Just like your mom.”

Your blood turned to ice in your veins. Planting both hands on Haechan’s chest, you shoved him back and screamed, “You son of a bitch, I hate you!”

Jeno was suddenly caught in a very precarious position. As you stomped off, his first instinct was to go after you, but in the next second, Mark was off the table and charging toward Haechan. So, Jeno had to decide whose life was in the most imminent danger.

And he correctly chose Haechan.

Mark grabbed Haechan by the collar with both hands and crowded into his face. “I’m gonna fuck you up,” he roared, but Haechan didn’t fight back.

He was numb. His face was blank, his eyes cold.

Jeno did his best to wedge himself between them, but he was too defeated. All the thunder was gone from him. “Why did you do that to her?” he asked sadly.

“She has to let go of us,” Haechan replied, looking from Jeno to Mark. “Make her hate you. It’s the only way.”

Mark shook his head in dissent, clenching his fists even tighter in Haechan’s shirt.

You put plenty of distance between yourself and the boys, and the moment you found a solitary bench between trees, you collapsed onto it, buried your face in your hands, and wept.

We have no secrets, Haechan and I. He knows the darkest depths of my soul, and I know his.

I never thought he’d use that as a weapon, but I should have known.

He was the only one that dreamed bigger and harder than me. With it all ending, his heart was dying and pain makes us do horrible things. Especially to the ones we love most.

Because he knew I would still love him anyway. No matter how much he broke me.

Time lost all meaning as you cried on that bench. It wasn’t just Haechan’s words that crushed you, it was the cruel reality of life. You didn’t want to live without your boys. The four of you were too interwoven and connected. Being parted from them would be like tearing at the fabric of who you were.

You were expected to walk around with a gaping hole in your chest forever?

Sure. Most people did. It would account for all the hate and anger in the world.

“My love?”

You lifted your head at the sound of his voice, roughly wiped your wet cheeks, and growled, “Go away, Haechan. I swear to god, I will slap the shit out of you.”

Haechan dragged his feet over to you and said, “Go ahead. I deserve it.”

You refused to look at him as he sat beside you. Your eyes focused on the ocean.

We had the same biggest fear. Becoming our parents. As time went on, the more it seemed inevitable. A cycle that couldn’t be broken. We were fools to think we could be different.

That’s what I was hanging onto. I had to avoid that fate at all costs. Part of me thought that as long as I had my boys, they could save me from it.

“How could you say my worst nightmare so casually like that?” You were still shaking.

Haechan hung his head. “I was trying to hurt you.”

You scoffed, deadpanning, “At least you’re honest.”

“I’m sorry,” he whispered, like all the air was sapped from his lungs. When you didn’t respond, Haechan said, “Look at me. Please.”

“No.”

Your best friend sighed loudly and slouched into the bench, resting his head on the back. The two of you sat there for what felt like hours, watching the world pass you by.

“You’ll prove me wrong,” Haechan said tenderly. “You will be the one that breaks the cycle. The rest of us will just watch.”

Still, you said nothing. You hated him.

Because Haechan always ended up being right. It was a gift and a curse.

Mark and Jeno came looking. The latter was the only one brave enough to approach you, holding out his hand without a word. You peered up at him and let your hand slip into his, and Jeno led you away.

Haechan blinked and the tears escaped. He held them back until you left, refusing to cry in front of you. Keeping his hands in his lap, Haechan didn’t bother to dry his cheeks.

Mark blew out a pained breath. “What do we do?”

“You know what you have to do,” Haechan said, cutting his eyes at Mark. “If you don’t stand up to your parents, they’ll make you give her up.”

“I won’t,” Mark started.

“They will wear you down. You know they will. She’s not who they have in mind for their perfect boy. They hate her.”

Mark nodded.

“If you grow a spine, the two of you can at least live happily ever after,” Haechan joked, but there was a bitter edge to his voice.

“What about you and Jeno?”

Haechan stood. “It is what it is.”

The cloud in the van darkened. Jeno and Mark were miserable, and predictably stoic about it. Neither knew what to do with you. As it turned out, you were the rock, not Jeno.

Curled up in the bed with your back to them, you closed your eyes, but had no intention of sleeping. You would just lay there and wait for something to break or change. You’d done the heavy lifting so far. Now it was their turn.

Haechan couldn’t take the silence anymore. He trudged out of the van and slammed the door behind him.

You didn’t bat an eye. At this point, you didn’t have the energy to ask or care.

That wasn’t true. I always cared. Nothing could ever make me stop caring. We are all cursed and that was mine.

When the doors wheeled open, Haechan was sweaty and disheveled. You wondered how much time had passed as he sat on the mattress beside you. “Come with me,” your best friend said, holding out his hand.

You smarted, “Or what?”

“Or I’ll drag you.”

You looked over your shoulder and gave him an obstinate glare, but your curiosity was piqued. The hell had he been doing that got him so shiny with sweat? It didn’t take him that long to jerk off.

A defeated sigh left your lips. He was still your best friend, even if you hated his guts at the moment.

After batting his hand away, you got up and followed Haechan outside, rolling your eyes at the looks Mark and Jeno were sporting.

Gravel crunched beneath your shoes as Haechan led you into the trees, not too far from the van. When you saw what he was bringing you to, you couldn’t help but smile a little.

A camping tent was set up; the one Haechan had insisted on strapping on top of the van in case he found a nice spot. And it seemed he found one.

This was a habit of ours. When the yelling at my house got to be too much, when I couldn’t block it with my locked door or the blankets over my head, I would sneak out the window.

My parents didn’t notice. Hard to notice if you don’t care. Haechan would always be waiting to run off with me to the park. There were safe, secluded areas to set the tent up without fear of being interrupted.

I can’t tell you how many times I’ve gotten laid in that pathetic little tent. I’d probably mourn the damn thing when it finally fell apart.

Just as I mourned my relationships.

“How about a night not sleeping in the van?” Haechan asked, unzipping the front flap and holding it open for you.

“I’m not going to fuck you,” you barked, narrowing your eyes at him and crawling inside.

Haechan bit his tongue. Any witty remarks would not be appreciated at the moment.

But given Haechan was allergic to quiet, he wasn’t going to keep enabling your cold shoulder for much longer. Watching you lay on your back and make yourself comfortable over the sleeping bags, Haechan sidled up next to you as close as humanly possible.

“I’m still mad,” you huffed.

“I know.”

Well, with that out of the way, you relaxed. He knew you were upset. Now the groveling could begin.

Haechan rolled onto his side and propped his head on his hand, staring at you and how intensely you were ignoring him. He reached over and stroked your cheek tenderly, and said, “I love you. It’s gonna hurt so much when you leave me.”

You closed your eyes, your heart clenching in your chest. “Then why are you trying to make me leave?”

“To give myself some control over the pain. Maybe.”

You turned your head and looked at him. His hair had grown longer over the summer, its natural jet black. It was cute; falling into his eyes, hiding them behind fluffy strands. You brushed some back with your fingertips so he couldn’t hide. Then you reached for his hand and laced your fingers through his.

Haechan smiled softly.

“I’m not going anywhere,” you told him. “You’re my best friend. I’ll be next to you in a nursing home.”

“Will you still kiss me if I have no teeth?” he asked with a chuckle.

“Heck yes. That would be hilarious.”

Both of you laughed at the sudden mental image of you and Haechan as two little old people sucking each other’s faces.

The rest of the world melted away. Your summer wasn’t coming to an end. It was just another night spent from home inside Haechan’s tent. If you didn’t think too hard, you could convince yourself nothing had changed.

Nothing was over.

You talked for ages, about everything. Like always. The light beyond the tent died and everything went dark, prompting Haechan to light a familiar lantern beside the sleeping bags. Soon, the ambience shifted from birds chirping to crickets singing.

When the atmosphere changed, so did the gravity inside the tent.

He was good at talking you away from the edge. Haechan made you laugh hard enough you forgot your anger and sadness, and he started stealing kisses between words. His hand occasionally traced patterns on the bit of your exposed stomach until it slipped under your shirt and got comfortable palming your breast. That’s when you began initiating kisses and running your fingers through his hair.

Kissing overtook conversation. You were immune to all the pain when his lips were on yours and you wanted more, wanted to overdose on the feeling until your heart was made of stone.

Haechan was my family. He was the only home I’d ever known, the only person who loved me unconditionally like my parents were supposed to. Soul mates aren’t always romantic. Maybe they’re just the person that loves you despite everything.

There was a little hitch in his breath as Haechan deepened the kiss, his arms heavy around you. He needed it too, needed to feel loved again before it was all over.

Your lashes fluttered as Haechan settled on top of you, abandoning your lips to suck and nibble at your neck. Your hands were on his shoulders, having been pulling him to you impatiently. His leg wedged between your thighs, pressing against your sex.

Haechan tugged at your clothes, undressing you while he bruised the base of your neck with his lips and teeth. When you yanked off his clothes and finally felt his naked body against yours, you moaned into his mouth and tangled your fingers in his long hair.

It was so familiar and comforting. With Haechan, everything was okay. Nothing could hurt me here.

He seemed in no rush to touch you where you really wanted him to. Typical. Haechan always dragged things out and made it last. He knew you had all the time in the world and was in no hurry to plow through it. Pun intended.

Haechan sucked your nipple into his mouth and pinched the other with his fingers. You bit your lip and squirmed under him, feeling his hard cock against your thigh. You hooked your legs on his hips and flexed, bringing him flush against you for good measure.

You flipped your positions and Haechan let you, holding your waist as you rolled onto him, straddling his lap. He kissed you even deeper, running his hands up and down your back while you cradled his face and tried to snatch all the air from his lungs.

Haechan broke from the kiss to ask playfully, “Have you been writing about sex in the book?”

You were breathing heavily, flushed and dazed from his kisses. “Yeah,” you rasped, running your hand through your hair to get it out of your face.

Haechan tugged you back down and trailed kisses over your jaw before whispering in your ear, “I need to give you some new material.”

“As if you haven’t given me plenty already.”

“I have competition,” he retorted, brushing his hands to your breasts. “Jeno is a slut with a dragon dick. You have a fat crush on Mark and he railed the shit out of you.”

You snickered. “Who are you then?”

Haechan steered you up and shuffled down until his arms were around your thighs and his mouth was inches from your sex, and purred, “I’ll always be the one that gave you your first nut.”

Though you were about to laugh at that, the next sound out of your mouth was a whimper as Haechan tongued at your folds. You were mindful not to put too much of your weight on him, but his hands on your hips said otherwise, bringing you down to meet his lips.

The sight of his face buried in your pussy, between your thighs, was so arousing you felt your walls clench on nothing.

“Fuck.” You let your head fall back and closed your eyes. Reaching for his hands on your hips, you held on tight and joked breathlessly, “The book will give us more groupies than the band ever did.”

Haechan stopped sucking on your clit long enough to retort, “God, I hope so.”

An involuntary shudder shot through you when he latched back onto your bundle of nerves. You squeezed his hands even tighter, eyes winching closed. Another moan tumbled off your tongue. Haechan didn’t play when he was sucking you dry.

It was probably one of the few things in life he took seriously.

“Mm,” you hummed, trembling when his tongue swirled around your entrance before returning to your clit. “So good, baby.”

Haechan made a noise against your cunt. “You know, you only call me baby when I’m getting you off.”

“Do I?”

“I like it.”

“I like when you touch me,” you said in barely a whisper, biting your lip lest you go into juicy detail.

Haechan would have loved that.

You were so far gone already. Your hands found his hair, your hips bucking against his face. Little nothings mingled with your moans. Haechan kneaded your hips, but as you got closer, he reached up to grab and squeeze your breasts instead.

It felt so good you felt guilty that you weren’t touching him. Releasing his hair, you lilted back and wrapped your hand around his hard cock, feeling it twitch the moment your fingers made contact.

Haechan broke away from your pussy and scolded, “Don’t touch me.”

“Why not?”

“Only think about yourself right now. Be selfish. You’ve earned it.”

You swallowed and let Haechan guide your hands back into his hair, and he bit the inside of your thigh as a warning to do as he said. Your body tensed when he lapped at your clit again and you decided to obey. You would be selfish.

Haechan smirked when you arched away from him, propping yourself over him on your arms and riding his face. He reeled a hand back and slapped your ass, the best way he knew how to convey to you that you were giving him exactly what he wanted.

He lapped at the arousal between your folds, his tongue teasing your bundle of nerves again. Haechan knew that was your weak spot, where you were most sensitive. If he played his cards right, he could have you screaming for mercy from the overstimulation.

“Right there,” you panted, voice pitching higher. "I'm close."

For once in his life, Haechan said nothing. He ate you out like a man starved, suddenly grabbing your waist to keep you in place. He sucked on you until your legs shook and you whimpered his name.

And when orgasm hit, you went higher than where the cocaine took you. Your eyes rolled back in your head and your body shuddered, and you chanted, “Fuck,” like a mantra.

Haechan kept going until you pushed frantically at his head.

“Stop. Stop. Stop,” you begged, fisting his hair and finally earning yourself a reprieve.

Haechan chuckled, slipping his arms under your legs and tossing you to the side. You gladly rolled to your back, staring up at the ceiling of the tent, waiting to come back to your senses.

You felt his hand smoothing its way up your thigh before cupping your sex, feeling all the slick he’d gotten out of you and muttering, “Fuck,” under his breath. His fingers prodded into your pulsing pussy, hooking at your sweet spot, and you writhed, sensitive.

“Put a condom on,” you told him hurriedly, still trying to catch your breath.

As you came down from the high, Haechan crawled over to the other side of the tent and returned with a packet, tearing it open with his teeth. You watched him fit the condom on his hard cock and you spread your legs invitingly when he moved between your legs, grasping your knees and pushing them toward your chest, bending you in half.

You rested your hands on his hips and drew him toward you when he slipped his cock into your entrance and stroked in slow. “Mm, baby, you’re so good,” you mewled dramatically. “The biggest ever.”

Haechan, whose eyes had been on his cock sinking into your tight cunt, tossed his long hair out of his eyes and said, “Fuck you,” with a tiny snort.

You grinned and sank your fingers deeper into the flesh of his hips, tugging him toward you in tandem with his movements. He loved when you left scratches and bruises in his skin. A reminder of you he got to carry around with him for days after.

“Kiss me,” Haechan whispered, rocking into you harder.

Without missing a beat, you lifted your head to meet his lips, but his hands wrapped around your wrists and pinned them to the ground. A noise of frustration left you, because you couldn’t close the rest of the distance with him holding you down.

Nipping at your lips, he taunted, “What’s the matter?”

Rather than answer, you moaned as his cock bottomed out in you again. Your face tensed with pleasure, every thrust making your toes curl. You were still raw from orgasm and his cock hitting you right made a shudder race through you.

Haechan went still. When you peered up at him in confusion, he smirked and said, “Fuck me.”

You hooked your thighs higher up his hips and started grinding into him. Haechan looked down to watch you bouncing on his dick, sucking in a breath when your pace grew more hurried and desperate.

“Please move,” you whined, eyes closed. Sweat formed at your back with the effort, your body burning.

“You’re doing fine without me.”

“I’m never okay without you,” you said breathlessly, out of your mind with lust and emotions. The two were colliding.

Haechan draped over you, slipping his fingers into your hair, and fucked into you at a ruthless pace for that, making you slap a hand over your mouth to keep from crying out.

The last thing you wanted was his name echoing through the woods. You would never live it down.

“Oh god. Oh fuck.” You clawed at his back, trying to find purchase.

Haechan gathered you in his arms and you sat up face-to-face, straddling his lap. Haechan kissed at your neck, crushing you in his arms. You rode him, his hips matching your rhythm.

“Come for me,” Haechan purred in your ear, saying your name silkily. “Again.”

It wasn’t fair that he could snap his fingers and your body would answer. You were so close and had been together for so long, your skin knew his touch. Your heart gave in to his every desire and whim.

Ecstasy spilled over and a moan caught in your throat.

Haechan held you even tighter as you came, biting his lip as he felt you clamp down on his cock, holding his breath to stave off his own orgasm until you sighed his name and slumped against him.

You buried your face in his shoulder and whimpered as his thrusts turned ragged, his groans pitching higher until he released into the condom. You rubbed his back and kissed his neck while he came down, lowering you to the floor gently and landing at your side.

The two of you breathed heavily. Sex broke something in you both that you needed. It felt final.

Like it was the last time.

Haechan discarded the condom and crawled back to you, getting a blanket out from one of the sleeping bags to drape over your bodies. You nestled closer to him, ready to doze off in his arms. Haechan settled a hand on your thigh, the other behind his head. Your eyes fluttered closed as his chest rose and fell with his breaths.

“I’ll never stop fighting,” you whispered with resolve. “And you shouldn’t either.”

He said nothing, but pressed a kiss to your temple.

The next day, the van was on its way home. You sat in the passenger seat as Jeno drove, just as you had when summer - and the trip - started.

When Jeno parked at a rest area, you ventured inside to look for a payphone.

Haechan leaned back against the van, arms folded.

Mark wandered over to him, asking in a soft voice, “How is she?”

“Ask her yourself,” Haechan retorted.

Mark frowned. “You know her better than anyone.”

Haechan’s eyes darkened as he said, “You hurt her and I’ll kill you.”

Mark opened his mouth, but nothing came out. Jeno, who had been hovering close by, smirked at the exchange and murmured, “Says the one person actually capable of hurting her.”

Haechan shot him a glare. “She loves Mark more than she ever loved us,” he started.

Jeno was quick to cut him off, “You know damn well that’s not true.”

“Maybe she’s right about us,” Mark spoke up, glancing between them. “Maybe we should stay together and try to make it work.”

Haechan let his head fall back and groaned. “Pussy power strikes again.”

“Are you done?” Mark snapped. “You are the biggest hypocrite, you know. You’re hoping and praying she’s right. That she makes something happen. You’re trying so hard to look like you don’t care, but you don’t want to lose us.”

Tears filled Haechan’s eyes. His lips pursed.

Jeno cocked his head. “We know that, Mark,” he crooned cutely. “Our Donghyuck cares the most. That’s why he tries so hard to hide it.”

Haechan quickly wiped his cheeks. The tears had escaped too fast. After a pause, getting himself together, Haechan said, “I’m sorry for yesterday. I didn’t mean it.”

“We know that too.” Jeno reached over and squeezed his shoulder.

The two looked at Mark expectantly. His anger faded and he huffed a sigh.

Your voice broke the moment. “Guys!”

“What?” Jeno barked, turning to see you racing across the parking lot toward them.

You could hardly breathe, panting like you’d run a marathon. “They want to publish the book!”

All three of them gaped in perfect sync.

“Are you fucking serious?” Haechan wheezed.

“Yeah,” you said in disbelief, chuckling to yourself. “They want me to keep sending in chapters and they’ll assign me an editor to help organize everything. And then I’ll have to fill in the gaps, but… it’s gonna be a book. An actual book!”

In the next second, you were the meat in a boy sandwich and you couldn't have been happier about it.

Once everything calmed down, Mark shook his head and exclaimed, “This is insane!”

Haechan took your face in his hands and planted a big kiss on your lips with a loud, “Mwah!” Which made Jeno whine, “I was gonna kiss her and I can’t now!”

“I’ll kiss you too,” Haechan taunted, wagging his tongue and reaching for Jeno, making the drummer turn on his heels and run for his life.

You giggled as Haechan chased after him and Mark took the opportunity to wrap you in his arms and bury his face in your neck, enveloping you in a hug. You held him tightly and closed your eyes, breathing him in.

“You did it,” Mark whispered, saying your name in reverence. “You made this summer count for something.”

Tears pricked your eyes.

Haechan and Jeno traipsed back over, pushing and shoving each other with big grins on their faces.

With the celebration winding down, you looked at your boys one-by-one and said, “There’s a couple of conditions.”

Jeno grumbled. Haechan arched a brow.

“I won’t write the last chapters and send them in until you get clean,” you said, pointing at Jeno.

He rolled his eyes. “Oh, come on.”

“I’m serious.” You planted your feet and stared him down. “You think I’m going to risk this book being a hit and us getting a huge payday just for you to blow it all on blow?”

Jeno sulked.

“It’s a fair condition,” Haechan said lightly.

“I know it is!”

You waited patiently.

“I’m not an addict,” Jeno insisted. “I am a casual user.”

“Then you can casually stop,” you smarted.

He made a face. After a tiny lull, Jeno handed you the bag from his back pocket and you didn’t hesitate to cram it into your own. Its next destination was the nearest toilet.

You turned to Mark. “There’s a condition for you too.”

Mark grimaced nervously. “I’m listening.”

“You have to do what you want with your own life. Not what your parents want.”

Mark visibly relaxed. His eyes went soft. Something happy and content washed over him. “But I don’t know what I want.”

You shrugged. “You have time to figure it out. Change your mind as many times as it takes until you find what makes you happy.”

“Okay,” said Mark, smiling.

Finally, you turned to Haechan. “And you.”

He tilted his head and puckered up his lips.

“You’re not your father, Haechan.”

“You sure? I was pretty quick to cut you down.”

You scoffed. “Last I checked, I’m still standing. Bitch.”

Haechan chuckled.

“She’s right,” Jeno said, draping his arm around your shoulders and pulling you close to press a kiss to your cheek. “We shouldn’t give up on the band already.”

“The book could make some people check us out,” Mark added, optimistic again.

All eyes were on Haechan. He smiled bashfully and said, “And if it doesn’t - if it all fails - at least we’ll know we tried.”

“No regrets,” you finished with a nod.

Haechan suddenly reached into his pocket and handed you a balled-up page.

The missing chapter of your memoir.

You gaped when you realized what it was. “I should have known you took it.”

“I couldn’t handle someone talking so highly about me,” he said under his breath.

“Oh. Only you’re allowed to speak highly of yourself?”

Mark and Jeno laughed.

Haechan did too. Then he sobered and tucked some of your hair behind your ear. “Thank you for believing in me.”

You gave him a puzzled look. “Haechan, you started the band. Don’t you remember?”

“No?”

“We met in detention in eighth grade,” you reminded him, to which Haechan bobbed his head. “You noticed Jeno drumming his hands. You said you saw Mark playing acoustic by himself during lunch. And you heard me singing under the bleachers when I skipped gym.”

“I forgot all that,” Haechan mumbled, his eyes twinkling like they shone with stars. “Damn, I really gotta quit drinking.”

Mark moved to your free side and said, “Yeah, dude. We’re all here because of you.”

Haechan looked at his three best friends, his family, smiling at him, and it almost broke him on the spot. He slid his hands into his pockets and shrugged.

Jeno laughed loudly. “I’ll be damned. All you’ve ever wanted is to be the center of attention and now that you’ve got it, you don’t know what the fuck to do.”

“Yep,” Haechan said with a sheepish grin.

You closed the distance and hugged him, patting the back of his head. “It ain’t over till it’s over,” you whispered for his ears alone and Haechan let go the breath he’d been holding, releasing all the tension and pain in his chest.

Once you parted, Mark reached for your hand and gave it a squeeze. You melted into his familiar arms and flushed when he said, “You are, by far, the greatest person I have ever met.”

“Stop it.”

“Okay.”

“Wait.” You wrapped your arms around his neck and lifted to your toes. “Maybe a little more.”

Mark smiled as his lips met yours in a chaste kiss that he poured his all into.

A kiss that was dramatically interrupted by Jeno, knocking into Mark enough to jostle you both. “It’s not your job to save us, you know,” he chided sweetly.

Yes, it was and it always would be. Because they saved me first.

“Hey, I’m just an instrument of the power of rock and roll,” you said, putting a hand on Jeno’s chest and giving him a playful shove.

“I take back every compliment I’ve ever said to you,” he joked, tickling your sides.

You laughed.

The four of you gabbed and teased each other for what felt like an eternity. The air was lighter. The sun a was a little brighter. Your boys were smiling again and you felt the pieces of your heart snapping back into place.

Hope is a powerful thing. A gentle promise that maybe - just maybe - we could all be happy and whole.

“We’re burning daylight,” Jeno eventually said.

You exclaimed, “Let’s hit the road,” and it was the first time you said it without dread.

Hopping into the van after you, Mark stuck his head out and called, “Don’t forget the trash.”

Jeno proceeded to scoop Haechan up in his burly arms and carried him to the van.

“Very funny,” Haechan deadpanned, but he couldn’t help but grin.

Smiling till your cheeks hurt, you got in the driver’s seat and fired up the engine, pulling out of the rest area and onto the highway, toward the new life awaiting you and your boys.

Everything would change for us. The drive home wasn’t some miserable journey we’d been fearing. It was the final chapter of our summer, but only the beginning of our story.

#nct #nct smut #haechan #haechan smut #lee haechan smut #haechan x reader

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